Game 1: Pick a soap opera of your liking.
Game 2: Give yourself a soap opera name.
Game 3: Imagine you’ve just been kicked out of the local pub.
Game 4: What on Earth happened?! Tell us in a poem.
The dolphins are laughing
in the changing room
whipping legs with rolled up towels.
Rat tail, rat tail, rat tail.
Shane is against the lockers
a fin-print across his chest,
red spots on his bottle nose.
The pool is full and empty.
Blow holes are stuffed
with orange sherbet,
chicken and mushroom Pot Noodles
and the ancient urge to follow.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Game 1: Search online for “bucket list examples”. Click on a random list.
Game 2: Find 3-5 things in there you’d never want to do.
Game 3: Spend 7 minutes writing a poem about about why you’d never want to do those things.
I request the square metal dish
for my lunch. I bang the spoon
against the silver slop bowl
shouting More, more,
before even having a mouthful.
The woman who the older people call Janet
swings a soggy ladle in front of my bucked teeth
and a lumpy green waterfall flows.
It looks like sick and smells like home.
I’ve never seen a leek in solid form.
Rumour has it they look like truncheons
and a word I don’t understand.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
The carpets have been lifted,
the bones of floorboards look strong.
Jack Johnson is making banana pancakes
in the kitchen. The doors are open
like the smile behind a wedding camera.
I’m asked How many profiteroles did you manage?
over and over in the space between my ears.
Flecks of year-round tan are refusing
to hide behind emulsion.
Rollers are helping spread a heavy day
across walls as tall as a lifetime.
Manchester is thinking.
There is no dust in my eyes.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Game 1: Think about a meal someone once cooked for you.
Game 2: Write a poem describing the meal to someone who’s never eaten any of the food in it. Paint a picture of what the food is, but colour it with the feelings each food item stirs up.
And they all lived happily ever after. Not really.
If anything, they were worse off than before:
bits of flesh dangled from bones,
hair was on fire, eyes were inside out.
Not really. They queued up in a post office
for the two hours. Not really. A cloud
swallowed them up and poured them
over a dead field. Not really. They all enjoyed
small talk in a lift. Not really.
One of the characters was a telephone
ringing at 2am with the power of a thousand
horses running over an eyeball. Not really.
I didn’t get round to watching it. Not really.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Game 1: Think about a film with a plot you disliked.
Game 2: Really think about why you disliked the plot.
Game 2: Take 8 minutes to write a 10 line (or more) poem using the plot you think it should have had.
Blimey,
it’s hard feeling like you’ve lost.
Like the first 45 minutes were a waste –
especially when those minutes are
days and weeks and months.
When it’s raining
it’s hard to imagine being dry again.
When I’m stood in a porch:
ten slugs for toes, my sleeves dripping
to the ground, my head melting into my neck,
I think about a dog’s tail
dancing to the sound of whistle,
having no concept of the end.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Game 1: You’re the manager of a football team. What’s the team called? Is it real or made up?
Game 2: You’re 2 – 0 down at half time in the cup final. Spend 9 minutes inspiring your team to victory.
Carl tells tales 