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.
where our roundabouts are magic
and James Bond runs across Motorola.
Our lot don’t put up with David Brent
and Disneyland Paris was our twin.
Melinda is our messenger,
Billie is our piper,
Diana is our Dors.
Steam runs through our train track veins,
our sky is poured concrete:
durable, hardworking and present.
No matter how big your smile is
you will be asked Alright?
Yeah fine, you?
Yeah, you?
Welcome to Pig Town.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Game 1: You’ve just received a letter from the Mayor of your home town saying they are set to host The Olympics / The World Cup / Crufts / Great British Bake Off (you choose the competition).
Game 2: The Mayor has asked you to write a poem absolutely bigging up your home town for the opening ceremony. They’re keen on highlighting the great bits but also putting a positive spin on any negative / grubby bits.
I promise to be alive
in your curious way.
I will put burgers in hot cross buns.
I will watch TV shows about yachts.
I will drink Ribena in the morning.
I will stand at the window a 3am
peering through the blinds with you
when strangers are gossiping outside.
I promise to stand in the sun sometimes
and pretend to be a gorilla
and take a joke
and moan when I’m annoyed
and feel lost
and struggle to get out of bed sometimes.
I promise to be alive.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Game 1: Imagine you are on the reality TV show Married At First Sight. It’s the night before your wedding with someone you’ve never met.
Game 2: Spend 10 minutes writing your wedding vows for a total stranger. Consider: What kind of partner do you promise to be? How will you act? What do you wish for you both? Why are you doing this? Etc.
is a door
and another door
and another door
and another door
and a hallway
to a room
filled with doors
and walls
and windows
and a floor
and a future
that could go
either way.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Carl tells tales 