Ten years ago, You Took the Last Bus Home was published. It was my first collection of poetry and incredibly, it’s still going strong. To celebrate the anniversary, I thought I’d share a poem from it every day this month, starting with the title poem.
you took
the last bus home
don’t know how
you got it through the door
you’re always doing amazing stuff
like the time
you caught that train
Dear intrepid reader,
Welcome to the opening sentence of my August newsletter, a sentence which has been variously described as “magnificent” (Times Literary Supplement), “irritatingly self-referential” (Spectator) and “mysteriously silent on the subject of aquarium maintenance” (Practical Fishkeeping).
It seems remarkable to have made it this far given that my first attempt at sending out a newsletter was not without its technical difficulties. Fortunately it was nothing a series of night classes, webinars and 50 hours of shouting at a “Happiness Engineer” could not resolve. My knowledge of SMTP configurations and email bounce limits is now superior to that of most poets, particularly the eighteenth-century ones.
Initial Enthusiasm
Birds do IT
Bees do IT
Even educated fleas do IT
Let’s do IT
Let’s enrol on a course in Information Technology
I used to think I was pretty good with technology. While never an early adopter, I did at least attempt to be a punctual one. These days, though, it feels like technology has begun to run away from me; or I have begun to run away from it. Even my lawnmower could do with an upgrade.
The Woolly Ruminator 5000
Featuring the latest in munching capabilities,
the Woolly Ruminator 5000
has been developed by leading specialists
in the field
to prevent your lawn
from becoming a lawn unto itself.
Each Woolly Ruminator 5000
has been installed
with revolutionary dento-pad technology,
enabling it to eat close to the ground
without pulling up those all-important grass roots.
With a range of mandibular settings
and a unique four-stomach design,
the Woolly Ruminator 5000
has the capacity to chew and chew and chew
whatever the conditions,
leaving you the time
to get on with the things you love.
The Woolly Ruminator 5000 –
it’s more than just a graze!
Available in white or black.
Not that the lawn needs cutting. It looks more like a shredded wheat farm right now, as does most of the UK. But desperate times call for desperate measures: the best chance of bringing some much needed rain to this island is for me to go on holiday on it. So that’s what I’m doing – I’m going to use seven of my 130 days annual leave allowance (the regulatory requirement for poets) by heading off to Cornwall, during which I expect it to bucket down.
Beach preparations continue regardless.
O do not ask if I am beach body ready
O do not ask
if I am beach body ready.
Observe how the folds
of my stomach ripple
like the wind-pulled waves.
Rub your hands
over these pale buttocks,
sand-smoothed by time.
Note my milk-white limbs
like washed-up whalebones,
stranded and useless.
Consider these tufts of hair
on my back and shoulders
which sprout like sea-grass.
And listen to the lapping
of my socks
at the shores of my sandals.
And still you ask me
if I am beach body ready?
By the time I arrive at the Edinburgh Fringe, beach-bronzed and sandy-creviced, all the other performers will be knackered and no longer worth seeing. I’m there for its final week, when I’ll be previewing an hour-long adaptation of my autumn show How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside, at the Assembly Rooms, between 24th and 30th August. Tickets are on sale here.
I’m up to all sorts there, including a couple of events at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. On 27th August, I’m taking part in an ‘All Star Poetry‘ evening in the Spiegeltent, alongside some fabulous poets: Janette Ayachi, Rachel Long, Leyla Josephine and Michael Pedersen. Tickets for that can be found here. Earlier that day, I’ll be joining legendary illustrator Joe Berger to bring some of the poems in our book A Poem for Every Question to life for children as part of the festival’s Schools Programme.
I’ll also be reading some Dickens. Not quietly in my spare moments, but as part of Dickens: The Readings, in which 22 different performers bring some of Big Charlie D’s most beloved stories to life. Be prepared to quake in your Uggs as I take on his classic ghost story The Signal-Man on 26th August. Tickets here.
