Poetry Consequences August 23rd 2013.
Household Festival of Contemporary Art, Belfast.
Participants were invited to play along in the surrealist parlour game, ‘Poetry Consequences’, and contributed to a final poem that was then read by Charles T Hilken – a poet, performer, and father of the artist. Games, including Poetry Consequences, formed an important part of the artist’s childhood and this project brought his family household from Dudley to Belfast for a one-off event.
All over Northern Ireland with his teddy bear Out from a bag of revels, he spotted an orange sign.
Calling out to him to join in on the fun, He was not at all amused
When she stood on his head (and gave him a bun)
The wee girl laughed as the car drove passed, She thought it’d rain, but she wanted the sun. It started to pour which ruined her fun
She ran to try to win the race The ground came up to hit her face Someone in the stalls sang a sad song.
They thought they’d known the truth for so very long About the girl who had come to visit that time.
It was a crime she had in mind,
Scrupulously she pondered the idea of… Melting robots in the rain The whizz and fizz and bang In my tortured eardrums, rang
And I wondered who remembered me. Who was she?
Definition of the word train.
Purposeful way of killing your brain. Swinging monkeys from a tree. Precipitating monkey pee.
Have you ever tried opium?
Doppy said to the poppy plant No said the poppy plant but I do smoke a pipe. It never really helps when I’m on Skype.
Your face will greet me like a nail, Effervescent sea creatures doomed to fail, Flourdering, gasping – they watch my heart break. Make that all shake like an earth quake
Flooded city soaked to the bone Looked at the traffic cone, Remember to Top up the electricity.
When white rabbit peaks, Throw the record player in the bath, Burst a bubble, make me laugh. Think deep thoughts and sink below, Down, down deep where the fish all go.
Under the water, under the seas, under me. Aaaaagh, methinks, time for a cup of tea. But oh no! Forgot about my big toe,
Lagan waters lapping at our doors, And remembering our mammies lives, I saw a seal in the lagan, swims and dives, And I was very happy to be in Belfast.
It was a rare thing for one such as I – The iconoclasts, To let go of cynicism and release the love Into a latex triangle glove…
Stop. Hammertime.
What! Is this supposed to rhyme Back to the drawing board for me With nout but a can of whiskas for my tea Let’s hope I’ve got a clean spoon, This cloud will dance with the moon,
Why do I do these things? I need some wings!
Please gin. For ming to ring his dinny ding ding, Where seas string along.
The geese are playing, the otters are not. And gorgeous awesome orange Octocopter, sings and jives and rocks.