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Day 25 - (FREE POST) Brian Elizabeth - AKA Write a poem after a funny conversation
Welcome to The Daily Aftershock Writing Prompt—a daily invitation to write from the edges of aftermath, memory, rupture, and repair.
Each day, you'll receive a short, charged prompt designed to crack something open. There are no rules, only resonance. Use these however you need: to begin a poem, to open your diary, to find your voice again.
Me and Rhian Elizabeth had a funny chat on Instagram the other day about how when she was young she wore a t-shirt with her name on it. I suggested she make one for me. Then somehow that turned into me being called Brian Elizabeth. And then… well, I wrote this poem, using this funny conversation, sort of inspired by Rhian’s latest book maybe i’ll call gillian anderson. Rhian’s poem amsterdam is in our first issue. Which you can buy here: https://www.aftershockreview.com/product-page/issue-1-the-aftershock-review
Brian Elizabeth can’t ride a bike and doesn’t want to (but that’s what he would say)
after Rhian Elizabeth & Gillian Anderson
It’s not the balance, he says, straddling
the grass verge like a reluctant god,
brake cables limp as undone bra straps
it’s the principle.
The principle being:
why move forwards when you can linger,
pose, let your cigarette ash fall like frost
on the handlebars of other people’s expectations.
Brian Elizabeth doesn’t want to ride a bike.
He wants to wear velvet in summer,
mourn a garden snail with ceremony,
quote The X-Files at inappropriate times.
The truth is out there,
he says, and to some extent he is determined
to find out what truth that is.
Is it tied to a railing with a flat tyre
and dreams of Tour de France?
At school, he once forged a sick note
in cursive so beautiful it made Miss cry.
Said he had a phobia of speed.
Also: helmets, spokes, the tyranny of pedal.
The idea of arrival.
Brian Elizabeth does not want a fixie,
a hybrid, a secondhand Raleigh with irony.
He wants desire without direction.
He wants Scully in season five,
when she’s stopped explaining herself.
Once, in secret, he tried. Wobbled down a cul-de-sac in twilight.
Fell. Blamed capitalism. Blamed gravity.
Blamed his ex.
He walks instead,
like a saint of the sidestreets,
grace in his limbs,
mystery in his gait.
Because not riding a bike
isn’t failure, it’s art.
And Brian Elizabeth is a f*****g installation.
Thank you very much.
And he sits, swiping on Gumtree,
saying, Hm. Not yet.
https://substack.com/@rhianelizabeth
Rhian Elizabeth is a trainee counsellor and a writer. She is a Hay Festival Writer at Work and was previously Writer in Residence at the Coracle International Literary Festival in Tranås, Sweden. Her latest collection of poetry, maybe i’ll call gillian anderson, will be published in May by Broken Sleep Books.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
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By Max Wallis' Daily Aftershock Writing Prompts (The Aftershock Review)Welcome to The Daily Aftershock Writing Prompt—a daily invitation to write from the edges of aftermath, memory, rupture, and repair.
Each day, you'll receive a short, charged prompt designed to crack something open. There are no rules, only resonance. Use these however you need: to begin a poem, to open your diary, to find your voice again.
Me and Rhian Elizabeth had a funny chat on Instagram the other day about how when she was young she wore a t-shirt with her name on it. I suggested she make one for me. Then somehow that turned into me being called Brian Elizabeth. And then… well, I wrote this poem, using this funny conversation, sort of inspired by Rhian’s latest book maybe i’ll call gillian anderson. Rhian’s poem amsterdam is in our first issue. Which you can buy here: https://www.aftershockreview.com/product-page/issue-1-the-aftershock-review
Brian Elizabeth can’t ride a bike and doesn’t want to (but that’s what he would say)
after Rhian Elizabeth & Gillian Anderson
It’s not the balance, he says, straddling
the grass verge like a reluctant god,
brake cables limp as undone bra straps
it’s the principle.
The principle being:
why move forwards when you can linger,
pose, let your cigarette ash fall like frost
on the handlebars of other people’s expectations.
Brian Elizabeth doesn’t want to ride a bike.
He wants to wear velvet in summer,
mourn a garden snail with ceremony,
quote The X-Files at inappropriate times.
The truth is out there,
he says, and to some extent he is determined
to find out what truth that is.
Is it tied to a railing with a flat tyre
and dreams of Tour de France?
At school, he once forged a sick note
in cursive so beautiful it made Miss cry.
Said he had a phobia of speed.
Also: helmets, spokes, the tyranny of pedal.
The idea of arrival.
Brian Elizabeth does not want a fixie,
a hybrid, a secondhand Raleigh with irony.
He wants desire without direction.
He wants Scully in season five,
when she’s stopped explaining herself.
Once, in secret, he tried. Wobbled down a cul-de-sac in twilight.
Fell. Blamed capitalism. Blamed gravity.
Blamed his ex.
He walks instead,
like a saint of the sidestreets,
grace in his limbs,
mystery in his gait.
Because not riding a bike
isn’t failure, it’s art.
And Brian Elizabeth is a f*****g installation.
Thank you very much.
And he sits, swiping on Gumtree,
saying, Hm. Not yet.
https://substack.com/@rhianelizabeth
Rhian Elizabeth is a trainee counsellor and a writer. She is a Hay Festival Writer at Work and was previously Writer in Residence at the Coracle International Literary Festival in Tranås, Sweden. Her latest collection of poetry, maybe i’ll call gillian anderson, will be published in May by Broken Sleep Books.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe