Some Antics
11th April
A week early, due to birthdays,
punk festivals, and a multitude
of other things, we all congregated
upon the phoenix; a sea of poets.
For what turned out to be
an incredible night.
This is the story of that night.
Kinda.
Ish.
The following is a true story.
Please note.
Some of the names
have been changed
to protect their identities,
Some of the facts
have been slightly altered
to make the story more exciting.
Some parts are made up entirely
just for shits and giggles,
whilst others are missed out
due to time and space constraints.
The order may be juggled,
the memories muddled,
as we mingled, I may have missed
some small details.
It was a warm spring evening.
The birds singing their restful lullabies
as the sun slowly closed her eyes,
and climbed underneath
her fireproof duvet of night.
The poet was stirring from his pit,
"Shit", he thought,
"I'm late. Knew I shouldn't have had
a danger nap."
Quick shower and change,
out the door to see
the number 44A drive speedily away
into the misty haze of the city
and the dark corners
of the cultural quarter.
"Bugger" he exclaimed.
A refrain heard by everyone around him.
Out came his trusty notepad,
cleverly disguised as a Samsung phone,
and he swiped through the apps,
accidentally opening
various random games, google maps,
some pictures of cats.
after a few minutes
of sniping space aliens,
a spark of memory hit his brain.
"Owww fuck... that really stings.
Ohh yeah meant to be
at that poetry thing."
Clumsily he hit the Uber button
and was in motion
before the night was over.
Meanwhile on her way from
that there London village,
T'ellie was sat on T'rain.
J̌azzy Min was on her way
from sleepy Rushton.
The team was almost complete.
We had a task, a goal we had to meet.
We had to be discreet,
like ninjas,
keeping to the shadows.
But first
some of us had to eat.
It's hard to be sneaky
when your stomach grumbling
gives you away.
So, the poet Elyk and T’ellie
grabbed some grub.
As Kez came in to
complete the team.
Poets assemble...
We each took turns prowling the room,
always on the lookout
for the famed Sammynourous,
both poet and dinosaur,
the mythical being from books of lore.
We planned out our attack
with military precision,
or we would have done
but we are poets not fighters,
so, we scrawled out our plan upon a napkin,
accidentally threw it in the bin,
then made up the rest, as and when.
We got words and names
written on a card emblazoned
with a big shiny number 40,
whilst our main gift
was being kept secretly
under lock and key.
(Okay, it was an Iceland bag,
but lock and key flows
more smoothly, sue me)
A second piece of cardboard
also emblazoned with a number
was also strolling around the room,
like it didn't have a care in the world.
To give to the lovely poet
from rhymes on the rocks,
In keeping with a sort of dinosaur theme
we shall call her the Kiatops.
So, the show began.
Ninja knob, true to his name
sprung from the shadows
and presented a gift.
A fresh dinosaur skin.
The Sammynourous’s
mouth opened with a grin,
then dropped to the ground,
as he was forced to wear the thing.
There were also masks
for every one of us.
To be fair no one
needs to see this ugly mug.
So, like a wave of dinosaurs,
led by their cult leader
we listened to poem after poem,
rippled with applause.
All the poets were brilliant,
may I add, but this is
that rare poetry event review
that isn't about the poetry.
The break...
this was our moment.
We got into formation,
circulating the cardboard between people
that hadn't signed yet.
We lit a dinosaur candle
on dinosaur cake,
and presented them to Sammynourous.
Along with our piece de resistance,
A poetry book,
a work of commitment, wonderment and magic.
Poured over for decades (3 weeks)
to create a piece of work of art,
both beautiful and tragic,
a piece of art,
that ten of us had poured
our hearts into
To bring to life dinosaurs and comets,
Through laughter and sonnets.
As we witnessed the well of tears
climb through the Sammynourous's eyes,
we let out a cry of happy birthday.
It echoed to the sky,
to the stars,
the moon,
the aliens looming just out of sight,
put away their lasers and one said,
“Hang on Zargleburgereater,
these humans might be alright”
and left to see what Venus was like.
Many laughs were shared,
so much love in the air,
and the poetry was fire,
like the flickering flame
on a dinosaur candle.
Our work done, we headed to the pub,
no need to end the fun.
The night still young.
We chatted, we laughed
and we smiled.
Oh, how we smiled.
So, we at Get Mouthy want to wish
Sammy Nour an amazing birthday.
The word legend gets
thrown around too often,
but sometimes there is someone
that just inspires so much from everyone.
I know I wouldn't be doing
what I am without Some Antics
spurring me on.
I have learnt so much from them,
I learnt to edit videos,
how to stand in front of a mic
and speak, to believe in myself.
Because they believed in me.
And I know that this is also true
for Jazmine, who has also started
her own poetry night over in Rushden
(get over to it if you can)
We all owe so much to Sammy
for all that he has given
to the Leicester poetry scene,
and just for being a bloody nice guy.
Thanks for reading.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
