How's my coal getting on? A Hinkley Point poem.

To mark the decision on Hinkley Point C, an extended poem from the short version in Sunspots (Penned in the Margins) in which the Sun discusses energy and alternative sources.

How’s my coal getting on? 
I set as much aside for you as I could.
Don’t use it all up at once.
It might come in handy one day.

How’s my oil faring? 
It keeps best underground, in the dark.
Doesn’t do so well in the light.
Don’t let it spoil.

How’s the wind blowing?
I try to keep it moving,
keep it on the muscle,
keep the pressure on, make it hustle.

How’s the hydro hanging?
All that potential.
You don’t oughta de-water: watch out for insects, birdlife.
You’re dammed if you do and you’re dammed if you don’t.

Any breaking news on wave power?
I’ve hired an intern to handle the oceans.
If we could make some ripples, get more converts,
that would be swell. 

Geothermal sounds like a blast.
I’ve got files and files on extremophiles.
Plucky geezers. There’s life in the oven and life in the freezer.
I’ll keep the volcanoes ticking over for you.

Nuclear’s nothing new
but until some of you stop
saying nucular
I’m not sure it’ll do.

Hydrogen: now that’s my bag.
People say I’m full of it
but one day you’ll get a grip,
stick with it: there’s more than one way to fuse a cat.

You’ve got to get off-grid, kids.
One day I’ll blow the lid off.
Your magnetosphere’s too tempting for me,
like bubble wrap I’ve gotta pop. 

I assume you’re using solar, right? 
This other stuff’s for backup.
In case there’s a rainy day
for me, in space. 

Talking of which,
one day you’ll sail away
on a fair wind of photons.
Remember me this way.

Sunspots: Bournemouth Arts by the Sea Festival, October 13th

From the north to the south and an intriguing new venue: Bournemouth's Natural Science Society. This beautiful Italianate Victorian building is crammed with cabinets full of shells, skulls, skeletons and all manner of natural wonders: the kind of things my Sun likes to take credit for: "I made the cats./I make the snow."

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Sunspots: Manchester Martin Harris Centre for Music & Drama, October 9th

Room 101 was my hotel room in Manchester, nothing to do with the wonderful Martin Harris Centre with its back-screen projection, remote controlled lighting rig and helpful technical staff. And we were in the John Thaw Studio Theatre! I've loved John Thaw since the 70s when my parents would let me stay up late to watch The Sweeney on school nights. But the next day, I couldn't get Inspector Morse's voice out of my head: "There's been a performance of Sunspots, Lewis..."

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Sunspots: Reading South Street Arts Centre, October 8th 2015

After London, Reading was another 'home fixture'. I lived here from 1989 to 1997, having side-stepped academia to work at Our Price Records for a couple of years. The second 'Summer of Love', which I'd spent in Brighton and which did its best to distract me from my MA, was soon clouded o'er by Britpop and the seeping mist of shoegazing.

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The Color of Money: Grady Seasons

Scorsese's hugely underrated 'The Color of Money' is on BBC One right now. I'm reminded of when my friend Beril challenged me and Luke Heeley to write poems about the sleazy bit-part hustler Grady Seasons

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