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It was a friendly and relaxed atmosphere at The Phoenix Youth Theatre Bark Street, Bolton with ace MC Tony Walsh, who has extensive experience of the poetry scene. He started us off, waxing lyrical with a lively rhyming poem about a girl with a filthy giggle and declared ‘her graceful waddle drove me wild’. Well Tony, I expect a lot of guys will see where your coming from with that poem.

Bill Brierley was next (a fellow Lord of The Rings fan) with his ‘backstreet slabs and cobbles, a Tolkien Kingdom’, and another local poem about Bolton’s Moses Gate Country Park, where a song was born. (I’ve been there and it’s fab).

Alex Ashworth struck me as a spiritual poet with a belief in guardian angels ‘moving in circles, climbing over hurdles, patience, endurance and calm’ who struck a sympathetic chord with the audience.

It was then my turn to contribute poems with a fantasy theme, one about a lady abducted and wooed by the wind, and another describing a mother’s horror when she finds that her child’s been willingly taken by an alien, (you must think I don’t get out much), whereupon my other half, John Clays, took centre stage with a villanelle (he’s very fond of strict form) The Former Mission San Antonio de Valero about a historical battle at Texas, ’13 days, felt like ad infinitum/aided by 32 men from Gonzales/held out against the odds for its freedom’, followed by a rondeau, Senile Decay (self explanatory) and finally a tussle with the muse ‘gold dust eroding from your tongue/drops to earth in a garden of remembrance.’

Then up came the stalwart Gordon Zola, like a piece of ripe cheddar, with ‘more champagne than coca cola’, asking What’s in a name? ‘do you have to be a tart to live in Bakewell, and finishing with some nursery rhyme naughties (I loved it) .

John Pearce wished for his dreams to come true, and for time to reverse ‘take your grey hair in my hand and think when it was black’.

Next we were virtually assaulted by the imposing stature of Scott Devon again reading his Four Nights, an uncompromising poem about racial violence with the striking imagery of the bride’s dress turning red.

John Mather, another regular from The Howcroft is a lover of nature, reciting a poem in memory of an artist friend, telling how she ‘loved the view in winter’ and ‘her feathered friends sang songs of Spring’ concluding ‘she loved the season’s colours and all the season’s colours that in her garden grew’. Then John reminisced about Bolton, Rosehill, a once busy area with houses now boarded up. ‘…in my mind’s eye I saw it how it used to be’ and sadly ‘no clink of early morning milk deliveries’

Paul Blackburn obviously deeply affected by his experiences of popping up at Bolton Library, begged us to believe he was not a nutter ‘I’m just a poet in the gutter looking at the stars’- a nod to Oscar. Of course we believe you Paul, though there may be a certain perception by the public that we poets are all nutters.

Then that poetry giant and co-founder member of WOL, Julian Jordon took the stand with Identify. He was obviously not himself ‘I am not me, not the me I want to be/ you say be yourself/ being myself is not me. He told us how his mother taught him to deliberate with caution, and then followed that up with a love poem with practical overtones ‘you ironing a top for tomorrow’. A great performance that could only be equalled by another giant in the shape of co-founder, Dave Morgan who was afflicted with the attack of the killer clichés (I confess I’ve had that trouble too). His performance later struck a more serious note with the poetry police ‘a church’s bell chimed, in my mind a victim’s screams, police enter, search your gaff for being a poet’.

After a much needed break to recharge our batteries, the second half kicked in with Tony Walsh again starting off, insisting we should respect each other, share some dreams. He then introduced the supporting act Abi Idowu, another delightful regular, described how she had just thought of herself as just a female writer until she moved here from Nigeria to be confronted by the issue of colour. Abi is not only a brilliant bard but has an intriguing style of singing. Her haunting voice caressed us with ‘Our Souls’ a poem for her old lovers wherever they may be. In another poem she remarks how in daylight everyone is friendly, polite and how if she didn’t look around she could be one of them; she then declares ‘everyone loves a lover. As long as I’m lost in his embrace I am one of them’ – a deeply moving poet who touched our hearts when she told us Write Out loud was like ‘a bigger better family’. I think this says it all.

Finally we were treated to a superb performance from the headliner Cath Nichols, a poet of increasingly mounting reputation, having recently been commissioned to create a short work for BBC Radio on the slave trade. She has had a pamphlet published called Tales of Boy Nancy, with a full length collection due out from Headland Press in 2007. She has also been recorded on CD Oxfam Lifelines Poetry alongside colossal poets Carol Ann Duffy, Andrew Motion (Poet Laureate) and Wendy Cope. Wow!

Cath described how identity (the theme of the day) comes from family and that she was inspired to write her poem The Bees by an episode from the TV drama Spooks regarding police reaction to a demo, something that affected her 16 years ago:

‘our coach trying to leave embankment, vans police driving too fast’ and later ‘I thought if we did what they asked we’d be alright’. Sobering stuff indeed followed by another dark subject, slavery, - ‘we are all owned by someone. I belong to my father, he died now I belong to my brother’ and the excuse ‘by refusing sugar the market will collapse. If the market fails the slaves will be made homeless’ and yet another justification ‘will they drink coffee black to show sympathy for the cow?’

Finally Cath finished off with some of her work from Tales of Boy Nancy, the stories of those born in-between, which with newly commissioned music, film and text is set to be screened at The Albert Dock, Liverpool Sunday 29th October 2006 followed by a debate on Sunday 5th November at The Second Floor, Long Room Albert Dock, Liverpool, (Why don’t we all go along?) whereupon after a huge cheer, the evening came to a magnificent close, everyone declaring we were all stars and initiating mutual demonstrations of affection. A wonderful atmosphere.

Sandre Clays