Harry Whitewolf's Blog - Posts Tagged "poems"
My new New Beat Newbie book!
My new book of unique beat driven poetry is ready to orgasmically burst out into the world... so you'd better watch out! Whitewolf's about.
Come on cats, let's go.
Let's teach those old dog cheap trick beatniks some new kicks and bottle up and blow.
Explode, like helter skelter moon dogs in the night.
Overdose with bebop prose bent towards the ears of no fear's generation.
A new razzmatazz jazz jerking sensation.
-From 'The Beats Go On'.
NEW BEAT NEWBIE.
Written in a frantic blur of inspiration over the first two months of 2015, this short collection of contemporary neo-beat poetry by spiritual travel writer Harry Whitewolf is a passionately delivered, in your face dose of pop prose for the digital, conspiratorial, twenty first century world.
Political poems like Kissinger Can Kiss My Ass and Frack Off ride alongside conspiracy themed odes like Illuminate Me Illuminati and Fly Your False Flags. There are beat homages (Cider With Snyder, The New Beat Newbies), mystical musings (Bye Bye Bao Bao, Mystic Prison), poems mimicking and mocking the modern age (#Smiley Face, Googling Goo), as well as tales of timeless hedonism (Legless Pub Crawls, Malbec Green Bottle Neck).
Both comic and tragic, angry and compassionate, this collection of new poems is ultimately Whitewolf's howling for a peaceful revolution. Beginning with rhythmic baby new beats.
NEW BEAT NEWBIE FREEBIES!
You can read a lot of my book New Beat Newbie here:
https://www.goodreads.com/reader/6745...
And if you ask nicely, I might send you a pdf or epub copy- just message me!
Available on Amazon Unlimited for
£/$0.00!
Kindle edition:
$1.48 including VAT (U.S)/£0.99 (U.K)
http://www.amazon.com/New-Beat-Newbie...
http://www.amazon.co.uk/New-Beat-Newb...
Paperback edition:
$5.38 (U.S)/£2.99 (U.K)
http://www.amazon.com/New-Beat-Newbie...
http://www.amazon.co.uk/New-Beat-Newb...
Thanks for your interest!
Harry.
I would also like to thank Mat Kondo, not only for his liberal allowance of my stealing the term 'neo-beat' from him, but also for his book First Harvest: Collected Poems, 2003-2013 for igniting the poetic flame.
The Invasion Of Web Into Heads' Webs and other verse vids
Here are my three latest short videos of contemporary performance beat poetry for your viewing and listening pleasure (or other emotion, depending on your point of view).
SICK OF POLITICS
This was a staple favourite to perform back in the day when I actually performed my poetry live!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR55L...
FRACK OFF
An anti-fracking poem with looping fracking beats!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuWnE...
THE INVASION OF WEB INTO HEADS' WEBS
Wanna see the Whitewolf perform poetry whilst head-wrapped in cables?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSFjB...
SICK OF POLITICS
This was a staple favourite to perform back in the day when I actually performed my poetry live!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR55L...
FRACK OFF
An anti-fracking poem with looping fracking beats!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuWnE...
THE INVASION OF WEB INTO HEADS' WEBS
Wanna see the Whitewolf perform poetry whilst head-wrapped in cables?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSFjB...
PROPAGANDA MONKEYS - The New Book Out Now!
My new book of old poems:Propaganda Monkeys - Twenty Poems From My Twenties: 1996 - 2006 is now available on Kindle, and the paperback will be out in the next few weeks.
Here's the promo vid; a cut-up poetry performance:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g3vE...
Here are the first nine poems:
https://www.goodreads.com/reader/7080...
And here's the blurb:
Propaganda Monkeys: Twenty Poems From My Twenties is a short collection of punch packing prose pieces bursting with youthful vision, confusion and yearning. Amongst its pages, you’ll discover: vivid political anger, reflections on love, scepticism towards the plugged-in Capitalist world, a little bit of no-nonsense nonsense, personal moments of coping with depression, a sprinkle of wry humour, and a contemporary dose of boundary pushing, beat pumping verse, from when author Harry Whitewolf was just a cub.
If anyone wants a free pdf or epub copy, please send me a message.
Or you could (Eek!) consider buying a copy. It's only 99p on amazon.co.uk
http://www.amazon.co.uk/PROPAGANDA-MO...
and $1.56 on amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/PROPAGANDA-MONK...
Thank you to everyone who has supported me and my work. You know who you are!