Seeing as we’ve not had a poem for a few paragraphs, here are a few Dickensian clerihews:
Martin Chuzzlewit
loved beer so much he’d guzzle it,
although he never shared a Becks with
the younger Miss Pecksniff.
Nicholas Nickleby
cut his finger on something prickly
so little Dorrit
gave him ointment forrit.
Jilted Miss Havisham
got the blues and couldn’t banish ’em.
Her house was a mess.
She wouldn’t take off her dress.
This month sees the publication of the paperback of Let Sleeping Cats Lie, my collection of poems about pets. It was shortlisted for last year’s CLiPPA, the UK’s leading prize for children’s poetry, but some grown-ups seem to have enjoyed it, too.
It costs a mere £7.99, which is about the same price these days as an iced vanilla latte with oat milk, and is equally delicious. It’s available through your local bookshop, or online here.
And here’s a poem from it:
The Day My Dog Spontaneously Combusted
there he was,
chasing sticks,
doing tricks
and all that stuff
next minute, woof
It’s not long until my 44-date autumn tour around England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. I’ll write more about this in my next newsletter (so do remember to unsubscribe before then) but for now I’ll just say that more shows have sold out and a whole bunch of them only have a few tickets left.
It would be extremely helpful to me if you could buy up all the remaining tickets for this tour so I don’t have to keep posting dull messages about it on social media.
September
23rd: MONMOUTH: Savoy Theatre Tickets
24th: ABERYSTWYTH: Arts Centre Tickets
25th: CARDIGAN: Mwldan Tickets
26th: WINCHESTER: Guildhall Tickets
27th: GUILDFORD: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre Tickets
30th: HARPENDEN: Eric Morecambe Centre Tickets
October
1st: COVENTRY: Warwick Arts Centre Tickets
2nd: DARWEN: Darwen Library Theatre Tickets
4th: MALTON: Milton Rooms Tickets
7th: CROYDON: Fairfield Ashcroft Theatre Tickets
8th: DEAL: Astor Theatre SOLD OUT
9th: NORWICH: The Halls Tickets
10th: COLCHESTER: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
14th: LOUGHBOROUGH: MMC SOLD OUT
15th: MANCHESTER: Stoller Hall Tickets
16th: ULVERSTON: Coronation Hall Tickets
21st: KIDDERMINSTER: Town Hall Tickets
22nd: GLASGOW: Mackintosh Queen’s Cross Tickets
23rd: ABERDEEN: The Lemon Tree Tickets
24th: STIRLING: Tolbooth Last Few Tickets
28th: STAMFORD: Corn Exchange Tickets
29th: BURY ST EDMUNDS: The Apex Tickets
30th: CORSHAM: Pound Arts Centre SOLD OUT
31st: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
November
4th: WORTHING: Pavilion Tickets
6th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT
7th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT
11th: LEEDS: City Varieties Tickets
12th: SUNDERLAND: The Fire Station Tickets
13th: HELMSLEY: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
14th: POCKLINGTON: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
15th: SHEFFIELD: Memorial Hall Tickets
18th: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
19th: STROUD: Sub Rooms Tickets
20th: BRIDPORT: Electric Palace Tickets
21st: EXETER: Corn Exchange Last Few Tickets
22nd: BUDE: The Parkhouse Centre Tickets
25th: NEWARK: Palace Theatre Tickets
26th: BAKEWELL: Town Hall Last Few Tickets
27th: CHORLEY: Chorley Theatre Last Few Tickets
28th: LIVERPOOL: Tung Auditorium Last Few Tickets
30th: BRISTOL: St George’s Last Few Tickets
December
1st: CARDIFF: Glee Club Tickets
4th: LONDON: Union Chapel Tickets
A couple of people have mentioned to me that they found my first newsletter too long. While this feedback was extremely helpful, I think it worth pointing out that it is not compulsory to read it all – or, for that matter, any of it. And besides, I didn’t have time to write a short one.
