‘Around the Cirrus and Nimbostratus’ by Simon Widdop, a poem about a fallen angel, is the new Write Out Loud Poem of the Week. Simon has been writing poetry seriously for almost three years, and has performed at Yorkshire open mics such as Spoken Weird in Halifax, Poetry and a Pint in Pudsey, and at the Red Shed in his home town of Wakefield. He has been a big fan of Simon Armitage since his GCSE days, and he also admires Salena Godden and Charles Bukowski.

 

What got you into writing poetry?

I can't really pinpoint one specific moment that started it all off, but I remember enjoying Simon Armitage during my GCSEs in the anthology we had to use in the curriculum. From there I would write bits and bobs but never considered performing or showing them to people until a chance night of seeing A Firm Of Poets in Horbury about two and a half years ago.

 

How long have you been writing?

I've been writing seriously now for two and a half years. I've had several pieces published online by literary outlets and I'm aiming to have my debut collection published.

 

Do you go to any open-mic nights?

I get to as many open mic events as I can, though I frequent Spoken Weird in Halifax and Poetry and a Pint in Pudsey more. I'll be performing at Bolton Socialist Club on 29 April with Bard Company and headlining Spoken Weird on 4 May.

 

What’s your favourite poet/poem?

Well, that's a tough one. It's hard to pick just one but I will say Simon Armitage, Salena Godden and Charles Bukowksi are in my top listing.

 

You're cast away on a desert island. What's your luxury?

I'd have to take my Mp3 player (yes, I know the battery isn't going to last forever) but I couldn't live without music. Plus who wouldn't want Tom Waits and Roger Waters keeping them company?!

 

 

AROUND THE CIRRUS AND NIMBOSTATUS 

by Simon Widdop

 

Scoliosis – abnormal lateral curvature of the spine – from the Greek skolios

 

The angel used to dance high above
from down here
I gleefully watched her run rings
around  the Cirrus and Nimbostratus
through long daylight and short moonlight
only touching the soil with her feet to make sure we were still safe and warm

Watching her stumble was an unnerving sight
the snag of a razor thin wire
hooked between two points, naked to the eye
the twisting wings, heavy feathers gently raining
muffled thud
as the angel fell

The surgeons, the Doctors and the Consultants
whisked around
squabbling and squawking over the best course
one said to place great rods of steel to brace her body
a rival for Gormley’s sculpture
another
said to restructure the bone
pinch a piece away like a giddy child with plasticine
rolling it between finger and thumb and placing it gently back

She was left with a precision scar
eight inches vertical down her neck
doped up with morphine and co-codamol
to give her visions of the Cirrus and Nimbostratus
attempts to encase her in plaster    
but she broke free of all restraint
to stand on her own feet

The angel doesn’t fly these days
she walks with us now
away from the Cirrus and Nimbostratus
still proud of her wings