https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/dickens-and-quips-poetry-pod--4565745
Join her as she wanders round a world of poetry that isn't entirely populated by old, white men.]]>enLanguage LearningCopyright Dee Dickenshttps://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/eba2b2d27386ab5f39817e5e77c879b6.jpghttps://www.spreaker.com/podcast/dickens-and-quips-poetry-pod--4565745Thu, 06 Apr 2023 00:07:09 +0000Dee DickensDee Dickensfeeds@spreaker.comEach week, poet Dee Dickens discusses a collection of poetry, which is her favourite and introduces you to a Line To Make You Go Ooooh!. She also has a guest on to discuss what they have been up to, poetry and otherwise. Join her as she wanders round...
Join her as she wanders round a world of poetry that isn't entirely populated by old, white men.]]>falseepisodichttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/12-5-announcement--42643090dickensandquips@gmail.comtwitter: @dickensandquipsinsta: @dickensandquipsDee: twitter: @thepontypoetinsta: @thepontypoetfacebook: facebook.com/deedickenswriter]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-75ee0af536db455b931b8b281081fb11Tue, 15 Dec 2020 10:54:07 +0000Dee DickensHello everyone. As is said in the announcement, I have been quite unwell over the last few weeks, so am going to take a rest and go on hiatus until the new year.Thank you so much for all your support so far, I am grateful to each and every one of...dickensandquips@gmail.comtwitter: @dickensandquipsinsta: @dickensandquipsDee: twitter: @thepontypoetinsta: @thepontypoetfacebook: facebook.com/deedickenswriter]]>130falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/12-hannah-edge-collection-release-special--42392923dickensandquips@gmail.com Prompt for this week is "Football" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.   ]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-49182e3b105b4a798c5a915fc3bcc53fTue, 08 Dec 2020 15:59:56 +0000Dee DickensWelcome to the twelfth episode of Dickens and Quips! This week we have a Hannah Edge special on the show and I shall be reading from her upcoming collection Those Days, These Days along with a bit of Anne Sexton. You can preorder Hannah's ebook here...dickensandquips@gmail.com Prompt for this week is "Football" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.   ]]>3639falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/10-seterah-ebrahimi-and-carrie-etter--42135423dickensandquips@gmail.com Prompt for this week is "I wait and wonder" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.   Featured collections/poems:Imagined Sons by Carrie EtterSkeleton by Rosemary McLeish  Line that makes you go OOOOOH! Imagined Sons 29: The Friend (Part 4)“I press my lips to each letter of his name”]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-5cec3ba964f747a4bf6d6da5655d3cf0Mon, 16 Nov 2020 01:00:05 +0000Dee DickensWelcome to the tenth episode of Dickens and Quips! This week we have Seterah Ebrahimi on the show and I shall be reading from Imagined Sons by Carrie EtterYou can buy Seterah's pamphlet In My Arms hereYou can buy Carrie Etter's Imagined Sons...dickensandquips@gmail.com Prompt for this week is "I wait and wonder" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.   Featured collections/poems:Imagined Sons by Carrie EtterSkeleton by Rosemary McLeish  Line that makes you go OOOOOH! Imagined Sons 29: The Friend (Part 4)“I press my lips to each letter of his name”]]>2198falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/09-dervla-o-brien-and-joe-thomas--41875581dickensandquips@gmail.com Prompt for this week is "sticky floors" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.  Thank you to Roger Waldron for your poem this week. Invite inviting me round to talk over   your world beating veggie lasagna you apologise for the kitchen careful   don’t stick to the floor   we talk about being married that B&B in Scarborough  where they asked  if we wanted dessert   which turned out to be Pears in sticky Rice Pudding you asked if we’d ever be a pair again   you asked if I would likepudding  afters  etc I declined all 3    careful not to stick to your floor   wondering  what makes  you think like that  Featured poets:Paige LewisSarah Kay  ]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-95c6af55a1df4fbc8c6bcd14a5b00c9eMon, 09 Nov 2020 10:41:43 +0000Dee DickensWelcome to the ninth episode of Dickens and Quips! This week we have Dervla O'Brien on the show and I shall be reading from Cake, Liberty and Other Inexplicable Phenomena by Joe Thomas Find Dervla at DervlaOBrien on InstaDervlaOBrien on Twitter Joe...dickensandquips@gmail.com Prompt for this week is "sticky floors" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.  Thank you to Roger Waldron for your poem this week. Invite inviting me round to talk over   your world beating veggie lasagna you apologise for the kitchen careful   don’t stick to the floor   we talk about being married that B&B in Scarborough  where they asked  if we wanted dessert   which turned out to be Pears in sticky Rice Pudding you asked if we’d ever be a pair again   you asked if I would likepudding  afters  etc I declined all 3    careful not to stick to your floor   wondering  what makes  you think like that  Featured poets:Paige LewisSarah Kay  ]]>2366falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/08-kate-north-and-christina-thatcher--41750610www.katenorth.co.ukkatetnorth on TwitterChristina Thatcher can be found @writetoempower.We are atTwitter: @dickensandquipsInstagram: @dickensandquipsEmail: dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "what does thinking mean?" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Thank you to Camille Brouard for your brilliant poem.Featured collections:]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-4512fd750ce94d35b615b389e96b7ae4Mon, 02 Nov 2020 01:00:00 +0000Dee DickensWelcome to the eighth episode of Dickens and Quips!This week we have Kate North on the show and I shall be reading from More Than You Were by Christina Thatcher.Find Kate at Kate North, Author on FacebookWebsite www.katenorth.co.ukkatetnorth on...www.katenorth.co.ukkatetnorth on TwitterChristina Thatcher can be found @writetoempower.We are atTwitter: @dickensandquipsInstagram: @dickensandquipsEmail: dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "what does thinking mean?" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Thank you to Camille Brouard for your brilliant poem.Featured collections:]]>1946falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/07-sven-stears-and-janine-booth--41637702dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "birds aren't real" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Featured collections:The BreakBeat PoetsMostly Hating ToriesPrompt for this week is Birds aren't real.]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-c8e91ff8570c4609b0a82db97a694f8cMon, 26 Oct 2020 01:00:25 +0000Dee DickensWelcome to the seventh episode of Dickens and Quips!This week we have Sven Stears on the show and I shall be reading from Mostly Hating Tories by Janine Booth.Find Sven at Sven Stears on FacebookSven_Stears on InstaSvenStears on TwitterJanine Booth...dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "birds aren't real" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Featured collections:The BreakBeat PoetsMostly Hating ToriesPrompt for this week is Birds aren't real.]]>2938falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/06-mithago-craze-and-roath-writers--41526711dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "Ball Gown" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Featured poems:A Prayer Is a Beautiful Thing-though some may see in it an echoA palimpsest of other, broken beliefs. They may see gold-plated faith or trust misplaced in midnightpower long-goneor worse,corrupt. My prayer-book is differentMine are love-letters to hope,Gratitude to libraries of humanityA patronage. I pray to poetry groups.I pray to book clubs, dedicatedTo slowing downtime,To taking a seam ripper to the straight threads of sentencesand the curved loops of lettersand seeing how the garment was made I pray for their patience.I pray for their keen eyes,Their strong hands flicking pages inThe dead of the night. I congregate in the silenceOf the line-breaksand indents,And as the ministers preachMeaning into every comma,Depth into every unfinished I sign my love-letter with a kissAnd find their words guide me,Map my (spiritual or not) path to theXDervla O'BrienChangeling Fairy child,where did you come from?Is there a kingdom that misses you?Who is the childin the court of the Fairies?She wears your dresses and spins around twirlingwith the Queen of the Elvenas they dance with the moon.Ancient eyed child,who has seen and knows all,your soul windows greenwhen the others have brown.Your hair softly sea waveswhile the others wear springs.Their laughter like starlight,your silence the dawn.Changeling child,who cries in the darkness,you dream of the fairies,the dancing and feastingwith creatures so stunning, their brightnessblinds you. Unable to speakto tell their story, you hidebehind smiles and eyesolder than time.Outsider child,whose sadness drowns hopedon’t you know it will change?You will be the story,the changeling who lived.You will float down stairsthat are chandelier litin a boa of feathers.Embracing your faeness,you will sing out the twilightand welcome the darkness,twirling for the moon.To know that something inside me is still aliveDee DickensBoth available in To The Sofa and Back Again by Roath Writers]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-659ecd8e93c442f59f5ad3180aa6d91fMon, 19 Oct 2020 00:00:00 +0000Dee DickensWelcome to the sixth episode of Dickens and Quips!                                                                                         This week we have Mithago Craze on the show and I shall be reading from To The Sofa and Back Again by Roath...dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "Ball Gown" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Featured poems:A Prayer Is a Beautiful Thing-though some may see in it an echoA palimpsest of other, broken beliefs. They may see gold-plated faith or trust misplaced in midnightpower long-goneor worse,corrupt. My prayer-book is differentMine are love-letters to hope,Gratitude to libraries of humanityA patronage. I pray to poetry groups.I pray to book clubs, dedicatedTo slowing downtime,To taking a seam ripper to the straight threads of sentencesand the curved loops of lettersand seeing how the garment was made I pray for their patience.I pray for their keen eyes,Their strong hands flicking pages inThe dead of the night. I congregate in the silenceOf the line-breaksand indents,And as the ministers preachMeaning into every comma,Depth into every unfinished I sign my love-letter with a kissAnd find their words guide me,Map my (spiritual or not) path to theXDervla O'BrienChangeling Fairy child,where did you come from?Is there a kingdom that misses you?Who is the childin the court of the Fairies?She wears your dresses and spins around twirlingwith the Queen of the Elvenas they dance with the moon.Ancient eyed child,who has seen and knows all,your soul windows greenwhen the others have brown.Your hair softly sea waveswhile the others wear springs.Their laughter like starlight,your silence the dawn.Changeling child,who cries in the darkness,you dream of the fairies,the dancing and feastingwith creatures so stunning, their brightnessblinds you. Unable to speakto tell their story, you hidebehind smiles and eyesolder than time.Outsider child,whose sadness drowns hopedon’t you know it will change?You will be the story,the changeling who lived.You will float down stairsthat are chandelier litin a boa of feathers.Embracing your faeness,you will sing out the twilightand welcome the darkness,twirling for the moon.To know that something inside me is still aliveDee DickensBoth available in To The Sofa and Back Again by Roath Writers]]>1655falsefullhttps://www.spreaker.com/episode/05-alice-gretton-and-kayo-chingonyi--41414222dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "beehive" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Featured poems:OCD poem by Neil HilbornThe first time I saw her,Everything in my head went quiet.All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don't really get quiet moments.Even in bed, I'm thinking:Did I lock the doors? Yes.Did I wash my hands? Yes.Did I lock the doors? Yes.Did I wash my hands? Yes.But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips..Or the eyelash on her cheek-the eyelash on her cheek-the eyelash on her cheek.I knew I had to talk to her.I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her..But she loved it.She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day.She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely lock the door eighteen times.I'd always watch her mouth when she talked-when she talked-when she talked-when she talked;when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.At night, she'd lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off... And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.She'd close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.But then... She said I was taking up too much of her time.That I couldn't kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work...When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line...When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking...And last week she started sleeping at her mother's place.She told me that she shouldn't have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but...How can it be a mistake that I don't have to wash my hands after I touch her?Love is not a mistake, and it's killing me that she can run away from this and I just can't.I can't go out and find someone new because I always think of her.Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars..And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel...How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe.How she blows out candles-blows out candles-blows out candles-blows out candles-blows out—….Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.I can't breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn't care if it's perfect!I want her back so bad...I leave the door unlocked.I leave the lights on.Some Bright Elegance by Kayo ChingonyiFor the screwfaced in good shoes that paperthe walls of dance halls. I have little patience.I say dance, not to be seen but to be free, your feetare made for better things. Feel the bitternessin you lift as it did for a six year old Bojanglestapping a living out of Richmond beer gardensto the delight of a crowd that wasn’t lynchingtoday but laughing at the quickness of the kid.Throw yourself into the thick, emerging purereduced to flesh and bone, nerve and sinew.Your folded arms understand music. Channela packed Savoy Ballroom and slide acrossthe dusty floor as your zoot-suited twentiesself, the feather in your hat from an Ostrich,the swagger in your step from the ochre dustof a West African village. Dance for the timesyou’ve been stalked by store detectivesfor a lady on a bus, for the look of disguston the face if a boy too young to understandwhy he hates but only that he must. Dancefor Sammy, dead and penniless, and for thethousands still scraping a buck as street cornerhoofers who, though they dance for their food,move as if it is only them and the drums, talking.Some Bright Eloquence by Dee DickensAfter Kayo Chingonyi  To the black girl sitting in the corner, surrounded by white friends, I see you. I see you wearing a weave that marks you as a fern among English roses  I was you. This is for you. You are beautiful as you are.  