Video | Barnsley Bar (sirens as you leave)
Recorded live in a shed.
15/09/2016
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10/09/2016
mix me up a morning
After the bin men left, after each call subsided,
came the scaffolders outside number ten
ringing poles up in peels, building as they went.
Unbearable and balling, eruptions of conversation
(early morning’s first wind)
blew on in over venetian plains,
cocked thin and open for their abysm grins
to escape smiling mouths as they
rang poles up in peels, building for the clouds.
Stopping short at the chimney crown
all their catch up and chatter and, I suppose,
coordinated avoidance tactic, team-building, name-knowing
flanking of their soft boiled love feelings
for their other halves were lost, in part, to
ringing poles up in peels. Building as they went,
Thursday’s scoreline and Friday’s fine-dining plans
found their way to me, asleep, naked from the night.
Their Friday feeling was a nonevent, a lost translation
down the cul-de-sac of singing Poles and three mixers of blast furnace cement.
06/09/2016
30/08/2016
And one and two
and three and four,
said the helpful nameless stranger.
I wanna know more,
where it all comes from
before the Before,
where what you call work
hangs out with lore.
Is there a map
a burlap sack
and a two-by-four
bound in a shoulder strap?
And do you know where you’re going, yet,
where you'll be after that,
'cos I may wanna follow
something different from the pack.
(two weeks of summer sweat in held palms
leak down legs: a seasonal science
or two lost parts in sun-flare defiance)
So, what, they swing you senseless,
return you neat,
roll you from their arms
back into the beat,
where pushpin baskets
catapult hatchbacks
into shoulder slides
and side-to-sides,
and then you go eat?
No.
Well, I slow down the present with stopwatch starts,
teethe under lamplight, write in the dark.
Your no suggests you can get lost in these self same steps
so I wanna be your blur, your stitch,
and that last one-and-a-two.
What I'm trying to say is
I wanna go dancing with you.
17/08/2016
a(white)void OUT TODAY
‘Mind the black cat sleeping in the beauty spot gap,
shut the heavy door on this World’s Fair,
and forget the ten-to-ten Grantham rain
cocktails in Coach H
wear of where else tonight.
Baby, if I’m awake much longer than I may as well evaporate.'
This limited edition, pre-packed collection of self published poetry comes tailor made and delivered to your door - a(white)void is an invitation to escape the rush. Tim Knight (not an award winning nor critically acclaimed human) releases this as a last ditch attempt to defy cloud storage and subscription service living. This one off payment guarantees unlimited intermissions, repeated viewings and a permanent addition to your home library.
Available as a Boxset or Booklet.
Bonus poem with Booklet. FREE P+P.