Commonword Blogs

I often use photography when wanting to write description. Why? Because you can't stare at people -unless you are two years old and not get punched in the face! Yet sometimes I want to stare, to record the nuances of their face.

Phew! Yesterday I finally finished the 1st draft of my musical theatre play for Contact Theatre. It's called Venus & the Killer Bees, a romantic sex comedy about two Black kick boxing teams, one male and one female, who share the same gym. They have a grudge match between their two champions, who fall in love. Like West Side Story, but with bashment reggae and opera. It is going to be a big spectacle with loads of dirty dancing and thai boxing kicks!

Anyway, for the first time in my life, I ran into the dreaded writer's block.

2 Simple causes:

There must have been about 3 or 4 of 'em. Maybe even 5. I cant really remember. Dont... really - want to remember.. But Anyway, I must, O Blog Master, oh horror of horrors. How can I say this? Second time on the stage & I forgot my lines. There, its out. Its taken me 2 weeks.
I'd spent all morning memorizing. Didn't really have to; I mean, it was my latest poem, therefore it was my best poem. I even went to the Urbis event without my sheets. I'd memorized not one but two poems! After all, Segun had said seven minutes...

A Sample...

I finally got round to uploading my 'Bullets' poem on myspace, still very much a work in progress, with music by Matt from Atomic Hooligan. Let me know what you think.

At the end of my last post I mentioned an Apples & Snakes project I'd recently got involved with, which has resulted in the first finished piece of writing I've accomplished in months, so it's probably worth a mention. 

Love Jones

like an arrow
that always
finds its target
gravity free
melodies
subtler than
lunar rays
softer than
falling snow
eurythmics
returning always
to the source
seduced me
as soon
as stylus hit vinyl
composed
wonder & awe
bound me
to your mast
wanted to be
that Buffalo soldier
riding the fat prairie
wind racing
thru my hands
knowing
change
must
come

The beginning

I gaze in awe
budlike finger and toes
unconscious potential
newer than creation
unblinking gaze
crystal clear pools
sharp as the first cut
mysterious as the new moon
under chanting priestesses
brought in a high tide
over whelmed defences
first cry
revealing a jungle terrain
with stalking tigers
eye bright with knowledge
kamikaze devotion
claws honed
ears tuned to the present
stopped haunting
the future
when I met my past

Yvonne Mc Call

The first Cut

the silver river glitters
molten current I cannot fight.
not that it pulls you against your will.
you have already made your choice,
turned your back to swim for another shore.

relinquished me to whirlpool blues.
sitting in the hairdressers I see red
my reflection ignores ribbons of steam
curling from my head
the stylist asks

wash and blow?
sharply firmly no I said

“cut it, cut it all off please”.

Yvonne MC CALLA