Formed; A poem by Alan Whitfield


Surly there’s more to the peacocking parlour.
Thick set with dusts facade glow,
the great protection racket.
A receptacle mind,
fitted and installed to different kinds.
Glass key smudges,
the twitter the talk,
hand outstretched, that walk.
On looking judges
Contrived insular vortex
locked to the task ahead
In the brackets
(the gloss rag blue print)
no need to be original


Author: alanwhitfield80

Hello! I get about a bit so here about me first. I am a visual artist and poet who works within the context of fine art. My work is grounded in documentary, exploring the inner beauty of everyday life through various lens based media. Notions of nostalgia and social commentary are present, but from a definite northern working class perspective. Instinctively I exploring the townscapes of North Wales and the North West, often producing work that reflects the every day minutiae of life.

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