Roger’s Thesaurus
In order to grow, expand, widen
his lexicological corpus,
Roger bought, acquired, purchased
a synonymopedia, a thesaurus.
Soon, presently, without delay,
he no longer ran out of things to say,
speak, utter, express, articulate,
give voice to, pronounce, communicate.
This was all very well, fine, great,
wonderful, super, terrific
but his friends, mates, pals found him
boring, tedious, dull, soporific.
So let this be a warning,
an omen, a sign, a premonition,
it’s all very well to show learning,
education, knowledge, erudition
but here’s a top tip, a hint,
a suggestions, some advice –
don’t ever let it stop you
from being concise …
brief, short, clear, pithy,
succinct, compendious, to the point,
compact, snappy, laconic.
Breviloquent.
Thanks – and until next time,
Brian
Hello brave subscriber,
Welcome to my first newsletter, a naive and futile attempt to escape from the horrors of social media: the lack of safety controls; the endless ads; AI; the ‘influencers’; the political agendas of the lunatics who run these platforms; and the messages which say things like “You’re eligible! Start earning with content monetisation today!”
Monetisation
The advert said
MONETISE YOUR FOLLOWERS
so he thought
he would respond
by painting them
in the changing light,
like waterlilies
in a pond.
Over time, I plan to retreat further and abandon electronic communications altogether. I’m currently working through the logistics of hand-delivering future newsletters and transmitting poetry to the world through a series of simple, easy-to-interpret smoke signals.
Good question. Thanks for asking. I’m not altogether sure, to be honest. But it will feature some poems – new and old – alongside news of where I’ll be and what I’ve been up to. Occasionally it may even include something interesting.
It’s taken me a while to get myself organised and send this out. Since I started to write this newsletter, the UK has had three new prime ministers, the ceasefire in the Middle East has begun and ended about fifteen times, Donald Trump has abolished the men’s World Cup following the USA’s exit, and the UK has just had another new prime minister.
Temp Required
for an office based
in Central London –
apply in writing
to Number Ten.
Previous experience
not essential –
you’ll be out of there
by 5, P.M.
But it’s a good time as any to have a go at this, while I find myself in between writing projects. My last book, How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside came out in April and I’m trying to figure out what to focus on next. One idea is a book of poems based around the English language and all its glorious absurdities and inconsistencies, etymologies and semantics, grammar and punctuation.
Reader Announcement
I, would, like,
to, apologise,
for,
the, slow
reading,
of,
this, poem,
this, is,
due,
to,
unexpected,
commas,
on,
its,
lines.
Another idea is to write a follow-up to Days Like These, my collection which contains a poem for every day of the year, with each poem linked to something significant about that day. For example, here’s a poem from that first book – the entry for 13th July, the day in 1944 on which the famous Cubist inventor, Erno Rubik was born:
An Introduction to Cubism
I never could quite work you out,
you always were a puzzle,
More twists and turns than a Rubik’s Cube,
you’d mystify and muddle.
Remember how I greased your joints
to make you lithe and supple?
Yet still you left me all mixed up,
no matter how I’d shuffle.
One layer at a time, you said.
Cracked the first without a fumble.
But the middle going started wrong
while last was. the jumble just a
Or maybe I’ll end up ditching the whole idea of a themed collection and just write some poems and bung them in a book. It could include this one, for instance, a poem about my compulsion to buy more books than I might ever possibly have the time to read:
TBR
The Japanese have a word for it – tsundoku –
the act of accumulating books
without ever getting around to reading them;
or at least, so I think I read somewhere,
possibly among these teetering stacks
that sprang up unnoticed but now dominate this room
like the skyline defines Manhattan.
Over here, though, the bookish remain bullish.
TBR, we call them – To Be Read –
as if there is no doubt we will get there in the end,
all we need is a little free time – a few decades perhaps –
a comfortable chair, a glass of whisky,
and the proximity of a deadline.
