Glyn Phillips is a West Midlands poet with numerous slam wins, two published books and a range of writing styles and subject matter even wider than his trademark handlebar moustache! Known as much for his theatrical on-stage delivery as his joyous wordplay, Glyn leads his audiences on a tour from outrageous comic absurdity one moment to tear-jerking observations on life, death and love the next. You're never quite sure what he's going to pull out from under his hat once he gets up on stage.
Glyn is currently compiling his third poetry collection, dating from before the pandemic to the current day, which he hopes will be out this year. Look out for him at spoken word events around the Black Country and Birmingham - he's got a pocketful of poems and he's not afraid to use them.
BLOODY POETS
Bloody Poets!
Walking into decent
Working class
Black Country cafes and pubs,
Where all people want to do
Is to have a nice quiet drink.
Proceeding to get all het up
And bolshie and shouty
And then vicariously spewing words
All over the place,
Not caring who gets covered in them!
Bloody poets!
You wouldn’t catch me having a drink with one.
Bloody poets!
Thinking they can go into public places
And share their innermost thoughts
And the doings of their miserable lives
With all and sundry!
Thinking that anyone would be interested
In their opinions and problems.
Delivering self-important rambling tales
Of their needy, depressive existence
And angst-filled dramas.
And the young ones,
The bloody young ones!
They’re the worst!
They’ve barely been born.
Yet they think their lives and problems
Are the equal of mine?
Spouting their depressing monologues,
And at such high-speed
You can’t even follow what they’re saying
(Though that’s probably just as well!).
And what about those bloody rising quizzical tones
At the end of each sentence?
And those annoying, unnecessary, dramatic…
...pauses?!
Bloody poets!
They should keep their ideas to themselves
(Like what I do…).
Bloody poets!
And some of them, get this, some of them,
Pretend to be normal, like us!
Can you believe it?
Some of them go on and on and on
About football,
Or working class roots,
Or their lairy drug-fuelled former lives,
And how they were “saved by poetry”.
Yes, saved by bloody poetry!!
They’ll be lobbying parliament to get it prescribed on the NHS next!
But I bet they won’t want to pay the prescription charge for it though!
Tight-fisted buggers!
They won’t even shell out a fiver for a poetry book,
From one of their own bleedin’ mates!
Bloody poets!
I’m glad I’m not one!
© 2024 Glyn Philips
