Poetry – Psychology

Street Art - Poetry

Poetry as street art

Stopping

Having seen Innua Ellams perform, there seemed little reason for a continuance from my poetry book. His flow, poise, diction, ability to instil images in the mind of an audience I found defiant, brilliant and silencing. This was back in 2006. The idea of walking away from performance poetry never to return: easy. Watching Suli Breaks perform for an event for the Terrence Higgins Trust in 2015 reopened a door I had permanently shut. Speaking with Suli after he performed ‘Why I Hate School but Love Education’ reawakened a sleeping ember.

There has been a growing sense that the writing I offer has a significant piece of me missing. It feels like an eternity ago, that I used to stand, sometimes shimmy, on stage and offer my version of poetry to audiences in Shoreditch or near Spitalfields Market. Finding the experience of flow whilst teaching in April was a welcome experience. A friend commented once that the below was some of my ‘best writing’.

Perhaps…

After the conference

So I asked her how she got that scar on her chin…
She blushed then answered…
My mind had already raced ahead and targeted the place and,
Time the incident had occurred, and then

I noticed it in a work group, work shop, work thing, at a
Conference just off Oxford Street
It wasn’t big. Just a
Thin line. A divot of definition. Running off centre off
Of the chin to just below the bottom lip.

I had wondered how it came to be there, this scar.
Imagining a cat fight in poor light, searching to take aim,
Then fire. The line was construed as if a ruler and
Knife or other sharp object had come together to divide.
It must have bled.

Trying not to stare. It didn’t stand out much. No more
So than her brown shoulder length hair, or rich brown
Eyes. Framed in blue white sclera’s. Her pupils were
Large as she interacted with the group. Graceful arm
Sweeps as she elucidated her points

Imagining blood, seeping from the cut, slowly, loosely
Dripping, freely and with that free hand wiping gracefully
Wiping away the wound marked in red.

Ashamed? I could guess not. Aghast probably – unlike
The expected monthly. This red was of Pain not birth but
Death. I continued to stare. Aware of the mesmerising
Allure of this faint forgotten sliced vein.

She turned her head and I could tell it was only skin
Deep. Near fainted as she caught me. Gazing. Intimately
At her chin, out of the corner of her eyes. I shamefacedly
Averted my gaze – towards the mint green carpeted floor.
Resumed idle talk with a neighbour. Then turned to the
Door. As if expectant of a SURPRISE visitor.

The mark still called (Michael) my eyes back to
That point on her face, just above her chin and
Just below her bottom lip.

Only this time gazing through her noticing
Everything and her chin, the brown cords jacket,
The black blue jeans, the dark toe scuffed ankle
Boot shoe things. Sitting cross legged – Right over Left.

But above all, the mark, skin deep, kept calling,
And again my eyes went back to wandering

…”I had fallen through a plate of glass” she said
And re-enacted the scene, whilst sitting, then
Blushed

I chose that moment to gush an apology then
Said “Excuse me” and left the scene. She
Leaning on her right knee…
Holding her chin.

Wondering…

2004

At the time of writing ‘After the Conference’, I had never thought of involving myself with psychology or even forensic psychotherapy. The clues of what I do now are hinted at within the poem. Imagining scenes that have the potential to be as real for me as falling through a plate of glass was for her.

When supporting service users or clients as a counsellor, the role can be about holding  visions of hope. And possible alternatives that uplift, cleanse, heal.

Supporting another way to view the world that holds more potential than before.

The recognition for myself is that use of poetry back then, assisted a blending of realities – words as paint. Finding another way beyond an interior design career. Of course my poetry would be different to Innua Elams and Suli Breaks, it has taken a while to recognise and appreciate this.

The entry to the world of prose, poetry rhyme and meter, began before Hip Hop and has lead me to multiverses of psychology and…

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