Talent everywhere.
Since I was a boy
I've had this thing for language:
the urgency, the ecstasy, the potency of words.
Words that channel love and joy,
loneliness and anguish,
reverberant as rutting stags, ebullient as birds.
Enrapt by rap and stoned on tone,
I wrote some lyrics of my own
performing here and there...
local theatres, poetry clubs,
arts centres, back-street pubs,
I displayed my talent everywhere.
I thought there was no doubt I was the tyrant of the spoken word.
I used to think that I was the poetry king.
I used to think cos I could spout a torrent of unbroken words
my talent was unstoppable, I'd triumph in everything…
How wrong can you be!
It's like...I thought I had a lucky break
the year before last
a talent show at Harrogate Theatre.
Lucky break? My mistake!
severely outclassed...
I hadn’t known my arrogance. The utter
polished performers are totally arresting:
some vaudevillian sisters give me a besting,
singers croon with deep desire,
dancers whirl their feet and hands.
Overwhelmed by a male voice choir
and a teenage metal band
I say, “Hey! That's not fair!
How am I supposed to shine
with all these acts eclipsing mine?
My wooden words! There's talent everywhere!”
Feeling gutted more than gallant
I grasp at one more chance of glory
and do an audition on Britain’s Got Talent.
I queue three hours in arctic conditions
but...What? Hey-ho…same old story...
there’s jugglers, acrobats, comics, magicians,
and a performing dog. I declare:
“What’s the point me being here? There's talent everywhere!”
But then came a call from Harrogate Theatre
"Can we have a poem for the next Big T?”
"'course you can!" I said, thinking now I'll be a star…
but last night’s rehearsal…what did I see?
Danielle and Emily,
the swinging Act Academy,
that soul-stirring Wayne who was here last time
and Jake with his lion eating Albert in rhyme.
For Cuba’s trumpets are no way weak
and I rock and roll with the band called Tweak.
Little Lily sings with such beauty,
as do Louise, Jo and Lucy.
Stone Age Heaven are quite dramatic,
Shane and Olivia are acrobatic,
Harry and Luke never falter,
then there’s Emma Hart, Andy Salter…
I’m going spare!
Who needs my doggerel
when all over this town, in every street,
sat in every theatre seat,
there’s talent, everywhere!
Since I was a boy
I've had this thing for language:
the urgency, the ecstasy, the potency of words.
Words that channel love and joy,
loneliness and anguish,
reverberant as rutting stags, ebullient as birds.
Enrapt by rap and stoned on tone,
I wrote some lyrics of my own
performing here and there...
local theatres, poetry clubs,
arts centres, back-street pubs,
I displayed my talent everywhere.
I thought there was no doubt I was the tyrant of the spoken word.
I used to think that I was the poetry king.
I used to think cos I could spout a torrent of unbroken words
my talent was unstoppable, I'd triumph in everything…
How wrong can you be!
It's like...I thought I had a lucky break
the year before last
a talent show at Harrogate Theatre.
Lucky break? My mistake!
severely outclassed...
I hadn’t known my arrogance. The utter
polished performers are totally arresting:
some vaudevillian sisters give me a besting,
singers croon with deep desire,
dancers whirl their feet and hands.
Overwhelmed by a male voice choir
and a teenage metal band
I say, “Hey! That's not fair!
How am I supposed to shine
with all these acts eclipsing mine?
My wooden words! There's talent everywhere!”
Feeling gutted more than gallant
I grasp at one more chance of glory
and do an audition on Britain’s Got Talent.
I queue three hours in arctic conditions
but...What? Hey-ho…same old story...
there’s jugglers, acrobats, comics, magicians,
and a performing dog. I declare:
“What’s the point me being here? There's talent everywhere!”
But then came a call from Harrogate Theatre
"Can we have a poem for the next Big T?”
"'course you can!" I said, thinking now I'll be a star…
but last night’s rehearsal…what did I see?
Danielle and Emily,
the swinging Act Academy,
that soul-stirring Wayne who was here last time
and Jake with his lion eating Albert in rhyme.
For Cuba’s trumpets are no way weak
and I rock and roll with the band called Tweak.
Little Lily sings with such beauty,
as do Louise, Jo and Lucy.
Stone Age Heaven are quite dramatic,
Shane and Olivia are acrobatic,
Harry and Luke never falter,
then there’s Emma Hart, Andy Salter…
I’m going spare!
Who needs my doggerel
when all over this town, in every street,
sat in every theatre seat,
there’s talent, everywhere!