I used to find that acronym reassuring
when, having surveyed the turretless towers of my magical kingdom,
I would add another storey or two
to one such high-rise pile of hope,
but lately, I have begun to fear the maths are against me,
even if I were to stop writing this poem
and make a start on them now.
And I have been wondering about the other piles
which have accumulated in silence around me
and grown so tall
that they, too, will never be scaled –
those steep, soaring structures headed To Be Written;
To Be Seen; To Be Felt; To Be Said,
swaying imperceptibly to some unheard music,
their summits disappearing into the clouds.
So much to do and so little time, as the old saying goes,
although I’m sure Seneca or Schopenhauer
would have something more illuminating to say on the matter,
and so I resolve – on finishing these words
and thereby chalking off one, at least, from my TBW pile –
to cycle into town
and head for the bookshop
to see what else I can find on the subject,
and maybe I’ll pick up that new biography of Bob Dylan,
a brief introduction to behavioural economics
and six or seven more novels while I’m there.
In other news, I’m going to be reading some poems at the Edinburgh Fringe for the very first time this year. I’ll be there for a week, at the Assembly Rooms, between 24th and 30th August. Tickets are on sale here.
My main motivation for doing this is to use it as an excuse to go and see lots of other performers while I’m there. I’m particularly looking forward to the street entertainers.
Silent Witness
And then they came for the mime artists
And I did not speak out –
For I was a mime artist.
The last time I did a show in Edinburgh, a woman came up to me afterwards and told me how upset I had made her when I shared this poem online:
Frisbee
Frisbee whizzing
through the air,
above our heads,
over the sand,
into the water,
onto the waves,
out to sea.
You cried a lot that day.
Frisbee was a lovely dog.
I still have no idea what could have upset her.
On the subject of pets, I’ve been getting together again with indiepop sensations The Catenary Wires, who have put another of my poems to music. It’s called ‘Under a Cat’ and features on a brilliant compilation album, entitled Pets Sounds, consisting of songs about our (mainly) furry friends. The LP comes out on 17th July and includes contributions from a bunch of wonderful bands including The Burning Hell, The Magnetic Fields, Jetstream Pony, Railcard, Sassyhiya, The Cords, Swansea Sound, Special Friend, Caleb Nicholls and Lande Hekt. I’m very proud to see my much-missed cat Buttons make the album cover.
We’ve also made a video to celebrate the release of ‘Under a Cat, comprising some of the many photos sent in via social media of people who are, well, under their cats.
Pets Sounds is available on vinyl, CD and the various music streaming platforms. It’s not available, however, on compilation cassette, which is something I’ve not made since about 1986.
Compilation Cassette
It was about three weeks after we met
that I began work on that compilation cassette.
Each track the result of a deliberation worthy
of the Congregation of the Causes of the Saints,
subject to a process of veneration and beatification
before acceptance into the cassette tape canon.
It’s a miracle it got made at all.
I can’t remember now which songs made the cut.
There would have been no Country & Western
(there was never any Country & Western),
but they would have shown me to be
discerning yet eclectic, both acoustic and electric,
vaguely exotic, mildly erotic, quintessentially quixotic
and other things I was not.
I don’t know whether you ever played my cassette.
By the time I posted it through your letter-box,
you had already started going out with Colin Hancox.
He was good at rugby.
You will be able to hear the above poem, though, with musical accompaniment on 25th July, when we’ll be at the Cambridge Corn Exchange with a bunch of brilliant poets: Henry Normal, Mike Garry, Toria Garbutt, Jan Brierton, and the one and only Dr John Cooper Clarke. Tickets available here.
I had the pleasure of reading poems at some literary festivals last month: the Leek Arts Festival, Chester Literature Festival and the Nottingham Poetry Festival. As ever, thank you to all those who came along – and particular thanks to those unsung and often unpaid volunteers who gave up their free time to enable arts and culture to flourish in their communities. Spare a thought, though, for the poor residents of those towns who had to contend with the presence of poets in their vicinities.
