LIVERPOOL POETS 2008
Damien Kelly
(advertising copy provided by Damien)
Fast making a reputation for himself as one of Liverpool’s most talented up n’ coming poets, 35 year old Damien Kelly has a unique style all of his own.
Bending words and sentences into unusual shapes and gifted with a streetwise delivery that transforms the written word into an often surreal scouse stream of consciousness, Damien’s poetry deals with big themes; personal identity, political corruption, human nature and the city of Liverpool and its people. Yet, he does so in a thought provoking yet humorous manner, always providing unusual and unpredictable perspectives on everyday life and his own personal demons.
Although Damien has been writing poetry for over ten years, it is only recently that he’s been performing his work, recently blowing away the audience at the Dead Good Poets Society. With his constantly inventive turn of phrase and deep scouse delivery, Damien is a breath of fresh air in a city that claims to have poetry in its blood, yet seems unable to break free from the shackles of the sixties.
Damien Kelly is a truly modern poet, using the REAL language of Liverpool to describe universal truths. A selection of his work will be included in a forthcoming volume of poetry and prose by The Spider Project.
Contact Damien
Dead Kelly
To myself, no-one has ever been any snider
I was bold and malicious, yet I couldn’t make cider
Difference between Damien and his potential, like Les Dawson, could not be wider
So I harped on of my history
And became hysterical, heretical, hideous hider
I orienteer, I know the terrain, had a map yet still got lost
I’m going to my own embassy, to place an embargo with two fingers crossed
I will beat my damaging demeanour, I will challenge my cost
You could set your watch by my frequent, frivolous frost
How you stand out, is only what our schizoid embellism embossed
Akin to vegetables in a salad bowl, and what extent they’ve been tossed
The ladder of my life, every rung was meticulously mossed
Nastrovia! Skol! Bottoms up! Cheers and fucking Prost!
But I’m not bitter, I could be a lot worse than I am
For, like a magician, abracadabra, deh deh but couldn’t remember shazam
Miss Marple is only a backwards Spanish guy called El Pram
Nearly fooled yous, only me in my life, that aint no scam
Do you not see, I told Mr Warburton to get into bread
Mr McDougal only made flour till I introduced him to Father Ted
But I never flew or flourished, I strolled upon street cred
Never thought of what I spoke, thought of only what they said
You see, I need me like a cavernous hole in the head
I still believe in fraternity, the cause for which I’ve bled
Me and myself, not married, sort of whimsically wed
I walked uncharted path, where others fear to tread
Decapitation, le guillotine, off with his head
I need to examine why I chose famine and never got fed
I wear a thick jersey in the Mersey, should’ve been shorts in the Med
I am my own outlaw, last name Kelly, first name Dead.
Damien Kelly
Anyone wishing to contact this poet can do so through emma.jackson@linuxmail.org
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