The first installment in a metaphysical conceit piece on life. Heavy description but the aim is just to have fun with my work and extend metaphors.  

Life's Dinner Party

Just like the River Goddess Fountain renamed “Floozy in the Jacuzzi” by locals,
And Lady in Waiting by me and my friends,
We are a city of misconceptions, 
From inside and out. 

Our city council like to boast that we’re one of the most multicultural cities in the UK:
Second to London, again!
Another phrase that likes to get thrown about is ‘melting pot’.
Melting pots aren’t real:
They are an over-used-unwashed metaphor 
For societies becoming more homogeneous, melting together
Into a harmonious whole with one common culture.

We are anything but common. 

We are not a melting pot. 
And there is nothing wrong with that;
We enjoy the pockets of people stitched together 
Difference is celebrated and explored. 
Come Monday morning we all wake to the hustle and bustle 
Dragging out bodies out onto this city street.
March to the throng of the beating heart based in the centre. 

What we are is more like:
A stadium named after a conqueror,
Where athletes come to be remembered. 
We are the chanting of the home crowd echoed onto the walls 
“BIRMINGHAM, BIRMINGHAM, BIRMINGHAM”. 
We are a Sikh man standing in the pews of the city centre chapel 
Bathed by the sunlight of stain glass windows.

Here, faith is a factor 
Only if you want it to be. 

They call us Second-City,
But we’re second to none.
First class when it comes to community.

I know first-hand how welcoming you can be Birmingham. 
Interloper at six, local at twenty. 
I know first-hand that you are home. 

When I was still Caribbean green,
And had an accent that tasted of ripe mangos 
And forever summer;
You didn’t try and wash the sea from me.

Instead you offered right of way 
On your multiple cannels, 
Endless opportunities to meet people born and bred here 
Others who flock here. 
 Always infinite enlightenment like you did for the 18th century
Lunar society. 

Our accents maybe mocked, 
But who cares?
We know the truth
We are not simple and slow.
And even if we were,
Our quick hearts would more than make up for it. 


Reactionary Heart at Birmingham

This is a spoken word poem I'm currently working on, I'm just trying to tackle my religious doubts so I maybe be open.

Lexia Tomlinson