Street photography in Nottingham juxtaposed with French text.
Mixing it up: Stick your posh wine where the sun don’t shine.
Mixing it up: Snails for dinner tonight?
Street photography in Nottingham juxtaposed with French text.
Mixing it up: The Circus? Over there. Ten minutes.
Street photography in Nottingham juxtaposed with French text.
Mixing it up. “I totally love Coco Chanel perfume. Oh goodness yes!”
Mix up (1.) of street photography around Nottingham and juxtaposed with French.
Creative Thinking: Thoughts aired.
I took this photograph in the Victoria shopping centre in Nottingham with the future intention of adding random thoughts of the people sitting or moving around the space. I have used some unique creative thinking around what they might be thinking or saying – a few in Portuguese and Italian – just for variety. Less a poem and more an exercise in creative thinking. Phil Lowe
Poem: Partir/Verlassen
This is a found image that I came across on the way back to the railway station in Derby (England) from seeing a Shakespeare play. It reminded me very much of Dada and although I have no real fond connection with this city of my birth – it has changed so much over time – this quirky image somehow reconnected me with things nostalgic. I can’t properly explain why. Perhaps growing up in Derby gave a me a sense of the absurd. Phil Lowe
Poem: Headless
Just messing with words or getting all Phil Lowe Sophical?
Poem: Back Again
My cat likes to go out at night and I don’t have a cat flap. He usually comes back around 6am. Not today. He decided to go through the cat flap next door and sleep on their spare bed. I called him and called him and finally, after 11am he decides to come out and return home. In between time I took advantage of him not being around and did a fair amount of hoovering and house cleaning. He hates the hoover. On return, he seemed ravenous.
Poem: 907
This rather macabre poem was written after buying a hot bacon cob from a working class café in The Victoria Centre in Nottingham. Normally I would be bothered by the vast amount of fatty grease that was dripping from the bottom of my cob (roll or bap) on to my plate. However I was ravenously hungry and animal instinct took over and in the words of the poem I wolfed it down. 907 is the order number and I was given a raffle ticket as I placed my order so that when the serving woman shouted out my number my food would reach my table tout suite.
Poem: Emanuele di Napoli
Inspired by reading about an Italian dancer’s experiences working in the UK. The man depicted is not Emanuele but shows the same degree of grace and dancer muscularity.
Poetry and creative writing by Phil Lowe 