There is something conspiratorial about walking down a poorly lit back street, under a gloomy railway bridge and through a busy brewery into a cosy back room lined with barrels. As the trains rumble overhead poets share stories and wisdom with each other to raucous cheers. These feel like nights where the world might be changed for the better - one filled with hope, love and promise.
We all gather there
Buried below the rumble
To share our secrets!
Image copyright: Tim Foley: @writespeakrecover
Why did you start the poetry night?
George Bloomfield, host - I started this poetry night to offer people a room where they can come out of their shells. Along with those who frequent poetry nights regularly, I intensely value the incredible people who bring their words for the first time. I also wanted there to be an event where EVERYONE is given an opportunity to read. Too often poetry nights don't have enough time for everyone and that can be quite detrimental to confidence and motivation to keep writing.
Image copyright: Tim Foley: @writespeakrecover
How would you describe the vibe of the nights?
The vibe at Orbit always retains a feeling of warmth. By that I mean I feel like everyone is comfortable being themselves and that brings a collective cosiness if that makes sense. Along with the freedom to bring words and artistry, there's no limit on who can perform and that automatically settles a lot of nerves for those attending.
Image copyright: Tim Foley: @writespeakrecover
What do you love most about the poetry scene?
I love how much the poetry scene is always growing, it’s never the same, it never stagnates. People from all walks of life can be found in the poetry world. I would advise anyone If they ever feel creatively exhausted or in an inspiration deficiency, then go to a poetry night. There’s a bit of something for everyone.
Image copyright: Tim Foley: @writespeakrecover
I saw a girl crying at King's Cross
That shifting pane of glass rested on a sight
That any heart would drown within
On that pane one singular drop
Strokes its way to a fight
A battle of composure on her lips
Pursed for inevitable looks of concern
She's sat a few seats down
A half-drawn curtain obscures her frown
But peeping through the dishevelled waves
Lies a dried runway of caves
Her eyes darken second by second
My hand scribbles and wants to beckon
But I daren't disturb her
For my intention to console may alarm her
For the concept of a stranger offering a shoulder
Could easily spell danger
In this concrete jungle it's no wonder
We're told to avoid outsiders to our worlds
But that is indicative of a waning society
As moonlight slowly ebbs away in the smog
So does our guiding light to one another
I saw a girl crying in the fog
That thick blanket of Northern line smother
Those greyish stains indelibly Etched
Her patience with the world is stretched
Fair angel you are fiercer
Than those who hide
A dreamer with minimal pride
Let those dew drops reside
A new layer of defiance multiplied
To the girl I saw crying on the tube
Please know, I'm proud of you
Mic Nightlife is a photography, poetry and storytelling series celebrating the places people share words. Please invite us to your night!
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