Introduction

 

Multiplastic

The poetry blog of 
Seán Fitton - Seany Minstrel


Introduction

Some people are amazing at doing a thing.  Society loves that kind of person.  They might be an artist or an astronaut, a musician or a mechanic, a poet, a plumber or a police officer.

They know who they are.  They’re definite.

I’m not one of those people.

Some people are certain in their faith. Christians, Pagans, Jews, Muslims.  They understand their place in the Greater Scheme and their spirituality fits them like a cosy blanket.
They know who they are.  They’re definite.

I’m not one of those people, either.

Some people know indisputably that they are a man, or a woman, or a non-binary person, that they’re straight, or gay, or bisexual.
They definitely know who they are.

I’m not . . . yep, you guessed it.

I don’t feel like I’m any of those people, but at the same time I appear to do some quite convincing impersonations.  Often without trying, or even intending to.
I also feel like I’m not alone in this.
I think there’s a lot of us.

So, in order to turn this imposter syndrome on its head and give us misfits something positive to identify with – to turn a fault into a virtue - I discovered/remembered/invented a word:

Multiplastic.

Multiplastic is a blob of putty.  It can be any shape.  It can look like almost anything and still be a blob of putty.  And when it’s had enough of being that shape it can become a blob again, or a different shape.  Any shape.  The possibilities are endless, as long as the putty doesn’t dry out. 

Some poets concentrate on a subject.  They have a voice and style, instantly recognisable, of their own.  They are definite about who they are.

I don’t think I’m one of those poets, even when I am poet-shaped. 
I flit between styles and forms, between comedy and heartbreak, between self-centred navel-gazing and boisterous yelling at society.  But I’m not inconsistent.  I’m claiming my word: multiplastic.

I hope you like the word.  Feel free to use it if you do.
I hope you like my multiplastic poetry too.

December 2023

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Phone

Phone (A trio of Triolets)   I wanted to tell you the lights had changed But you were staring down at your phone I wanted to tell you how much we’ve aged I wanted to tell you the lights had changed And how an oak tree’s leaves were arranged And how we are never, truly, alone I wanted to tell you the lights had changed But you were staring down at your phone When you were staring down at your phone What was it, that you had seen? Was it a place that felt like home When you were staring down at your phone? And was it better than standing alone Waiting for the lights to turn green? When you were staring down at your phone What was it, that you had seen? So, what was it that you had seen When I wanted to tell you the lights had changed? Did you learn with joy why leaves are green? What was it, that you had seen? And maybe you felt how connected we’d been And laughed inside at how much we’ve all aged What was it, that you had seen When I wanted to tell you the...
Read more

Start Again

Start Again I want to start it all again And not be reminded every day Of somebody who has died I want to wake up not remembering Who crocheted our blankets And why there’s a sheet under the sofa cushions I want to go shopping and recognise nobody And not remember whose milk I used to buy And who enjoyed cheap QC sherry I want to forget how to say ‘used to’ And ‘was’ and ‘did’, and instead remember ‘Will be’ and ‘is’ I want to discover new towns, climb hills And forget that I no longer need to remember Who might like to hear about them I want to cross bridges and turn corners That I’ve never turned before This time, unaccompanied by ghosts I want my tears to come by choice Like knick-knacks and gewgaws, locked in a box Opened only when I feel like it I want to fly into old age on wings of amnesia Caring only for what lies ahead Rusty chains broken around my skinny ankles I want to start again, and again, and again And not be reminded, every damnable day...
Read more

Grammys 2025

Grammys 2025 (a trio of triolets) We know you, Kanye West And your fragile, macho type Sticking out your chin and your chest We know you, Kanye West   Proud of your manipulating best Believing every word of your own hype We know you, Kanye West And your fragile, macho type We know you, Bianca Censori And the deadness behind your eyes We know you’ll be afraid of reaching forty We know you, Bianca Censori Desperate to hold on to security You’ll dive right into the gaslighting lies We know you, Bianca Censori And the deadness behind your eyes We know you, soulless Hollywood And your paparazzi prurience Holding only money as the highest good We know you, soulless Hollywood That nothing sells better than tits and blood Throwing artists on the fire at the very first chance We know you, soulless Hollywood And your paparazzi prurience   February 2025
Read more