Who Am I? (Performance Poem)

This is a performance poem rather than a page poem and I will be filming and uploading a video of the performance in the coming few days!

Who am I?

Who am I?

I am all of the magazines I ever read,

all of the articles that told me

I was a nervous girl

waiting to become a empowered woman.

All of the pictures telling me

what I like to wear, how I like my hair,

and what every girl is doing with their 'downstairs'.

I am the music I listen to.

I am Beyonce, Taylor Swift

I'm the Beatles and Panic! At the Disco.

You say goodbye, and I say hello.

I am all of the guys that ever

tried to touch me in a club.

I'm all the 'don't be shy's,

and, 'It's no big deal's.

All the guys who don't care

how I feel.

I am all the shoes I've ever owned.

I'm my first pair of trainers

with the light in the sole,

I'm my first pair of heels as a teen,

my first party I went to in them,

and all of the regrets in between.

I am all the colours I have dyed my hair,

I'm the accidental yellow,

I'm that happy blue,

I'm the 'notice me please' pink

and all the off colour hues.

I am all the posters I put on my walls,

I'm the pictures in frames

of my family, my friends.

I'm the pictures of ex boyfriends

tossed in the bin,

I'm all of the bullies

I swore wouldn't win.

I am my mum's eyes, her nose, her mouth.

I am my dad's coarse hair,

his refusal to back down.

I am my brother's practical jokes,

the frights, the trips, the scuffed knees, the brawls.

I'm the fights, the tricks, the crying, the falls.

I am the days I forget my coat

when the rain catches me on the way home,

I am the way it makes my make-up run down my face

and the way it permeates my skin.

I am the sunny days where the rays

seem to penetrate the haze

and burn from the inside out

as if my flesh was paper thin.

I am my arms, my legs, my hands, my head.

I am my lips, my hips, my brain, my breasts.

 I am all of the teachers that I had crushes on.

All the popstars, rockstars, celebrities

I ever obsessed over.

I'm all of the Spice Girls rolled into one

and all of the songs that they ever sung.

I am all the people who spoke patronisingly.

I'm loud, quiet, planned and spontaneous.

I am everything that people thought I could never be.

I have defied everything to be here and I am Me.

By Samantha Boarer

I'm Just Here for the Warmth

I’m Just Here for the Warmth.

I’m just here for the warmth,
The safety, the loving base,
I’m not here for drama,
To argue, or put on a face.
I just want to be with you,
To rock in pure simplicity.
Giving me fresh eyes, helping me

to recognise what I did not see.
And I promise in return for this
That I’ll love you infinitely
And I’ll always know by your kiss
That love for us is easy.
So I’m not here to be coarse
I’m just here for the warmth.

The Bed In response to Le Lit by Toulouse-Lautrec.

The Bed

In response to Le Lit by Toulouse-Lautrec.

Imagine the comforting embrace of safety.

Blanket up to their necks,

there together,

together in the soft hazel hue

coming from a protective doorway.

It listens when they sleep,

a portal to a breaking world

they are untroubled with.

Her eyes closed,

head on the pillow that

catches the dreams

which threaten to run away with her.

A dreamer of love,

chains of silver and gold,

in a world un-holstered.

He watches her through

half closed eyes,

watches the blush in her cheeks

blossom like spring daffodils

while falling into his own imagination.

His love spreads

like crimson blood across the bed

that soaks it up,

holds it for her,

until she wakes and realises

it has warmed her all night.

Their hands, their feet,

their faces, sleeping together,

safe from questions, from knowledge.

Safe from the need to know everything.

We strive in the day time

to be all the things we should,

running headlong into danger

as it embraces us,

then throws us away,

screwed up like litter,

while at night we sleep an innocent

childhood sleep,

that keeps us safe

from the hellions in the daylight.

By Samantha Boarer

Those Wild Saturday Nights

Here is the written version of the poem I have performed in a video below. Please, if you have any feedback let me know.

Those wild Saturday nights.

It was late one night. A Saturday,

and I was partying hard.

The music was loud…

in my headphones,

which were connected to my laptop

where I was trawling the internet

for ‘the one’, for the long run, not one night of fun.

I didn’t mention anywhere on my profile

about the pint glass

I was drinking wine from.

Made4u88 – sounds promising.

Likes long walks on the beach,

travelling the world,

cuddles on the sofa and

kissing in the rain,

and clearly a big fan of clichés.

But his hair is more than slightly grey

and instead of long walks

it looks like he plays Halo all day.

Okay, maybe not for me, but how about…

Tomlikestea83?

Well, he likes tea, I know that much already.

And I love tea!

He says he’s funny, dark and handsome.

Hold on. I’m sure that’s not the phrase.

I check his details and…yep…five foot three.

It’s not that I’m terribly shallow,

I just don’t want ‘the one’

To make me look like the BFG.

But more to the point,

what do I say about myself?

I can’t describe myself as ‘bubbly’.

