“Hello. My name is Wendy and I write and perform poetry that could be described as ‘misery with oomph’. Poetry saved me and to perform live makes me feel alive and cutting my teeth via City Lit (the late Julia Casterton) and Survivors Poetry has been life affirming. Anger, sadness, badness,boredom, frustration and most everything fuels me to express myself through writing and to performing is an honour. Having moved to London more than half my life ago and lived in W6, W10 and NW6 NW10 – this is my home. Kamitan Arts is now part of my heart.” – Wendy Young
Carrying her dreams in two cheap suitcases Like Willy Loman A crooked carriage Gazing the trodden street Til she’s at the top Now she’s looking up Eyes bright to sky Of limitless possibility..........
Saviour City Thank You London For saving this wreck For giving me the chance to resurrect For saving this nondescript with nothing but baggage For giving me a purpose – rebuilding the damage Thank you tradition but thank God for the M1 Thank you National Express bringing me home For the chance to shed these hardened skins – recapture youth at 22 For old streets – some paved with gum that is old For making me see that all are gold For leading me to the truth For giving me diversity For solid buildings bringing me stability For THF hotels – thank you Mr Forte For alternative days off – to discover Strangers Gallery For owning the Empire in Leicester Square For Tuesday nights in Ambres – cheap vodka and free entry For opening these childish eyes Forgiving my mistakes For the Jubilee Gardens and the GLC For The Smiths and The Fall concerts for free For letting my problems fly with the wind - up Oxford Street at 3am For Routemasters outside Hammersmith Palais For black cabs from the Dirtbox, The Other Club and Camden Palace For the Underground’s warmth in morning’s first carriage Ere Soho all nighters at the Batcave, The Mud Club, Jean Pierre’s and Gossips When I dream of leaving Moan at overcrowding Thank you Bakerloo guards for waking me in time For taking me to the end of the line For when I am tired of you – I remember how you saved me For my sanity, for my life, for giving me a new start Thank you London - from the bottom of my heart
War Zone Afghan kids fired like jump leads At explosions behind, in front, all round them Rocked out of their cradles Slapping her a head a little girl with 100 year eyes Panics, screams I recognise the fear I am back Nipping my skin Pulling my hair The volts charging through that little body Shout and scream and thud and dream I were a thousand mile from here The man in charge fires the guns, plants the seed with the bombs The little absorb the shrapnel fallout Tearing humans from humanity Smacking their faces Smack dispersed to places Far from here Into warlords Into their own worlds Pacing the future in empty halls of a shattered mind I’d only heard of Afghan coats Afghan kid But they cut our throats together. (Inspired by the film Bitter Lake)