Oh, the verse flowed like vino, as DIY Poets hosted another of their quarterly shows, on the day before Valentine’s Day. First up on stage was A Sole, or Artisidol Sole in full, unashamedly opening his set with a plug for his new book, ‘The Speed Chronicles’. Artisidol explores the heart of darkness and light, pouring out a kaleidoscopic tumble of insane images, with droll observations on everyday existence. A quality opening.

An evening of poetry couldn’t possibly be complete without a good helping of melancholy gloom, and Jim Willis opened his set by asking the audience whether they had a good Christmas. The enthusiastic cries of yes were soon squashed when he (correctly) observed that not everyone can be happy at Christmas, and then we got ‘Mulled Wine Sunset’ – a journey through a rocky Christmas landscape, that ended on a note of hope. Jim’s set was a polished collection of neatly constructed poetry.

Lytysha fully embraced the (pre) Valentine’s Day theme, delivering a set oozing with erotic imagery, and recited with an elegant purr. Ooh, it were bloody saucy! Fans of soft erotica take note, it was worth the entrance money alone to hear this collection.

The right honourable Martin Grey, aka towelintherain, arrived next on stage, expressing his disappointment that the birth of chip and pin, which was launched on February 14th 2006, is not celebrated with anywhere near the same gusto as Valentine’s Day. Martin read with typical passion and verve, and showcased a new poem ‘I Met You in the Pound Shop’. The poem was constructed using a set of prompts provided by a fellow poet, Orla Shortall, and it was a challenging exercise which Martin navigated in the manner of a top-of-the-range M&S bath towel, soaking up a deluge of applause as he walked off stage.

Orla was the next poet to read, and delivered a range of poems, some of them her own composition and others selected. She tackled themes of immigrant experience, expressing rage for the traumas of her Irish ancestors. And she also completed the same exercise as Martin, constructing a poem from  a set of keywords provided by him. It took the form of a dream, involved a monkey, and a soup made of spoons. I have to say, Martin’s selection was definitely trickier – the end result was a surreal vista of crazy characters engaging in strange conversations that somehow held together and a narrative was born.

The first interval arrived and the audience was treated to music by Nick Cave. Happy days.

John Humphreys opened the second half seemingly determined to pour more misery on the proceedings. He was proper grumpy the poetry to that point had been too cheerful. Then, in something of a paradox, he threatened to recite ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ by Queen. The audience remained ambivalent. John delivered a terrific set, ending with a poem about his dad, touching and poignant.

Yours truly got up next. I debuted two new pieces, ‘Lenin Lost His Head’, and ‘A Riot Shield for Christmas’, both referring to the recent unrest in Ukraine. Only a few very minor blips in my set, and afterwards, an audience member commented on the loudness of the delivery. If I was booming in the style of Brian Blessed, or thereabouts, I can only swell with pride. I came away knowing that further edits are needed, but only a few.

Frank McMahon then took the stage and informed the audience of his half-bottle-of-wine hangover which apparently kicked in at lunch time. He’d cautiously endeavoured to resolve this problem by drinking a pint of water as a chaser, after each pint of beer. Six pints later (combined), bloating occurred, and Frank speculated he may not eat for three days, because of an overwhelming ‘feeling full’ sensation. He also read some poems. Frank introduced a couple of new themes in his set, alcohol and Marvel/DC superheroes, although not at the same time. As ever, Frank’s poetry was entertaining and thought-provoking.

Finally, a fine evening of spoken word was concluded by the featured poet, Clare Stewart. She opened with clear intent – to kill your phone. At the conclusion of that piece, several audience members played their ring tones. Clare will need to take each one of those phones out, one by one. Clare’s poems reflect her journey as a mother, but before that, from experiences working in care homes with the elderly. The people who reside in her poems come alive, her vignettes capturing the vulnerability of a population whose faces are marked by the lines of history. She also captures the banality and absurdity of 21st century Britain in sharp definition. She concluded her set with a ‘found poem’, a list of TV programmes from the Dave channel, one of my favourites and very funny.

The evening was completed by the addition of Fun With Numbers, a trio of electric guitar, bass and a vocalist with a sweet voice. Great sounds!