Mab Jones

Biography

Daring wordsmith. "A unique talent" - The Times "Absolutely brilliant" - The Guardian "Excellent" - Metro "A superb performance poet" - Phill Jupitus "Hilarious" - The Western Mail "A real creative force" - Evening Post "Fantastic!" - Frank Hennessy, BBC Radio Wales "Delightful comic verse, articulate and imaginative" - Three Weeks

Samples

Pulp Fiction Take your experience And peel it. Pull back the skin And drop it to the floor Like a skirt. Next, the pulp, Firm and glistening as a heart. Crush it. Finally, find the pips, As smooth and honest As bullets. Swallow them, Like medicine. Writer, you are ready. Begin. Beautiful Girl (for Ogden Nash) People supposes that under her clotheses This beautiful girl has a body like Venus What no-one knows is that under her clotheses This beautiful girl has a very large penis They look at her from top of head down to toeses They see this great swell of two bosoms like roses They note her fine boneses and feminine poses And think: ‘what a beautiful girl’ But if she don’t shave for a month then her nose is Choked up with hairs, she is bearded like Moses And if she uncloses her legs then her hose is Proof, she’s no beautiful girl But people supposes on clotheses and poses Their ideas are based on our outer regalia What the girl knows but will never expose is The fact that down there she has male genitalia On external looks people make diagnosis Their eyes see some things and their mind then imposes An idea on which it then somehow closes And which it will never unfurl And if this is true, men, then what I propose is Don’t feel obliged to wear doublets and hoses If you want to oppose this, wear the right clotheses You can be a beautiful girl This is a poem with a title that tumbles into the first line, headlong, headstrong, with a sense of entitlement. A trickster poem, its first offence that thing you think a name. This is a poem that doesn’t wait for you to collect or gather thoughts; doesn’t sit there while you pause, and then, begin. This is a poem that takes you in, a sales pitch to itself; that shifts the posts to kick you into some uncertain goal. But, don’t fret. You don’t have to wait ’til the end. You can leave at any point, grammatical or otherwise. If this is a poem you really despise then please, stop reading. Leave. Don’t bother with courtesy. We won’t pause, won’t even remember because this is a poem like life, you see.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.