I might as well say

‘I’m fat but desperately trying to ignore it’.

But then I think,

if you can’t handle this jelly…

mmm jelly…

So where is my chubby chasing,

works with disabled children,

dog loving, muscle toning,

Ben and Jerry’s bringing

Six foot Adonis?

I want it to be a love like

rain splashing into gutters.

I want excitement to ripple

with every drop until

it fills right to the top,

and then with a sudden drop

we can just lay on the Earth

holding on as it turns like

a giant spinning top.

Is that really too much to ask?

Well, I’ll hold out hope a little longer,

but if there’s anyone out there

and you like what you see,

I’m a blonde size ten with a shoe size of three.

Update!

Hey! I just thought that I'd give an update as I haven't had much time to write much poetry as I've been concentrating on a piece of prose for a competition. I will post that one after I have heard the results of the competition as I'm not sure I'm allowed to publish it at the moment.

So I haven't really told you what inspires me and what kind of poetry or writing I love.

Well my favourite type of poetry is performance poetry and within that area I love comedic poetry and love poetry. I absolutely love it when the two are combined. Anna Freeman, a performance poet from Bristol once came to speak in one of my uni lectures and she said that when she writes poetry about love she thinks of the images that she wants conjure and takes them further so that they're a bit weird but funny and light-hearted. I use that mantra when I'm writing my poems now because it's such an unusual way to think about poetry.

I do also love page poetry, my favourite page poet being Siegfried Sassoon, a poet who wrote his most famous poetry during the First World War. I also like Carol Ann Duffy's anthology called 'The World's Wife' because I like the twist that she puts on traditional stories and tales. And Spike Milligan! Who doesn't love Spike Milligan? I love absurd comedy and he is all about that! I've also read one of his memoirs called 'Hitler: My Part in his Downfall' and if you can get your hands on that you should definitely read it as it's one of the funniest books I've ever read.

Back to performance poetry though! It's so hard to pick my most favourite so I'll just give you all of them. I'll start with Taylor Mali who is an American poet and teacher. My poetry lecturer got to meet him and I'm just absolutely so jealous I couldn't tell you! He is so witty in his poetry but what I admire most is his deliverance. He is so confident and he never uses filler unless it's to make a point.

I also really love Anna Freeman who I spoke about above. There aren't many videos of her poetry on YouTube but you should definitely check what she has on there out. She is really funny and all of her poetry is relatable and down to earth. When she read at my university I just found myself thinking 'Yes! That's exactly how I feel!'.

I'll give you one last one and it's another American poet called George Watsky. I know I said I couldn't pick a favourite but if I had to it would be Watsky. I urge everyone to check him out on YouTube. He has a channel for his poetry and rap and a channel for video blogs. Again, I find I can relate to his poetry so much and he talks about real things and his poetry is not pretentious at all.

In a later post I'll talk about music that inspires me as that's a massive part of my writing process. But I don't want to make this post too long and bore you to death!

Peace out!

Taking The Mic

I've recently found an open mic night near to me where I live in Devon. The 'Taking the Mic' event is held in the Exeter Pheonix Bar Cafe at 8.00pm.It's once a month and I will be performing a 5 minute slot on September 19th!

Those Wild Saturday Nights

This is a new poem and a better version will be up soon!

Poetry Month!

As you may or may not know, in the UK we have National Poetry day, but America has national poetry MONTH! My poetry lecturer is American and she has put the poetry month challenge to us. The challenge is to write a poem a day for the 30 days of April.

I will be taking up this challenge so I would appreciate any poetry prompts or ideas that people have. I have some prompts and I'm excited to get started as I think I can really play around with different forms. If anyone else is doing this please let me know!

Samantha x

I love it when you kiss me standing up

I love it when you kiss me standing up (Performance Poetry)


A poem I performed at my first open mic night in Bath

The Curse of the Semi-colon

The Curse of the Semi-colon (Performance Poetry)


A poem that I performed at an open mic night in Bath.

Widmouth Bay - Samantha Boarer

A dark sky rolls in

over yellow sands,

the rain piercing the sea.

The grassy waves overlook

the beach and when I lick

my lips I taste salt.

When I breathe deeply

the clear air runs through me

like blood and cleanses my veins.

I blink through bleary,

rain covered eyes at the

brave white legs that

bound into the sea.

The wind whips my hair

and I can smell my mother

cooking bacon in the van.

The darkness clears

but the wind stays,

taking our kite with it

as it blows across the bay.

My father is pulled along

by it’s four meters.

I stay close, with

fear and excitement

tightening in my chest.

I follow the streams

in the sand to the sea

and pause.

Feet sinking in the sand,

hiding from the harsh sea

that still bites at my ankles.

Surfers run past, braver than I,

to greet with the icy water.

A dog splashes after a stick,

nostrils flaring as he

sniffs the unfamiliar air.

I look out to the horizon

then close my eyes,

trapping the soft yellow of the sun

under my eyelids.

By Samantha Boarer