So, dance, without trying to ape the shapes of your contemporaries. move as though the mothers of your mothers taught you what your body is for, unashamed, unembarrassed, a vessel for the universe to play its music. Let your arms embrace the sky as your feet absorb the rhythm of the earth, spin with its axis.  I see you, worried about how you look, absorbing words like thicc so you can embrace rather confront the curves your grandmothers gave you.   I was you, starving myself so my breasts and backside wouldn’t show in a world that already sees us as inherently sexual, Trying to make myself invisible.  You are perfect as you are.  So, eat, mango and papaya, and chicken your mates proclaim they’re too white for. Use your hands, and let the juices run down your smiling chin, pity laughing at the ones who have never chewed the meat from a pork chop bone.  Savour every bite of rice as wild as you are, know that it was sorted by hand to weed out imperfections.  I see you, struggling to accept your hair, using unguents and lotions and straighteners and perms. I was you. Getting perm upon perm, killing my hair to look like the colonisers, anything to fit in, whatever you can to be unnoticed. Please don’t see me, please don’t hurt me, please don’t kill me. You are faultless as you are.  So, get your hair cornrowed, feel the fingers of your grandmothers entwine their stories into your tresses, making them yours to pass along. Tell your stories to girl children who are struggling, make sure they understand, they are stunning as they are.  I hear you, your voice trembling as you claim your space in the world. I was you, whispering into the void of my mirror, hairbrush microphone, falsetto with fear. Fear of being heard, fear of being noticed, fear of the ridicule that comes with breathing, fear of the pain of taking up room, fear of being here.  So, sing, let your soul resonate, release the pain, the joy, the sheer immediacy of being alive. Open yourself to be a conduit for the ancestors, let your song come from a choir of colour, let crowned black cranes burst fully formed from your chest.  To the black girl sitting in the corner, surrounded by white friends, I say this to you.  You are made for better things. Take them. Embrace them. Be them. ]]>album-cc542d9e8f4145cd890ff57e5f066d79-0add57001fb2481c9f6863e4eb957392Mon, 12 Oct 2020 00:00:00 +0000Dee DickensWelcome to the fifth episode of Dickens and Quips!                                                                                         This week we have Alice Gretton on the show and I shall be reading from Kumukunda by Kayo Chingonyi.Find Alice...dickensandquips@gmail.comPrompt for this week is "beehive" and you don't have to be an established poet to submit a poem.Featured poems:OCD poem by Neil HilbornThe first time I saw her,Everything in my head went quiet.All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don't really get quiet moments.Even in bed, I'm thinking:Did I lock the doors? Yes.Did I wash my hands? Yes.Did I lock the doors? Yes.Did I wash my hands? Yes.But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips..Or the eyelash on her cheek-the eyelash on her cheek-the eyelash on her cheek.I knew I had to talk to her.I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her..But she loved it.She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day.She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely lock the door eighteen times.I'd always watch her mouth when she talked-when she talked-when she talked-when she talked;when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.At night, she'd lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off... And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.She'd close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.But then... She said I was taking up too much of her time.That I couldn't kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work...When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line...When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking...And last week she started sleeping at her mother's place.She told me that she shouldn't have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but...How can it be a mistake that I don't have to wash my hands after I touch her?Love is not a mistake, and it's killing me that she can run away from this and I just can't.I can't go out and find someone new because I always think of her.Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars..And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel...How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe.How she blows out candles-blows out candles-blows out candles-blows out candles-blows out—….Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.I can't breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn't care if it's perfect!I want her back so bad...I leave the door unlocked.I leave the lights on.Some Bright Elegance by Kayo ChingonyiFor the screwfaced in good shoes that paperthe walls of dance halls. I have little patience.I say dance, not to be seen but to be free, your feetare made for better things. Feel the bitternessin you lift as it did for a six year old Bojanglestapping a living out of Richmond beer gardensto the delight of a crowd that wasn’t lynchingtoday but laughing at the quickness of the kid.Throw yourself into the thick, emerging purereduced to flesh and bone, nerve and...]]>1997falsefull