Tewkesbury Tale Teller
As I monitored CH's opening gambits on the chess board, or perhaps drafts, that is the poetry family on the internet, and then in what is now the parallel universe of reality in the cafes and dusty wine-bar cellars of Cheltenham's versed literary clubs, I found the atmospheres to be somewhat traditional; of a 'class' perhaps unseen in, say, the terraces of a football match. Chance exposure one night to Kev Alway blew away the dust. Courtney felt he was struggling to fit in because most of the poetry he heard sounded like narrative in short lines, and he felt a bit of an ancient mariner outcast because of his use of rhyme. Enter Kev. Unafraid of rhyme. Unafraid of anything. A young poet with a striking presence, and as so often with the young, a poet with attitude ...
But ... with much more pertinence:
Kev is a 26 year old poet / spoken word-smith. Hailing originally from Oxfordshire, he moved to Cheltenham four years ago in '11. "There's no bullshit with my work," he explains, "life isn't always about rolling meadows and poems about someone's cat sat on the windowsill. I like art that grabs me by the throat and rattles me, and it's what I want to do with poetry - shake things up a bit."
With poems on politics, hazy nights, drinking and one night stands, it's certainly a far cry from typical modern verse.
Check him out at below or his playlist is here; he's always looking to "slap an audience around a bit with words" and welcomes mailings at firstname.lastname@example.org and you can download hardcopies for free on Kindle.
And here's one for luck ...
One Day Stand
I stink of sticky sheets,
Wet with sweat and sex,
Not just mine, these Venus girls trap men like flies,
Appendages in a scissor motion and it's down the rabbit hole,
Trapped until dawn.
My hair's waving at passers-by on its own accord,
Trousers with crumpled veins showing the land they landed at the foot of a bed,
Could well walk themselves to the basket,
Splash back Jäger and dubious white stains marring the landscape.
Scratches map my back like A roads,
Animalistic claws raked my skin ... have you met Freddy?
Kieran brought a pocket of love stamped with a crown,
But time had got lost to double dropping and tounge locking.
I hunch over at the back of the bus,
Geometric pattern on grey,
Soft to all my cheeks,
A Maccy D's dubiously orange encrusted wrapper provokes me,
Bile rising like the dawn as I fight to not recreate the scene from Carrie,
... what's her name again?