Poetry Festival: Advice for Residents
Check your doors are chained and padlocked.
Keep your hatches battened down.
Lock up your jewellery and your whiskey.
There are poets in the town.
They’re kicking cantos down the high street.
They’re crooning in the chip shop queue.
They’re selling cinquains on street corners.
They’ve sprayed the bus stops with haiku.
Do not venture out past midnight.
Stay in bed. Don’t make a sound.
Clutch your crucifix and garlic.
There are poets in the town.
They’re soliloquising down the precinct.
They’re expounding on the tram, as well.
They’re slipping sonnets into handbags.
They’re lacing drinks with villanelles.
If one’s near, approach with caution.
Lend them not a single pound.
Walk in pairs. Stick to the footpaths.
There are poets in the town.
They’ll say one thing and mean another.
They’ll lie to you. They’ll tell the truth.
They’ll coax you in with words of honey.
They’ll comfort you, console, seduce.
They’ll break your heart or make it leap.
They’ll leave you battered, soothed, or warmed
Then leave your town in search of others.
Please take care. You have been warned.
Those June festivals helped me get my head around what poems and material to include when I’m on my gigantic 44-date tour in the autumn, covering England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. The show will be based around ‘How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside’ and along the way I’ll be talking about AI, Clare Grogan and how to achieve a basic level of competence in a limited number of simple unremarkable things.
Tickets are selling well and some shows have sold out. Here’s the full list of where I’ll be.
September
23rd: MONMOUTH: Savoy Theatre Tickets
24th: ABERYSTWYTH: Arts Centre Tickets
25th: CARDIGAN: Mwldan Tickets
26th: WINCHESTER: Guildhall Tickets
27th: GUILDFORD: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre Tickets
30th: HARPENDEN: Eric Morecambe Centre Tickets
October
1st: COVENTRY: Warwick Arts Centre Tickets
2nd: DARWEN: Darwen Library Theatre Tickets
4th: MALTON: Milton Rooms Tickets
7th: CROYDON: Fairfield Ashcroft Theatre Tickets
8th: DEAL: Astor Theatre Last Few Tickets
9th: NORWICH: The Halls Tickets
10th: COLCHESTER: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
14th: LOUGHBOROUGH: MMC SOLD OUT
15th: MANCHESTER: Stoller Hall Tickets
16th: ULVERSTON: Coronation Hall Tickets
21st: KIDDERMINSTER: Town Hall Tickets
22nd: GLASGOW: Mackintosh Queen’s Cross Tickets
23rd: ABERDEEN: The Lemon Tree Tickets
24th: STIRLING: Tolbooth Tickets
28th: STAMFORD: Corn Exchange Tickets
29th: BURY ST EDMUNDS: The Apex Tickets
30th: CORSHAM: Pound Arts Centre SOLD OUT
31st: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
November
4th: WORTHING: Pavilion Tickets
6th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT
7th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace Last Few Tickets
11th: LEEDS: City Varieties Tickets
12th: SUNDERLAND: The Fire Station Tickets
13th: HELMSLEY: Arts Centre Last Few Tickets
14th: POCKLINGTON: Arts Centre Last Few Tickets
15th: SHEFFIELD: Memorial Hall Tickets
18th: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
19th: STROUD: Sub Rooms Tickets
20th: BRIDPORT: Electric Palace Tickets
21st: EXETER: Corn Exchange Tickets
22nd: BUDE: The Parkhouse Centre Tickets
25th: NEWARK: Palace Theatre Tickets
26th: BAKEWELL: Town Hall Tickets
27th: CHORLEY: Chorley Theatre Tickets
28th: LIVERPOOL: Tung Auditorium Last Few Tickets
30th: BRISTOL: St George’s Last Few Tickets
December
1st: CARDIFF: Glee Club Tickets
4th: LONDON: Union Chapel Tickets
I do love a library. I’ve been writing this in Harrogate Public Library. Opposite me is a quote from Jorge Luis Borges: “I have always imagined that paradise will be a kind of library”. I would like to think that, too, although preferably without the man across the table from me, who has taken off his shoes and socks and keeps staring at me intensely while noisily picking his toenails. Perhaps I am typing too loudly.
