I was lucky enough to take part in the Blue Room’s “NYC Storytelling” workshop, which culminates in the Barefaced Storytelling nights this month. I’ve seen many of the storytellers perform already, and they are unfailingly awesome. The best part is that all of the stories are true – and some of these peeps have gotten up to some crazy stuff.  

I’ll be performing my story this Thursday night (8.30pm at The Blue Room). It’s called “My Muse” and it reveals how utterly uncool I was in high school. Oh dear.

KP

Posts

Poem: “Retrospect”

Poems, Posts

Little do I know, though I’m no Picasso,
I’m about to go through my own Blue Period.
A myriad of things are about to upheave my life
’cause I don’t yet know that all is not quite right.

Right now, I think I’ve got it all sussed out:
got a job, got a plan, got a car and a man.
Within weeks, I’ll have watched all these pipedreams burn,
but right now I’m thinking it’s finally my turn.
Little do I know.

Though I’m free of my degree, at the age of twenty-three
the rest of my twenties stretch out in front of me.
After years of stringent study, I think I can agree –
little do I know.

My loving boyfriend, I’ll find out that he just pretended.
In two weeks, on Facebook he will be defriended.
What I thought was fraught with promise will soon be ended,
but little do I know.

Why I’m tired in the mornings, nearly soldered to my bed,
why I sobbed right through a movie when I should have laughed instead,
why I can’t get the hurtful things he said out of my head –
little do I know.

Though I’m no Picasso, I’m about to go through my own Blue Period.
A myriad of things are about to change my life,
’cause sometimes it takes a lot of wrongs to make things right.
But, little do I know.

Read ‘The Bogan Rap’ – the slam piece I performed at the Sydney Theatre Company last night, as part of the Australian Poetry Slam.
It was such an amazing night, with so many moving performances. I felt lucky to be able to watch all the finalists perform. One of the highlights had to be watching Kamahl perform ‘Invictus’, and having him later congratulate me on my performance. And that voice – it is mesmerizing.
The results came in, and Perth didn’t win, but as Allan Boyd always says – the real winner was POETRY.
KP

Posts
Fellow Perth poet David Vincent Smith and I will be representing WA in the Australian Poetry Slam national finals this Sunday! We’re flying over to Sydney to perform at the finals, which are being held at the Sydney Theatre Company. I can’t wait to see all the poets from around Australia perform; it’s sure to be a great night of spoken word. If you’re in Sydney this weekend, check it out!
KP
Posts

Poem: “The Bogan Rap (lyrics)”

Poems, Posts

I’m here today to tell you about a man – you might know him.

He is every man lining up for The Shed in Northbridge
and he is every man who still thinks Ben Cousins is a hero
and he is every man with a southern cross tattoo on his shoulder.
He bears the cross on his shoulder but, christ, he’s not Jesus
(though he may wear sandals wherever he pleases).
He’s crackin’ a can of coke and Jack Dan
and lurching at me with his drink in his hand
and I’ve seen him, leaning out his Commodore,
keening on me like I’m a common whore.
I’ve got class, man, I like a conversation.
Been to uni and got me an education.
Yeah! This shit’s tertiary, bro,
and I think you should know
to use your head
use your head
use your head
use your head.
Like John Stuart Mill said,
SHOW BITCHEZ RESPECT.
Show bitches respect, show bitches respect,
like Johnny Mill said, show them bitches respect.
…Uh, yeah, that’s not quite what Mill said,
but you know what I meant,
though using the term ‘bitch’ was a detriment to my argument….
But I digress. Yes! Express my words with finesse.
Though this bogan everyman is causing me real stress,
‘coz he’s the loudest and the meanest and he’s got cash, too,
and he’s traded up the flannel for Armani suits
so he’s harder to find. But the state of his mind will divide
him from the other blokes every time that he gets blind.
‘Coz in his head, the world is neatly split into two –
so it’s me and it’s you
it’s yours and it’s mine
it’s black and it’s white
it’s us and it’s them and it’s them and it’s us
and everyone owes him
and it’s not his fault
and his only ambition in life
is to drink every weekend and have a hot wife.
Such is life! I guess this is
the life of his missus –
tradin’ her freedom for his seldom kisses.
So take your coke and your Jack
and a big step back,
‘coz if you’re crackin’ on me, I feel sorry for ya, son.
I got 99 problems but a bogan ain’t one.

Hit me.