Tag Archives: Bradford Middleton

Poetry

Five Poems by Bradford Middleton

bradford-middletonA POETIC LIFE

A few years ago I ran into this poet type who seemed to be alright
We would meet occasionally, invariably at gigs, and get right down to the important part of any poetry gig, the drinking…
As poets wandered to and from the stage the pair of them sat, quietly, soaking in the words
Some were good, some were bad and, some, just sounded all the same
A bad white rapper kid followed by a classical, very often of the smug, rich and dull type
During the intervals they would chat and occasionally one of us would rush outside
One to comeback curiously not that stoned
Whilst the other has somehow nefariously smuggled in some cheap booze
Eventually one of them would get called and with the hall nicely full
They would go on stage and pour their heart out to an audience who rarely cared
But when they did really listen and the words took hold it was a beautiful thing, standing in the limelight alone
Soon enough though a couple of other interesting places opened up and before they knew it they had 4 gigs a month
Then along came a new face and he overwhelmed them with his enthusiasm
It was all going to be filmed and it was all going to be amazing and make everyone look great.
Well, since that day, now some 18 months ago the film has not had any more done to it besides a trailer
And I got to say I ain’t impressed, has everything come down to this
Me a phony performance artist who merely turns on when on stage
Well that’s fucking bullshit man, I’m the real me all the time
I can be fucked-up or serious whenever I want, that’s part of what makes up my life
This life, the drinks, the smokes, the heartless brutality of just how real it feels right now
That night I remember, I gave my all, had a wine bar like putty in my hand as I ranted through an expletive tirade as a wake-up call
A call to arms, a resounding success, lots of people and a regular place which from month 2 on died a slow death
It was mainly prolonged by beautiful married red-headed women who would come and tease as I read them my love letters, making the offering of my heart
To them I dedicate those nights, thanks for sticking around and making it worth my while
But now, in my local pub, we hold fort once a month and here in Brighton they’ve got me down as a performance artist
So I guess, for you people here, this isn’t an act, this is really me
Get used to the fuck-ups, enjoy the highs and anyone wanting to challenge me well just stand up and come get me and watch my words bring you down.

. . .

read more »