LIBRARY NOTICE
PLEASE REMEMBER
THIS IS A LIBRARY
SO WE ASK THAT
YOU WORK QUIETLY
AND IF YOU’RE TYPING
ON YOUR LAPTOP
DON’T FORGET
TO TURN OFF CAPS LOCK
He’s still staring at me. I think it’s time I got out of here.
Brian
P.S. If you’ve enjoyed this update and you have a friend who you think might enjoy it too, please encourage them to subscribe here.
They have no need of our help
So do not tell me
These haggard faces could belong to you or me
Should life have dealt a different hand
We need to see them for who they really are
Chancers and scroungers
Layabouts and loungers
With bombs up their sleeves
Cut-throats and thieves
They are not
Welcome here
We should make them
Go back to where they came from
They cannot
Share our food
Share our homes
Share our countries
Instead let us
Build a wall to keep them out
It is not okay to say
These are people just like us
A place should only belong to those who are born there
Do not be so stupid to think that
The world can be looked at another way
(now read this poem from the bottom upwards)
I’m out and about reading poems at various literary festivals this week, starting with Leek on Wednesday, then Chester on Thursday. They’re both sold out but there are still tickets available for my show at the Nottingham Poetry Festival on Saturday should that be of interest to you. Tickets for that are on sale here: https://www.gigantic.com/nottingham-poetry-festival-tickets/nottingham-metronome-nottingham/2026-06-06-19-00
I’ll be at the Edinburgh Fringe for the last week of August, the Morecambe Poetry Festival in early September – and then have a 45-date tour in the autumn with my new book ‘How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside’. Both Oxford shows, one of the Bellaghy shows, Corsham and Loughborough have now sold out. There are a handful of tickets left for Pocklington, Helmsley, Deal and Colchester, while London, Leeds, Manchester, Bristol, Exeter and Liverpool are all selling quickly.
Finally, I’ve got a couple of poetry + music gigs with the brilliant Catenary Wires over the summer. We’re in London on 9th July and then in Cambridge on 25th July alongside Dr John Cooper Clarke and a raft of other brilliant poets.
A list of all my events, plus links to tickets can be found here: https://brianbilston.com/events/
upon retiring
from the mafia
he wove aquatic mammals
out of raffia
let me tell you
how I learnt this news:
he made me an otter
I could not refuse
The problem
of writingpoems
inhot weather
isthatthe words
getsweaty
and sticktogether.
UK people … here’s a nice thing from my publisher: the Great Big Brian Bilston Bundle Giveaway*.
It’s a chance to win copies of my books plus 2 free tickets to a show near you.
Alternatively, you could just buy those things.
Or even more alternatively, not buy those things at all. It’s completely up to you.
Anyway, here’s the link: https://www.panmacmillan.com/brian-bilston-bundle-giveaway
After the last ee
had uzzed its last uzz,
the irds and the utterflies
did what they could.
ut soon the fields lay are,
few flowers were left,
nature was roken,
and the planet ereft.
This is not the poem I had hoped to write
when I sat at my desk and the page was white.
You see, there were other words I’d had in mind,
yet this is what I leave behind.
I thought it was a poem to eradicate war;
one of such power, it would heal all the sores
of a world torn apart by conflict and schism.
But it isn’t.
Lovers, I’d imagined, would quote from it daily,
Mothers would sing it to soothe crying babies.
And whole generations would be given new hope.
Nope.
I had grand aspirations. Believe me, I tried.
Humanity examined with lessons applied.
But the right words escaped me; so often they do.
Have these in lieu.