Wild Women at Glastonbury

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To kick the summer off, 4 of the crew (Vik, Gill, Sarah and Adam) packed up the air-conditioned hire car and headed south to Glastonbury, complete with fairy wings, poetry books and rosewater. Like all poetry gatherings, it was a fine community of souls that kept smiling, even though the heavens opened and flooded the site ‘til it resembled the slime pits of hell. Well, you know the rest from the various broadcasts – flooded tents, rivers of mud, smiling happy people, and more than a few trashed lost boys and girls wandering around, but the poetry kept flowing along with the mud and the beer. This is a photo montage diary of our trip we hope you enjoy it - and if you like it, come visit us at the Wild Women Press site. Cheers!

Here are a few poems composed in the mud by our very own Wild Woman Gill Hands (far left on picture)...

Dirty Mud Slut

I am the element I sleep on,
under my nails,
the tip of my toes,
welding pink rosebuds to my head.

Let Kate Moss boast skanky chic;
I did it bigger and dirtier.


Fairy Wings

Everyone wears them
with glittery dresses
and wellies,
all day,
even men.
I wave my wand and wish for someone’s
hair to put bunches in.


Wishes Come True

A pixie boy falls from an oak tree
into my lap.
His pinpoint pupils widen
in soft full moon.

I’m tempted to twine his hair through my fingers
but let him escape to play djembe.



Glamour…

on stage.
In wellies.

We all wear wellies,
even Mango in his glittery dress and curls.

Except Rachel Pantechnicon
who arrives pristine,
Venus on a half shell,
tights, court shoes,
full librarian’s outfit.

I hang around his tent
waiting for signs of transformation.



Making Coffee for Carol Ann Duffy

with Dreadlock Alien
in a tent.
Life may not get any stranger than this
but I hope it does.