34. Mick Jenkinson
A well spoken man, with a wealth of literary and musical talent.
Mick is a poet, songwriter, musician & freelance arts practitioner from Doncaster. He runs Well Spoken, a monthly poetry performance evening at Doncaster Brewery, is a founding member of the Read to Write poetry group, and delivers song and poetry writing workshops for community arts projects. His second poetry pamphlet, When the Waters Rise, was published by Calder Valley Poetry in 2019, and his latest album The Wheel Keeps on Turning was released in 2024. These items and more are available, along with further information about Mick at mickjenkinson.co.uk.
Poems
Oysters
Who’s never felt this way, with dreams of the quixotic, yearning to be provocative, bizarre, sexy, exotic? I taste of where I’m from, my brackish territory, so take me with a shot of stout or Hemingway Daiquiri. Then feel me in your mouth, an extraordinary thing; I’m salty, briny, fishy-fresh, I’ll make your spirit sing. Take me au naturel, with gimlet or dirty martini, swallow slowly to release the sweetness, the umami. Savour me with absinth, sip me with champagne, devour me like your senses will never soar this way again.
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Crossroads
Who tuned the guitar that it sings so true, that it rings so right, that it burns so bright? Who tuned the guitar? Take yourself, some night, out where highways meet. Patience, stillness comes, then a distant note keening on the wind. Who was it met you, led you through graveyards, Clarksdale to Rosedale? Out by the Dockery Plantation you sat, rested with guitar cradled on your lap, listened with longing, practiced with purpose – a bargain was struck. You’ll never know peace, can’t ever look back. Your time won’t be long, but oh, the guitar it rings out so true.
Enduring Marks
I can’t recall what led up to that kiss or why I’d never lost hold of the spark Who would believe that it should be like this? The mattresses, the music, could I miss those eyes that cut across the raucous talk? I can’t recall what led up to that kiss The frenzy faded; what remained was us The world has granted us this holy dark Who would believe that it should be like this? Fumbling hands that learned what passion is Exhilarated by your scent and silk I can’t recall what led up to that kiss Down all the years, betrayed by distances – news of the morning that you never woke Who would believe that it should be like this? Maybe life’s best defined by absences – brief moments etched the most enduring marks I can’t recall what led up to that kiss Who would believe that it should be like this? <<<
Drinking Your Fill
My heart’s a nest of ants – it won’t be still it won’t ever be still You come, all dusk and blush – your elusive skill your elusive, empyrean skill With quiet confidence – exerting your will effortlessly exerting your will You never dealt in half measures – drinking your fill insatiably drinking your fill I’m emptied out, ecstatic – time stands still this wrung-out time stands still <<<
Funny how sometimes one comes to the end of a reading too soon.