Biography of Dave Birss
I only really started writing poetry properly about 3 years ago. It was all a misunderstanding. A friend asked me to read some of my poetry at a magazine launch evening. And I forgot to say no. So I ended up having to write enough poems to fill a 20 minute set.
And then I was bitten by the bug.
Since then I must have written over 500 poems. Sounds a lot - but most of them are very short. My shortest poem so far is 8 letters. And I still think it's a bit flabby.
I write under a couple of different identities as well as under my own name. These are:
The Gorilla Poet - mainly kid's poetry
The Guerrilla Poet - poetic vandalism
I also occasionally read my poetry on BBC radio shows. And I write poetry live on air every couple of weeks on my local breakfast radio show.
To top it all off, I'm running a project to get British schoolchildren to write poetry for a book that will raise money for charity. I've got a bunch of cool celebrities on board as well - and hopefully this year it will earn a few thousand pounds for good causes.
Dave Birss's Works:
Poems for Pudsey - written by schoolkids and celebrities to raise cash for charity
Breaking out of the library - a photographic record of poetic vandalism
Finbar's Family - the poetic tale of a strange young boy
Dave Birss Poems
I'm happysad laughcrying from our goodbye-ing and farewell kisses
Jocasta tried to eat her pasta fasta than her brother who was the masta.
Two more sleeps till I see you And time just travels too slow. Then when it’s us I’ll be frustrated because
empty ‘cos you’re so far away full when I hear your voice every day
The other lads in my class used to collect their gob
I wanted a coffee-to-go Which to this girl Was like the end of the world. I was clearly being unfair
I’m supposed to be a poet But the words come so slow it Just puts me to shame. Should I give up this game
Nodding In Disagreement
When God made the pigeon There was one extra bit In his do-it-yourself Build-a-pigeon kit
Forced To Make A Stand
A pregnant lady got on to my bus. I was always taught not to make a fuss But to get to your feet And offer your seat.
Every time we passed They laughed It may seem paranoid And daft
31 Things You Never Want To Use
The helmet for your motor bike A big syringe with a scary spike A bumper pack of sticky plasters The revolting oil that comes from castors
Like a paperback With yellow pages And a broken spine Or a corkscrew
Stuffed with olives And pickled with red wine My Roman retreat Is almost complete.
If I Were You
If I were you I'd fancy me Because I'd have your physiognomy; You hair,
laughcrying from our
and farewell kisses
and this is
cos through the
that you and I
should never say