RIGHT ON BRIGHTON
If I'm allowed to have a personal favourite poem from my Two Beat Newbie book, then Right On Brighton (the longest poem in the collection by far!) would be it:
RIGHT ON BRIGHTON
Just outta uni.
I was a real Real World Fresher.
Where could this featherweight newbie
Of this new century, go for his pleasure?
Hmm. Needed a new home.
Went down to Brighton where everyone’s green and stoned.
On my own.
Alone.
Down to Brighton where everyone’s gay.
Down to Brighton, where hippies are O.K.
The lights on in Brighton, where people have their say.
The big band bang boom and the tie-dye bop, smelly basement rooms and late night bus stops. Hip hop, chip shops, wearing flip flops, feeling tip top, never stop. Opt for late night clubs kicking comedic blubs and poetry slams and funk soul jams. Get a veggie burger from Grubbs.
**
Downing lager, by the beach, down in Brighton. Right on Brighton. Got the sights on. Got the lights on. Locked the highs on. Nice one. Hopping the highlights of hot sagas that race through my mind. Drinking mad hop lagers for the sake of fake rhymes, when the spell of Real Ale was always more my thing. Leaving Brighton’s seaside to one side, I’m thinking ‘bout wannabe Kurts, crusties, yurts, King Kurt T-shirts, shirkers, dread heads, head-shrinkers, burks, chav bling and youthful stride things. Living it up in strobe dubbed shake lighting. First high flying years in Brighton, right on, crazy Brighton, high with the lights on, quick like lightning, were a blast and fast and now past, but cast a fishing line from my mind back to the chats and the squats and the girls I had the hots for and the dim, dingy dealers’ pungent poky smoky flats, and Concorde 2 gigs, Komedia comics, cigs and all that. After work gorge at The Dorset and George, fall to the floors. Any takers for Basketmakers? And all the other lovely-jubbly bubbling pubs in the Lanes and all the subs. The entertaining drinks and grub. Getting high on doorsteps. Grooving up cool clubs.
**
See Arthouse World flicks at Duke of York’s. Tea at the caf, stirred with plastic forks. Get your copy of SchNEWS. Go to private views. Hear the beat of small bar blues. Hen party Valkyries. Art galleries. And geezers on good salaries, listening to Valerie, before it was Winehouse actually. And dub. Boy, down in Brighton, right on Brighton, the shakes were sure hot. Remember making it young, uncaring and alive, the guys and high fives, and the girls never got. The whirls, the mods, moody blues and bad moods. And self-proclaimed gods. Quirks, smirks and jerks. Jammers and jitters. Pints of bitter and carpet fitters. The protesters, anarchists, activists, the revellers, the Levellers, The Level, the lefties, the arties, house parties, the Commies, eco-friendlies, the cafs, the gift of the gabs, Alan’s friend Babs, Albion fans, albinos, fake tans, trans-genders on benders, drag queens on the scene, hang about at Tragic Roundabout and Eighties Matchbox concert bouts. The smokers, the jokers, midnight tokers, anti-voters and Attila The Stockbroker.
**
You’ll find more truth seekers there. Down in Blighty’s Brighton blimey seaside air. Right on Brighton. Nice one. Always a party. Everyone’s arty. Everyone’s vegan. Hm, fucking squawking, squealing, black bin bag ripping seagulls. Arseholes. Anyway, Brighton. Brighton. Right on Brighton. Nice one. Vegetarians, Vespas, hipsters, queens, has-beens, times good, Infinity Foods, Brighton rock and riots. Quiet. Smoke some weed, in our flat, playing board games and all that, with tunes and deep chat, people passing through, all knowing where it’s at. Chilling or standing up on our feet, dancing to The Streets, or some ska beats or Undertones, Stevie Wonder and The Ramones and Stones, and Bentley Rhythm Ace and Small Faces in haze. Smokes with The Strokes. Always broke. Not too much coke. The twirls and jokes, the girls and blokes who like boys to be girls who do boys in Blurred plagiarised quotes of rude boy shenanigans. Sing along again, high on hash with Johnny Cash, The Clash and Ash. De La Soul, maybe Ben Folds, and The Las, playing along with guitars. Billy Bragg. Arab Strap. Put on Dolly Parton, Frank Black, Jack White, Al Green, Patti Smith, Portishead, Grateful Dead, Hunky Dory, Gorky 5, Mogwai, The Pharcyde, The Hives, Derek and Clive, and Lee Scratch Perry, or watching the telly, filling our bellies with munchies, slow Brighton paced, can’t be arsed, watch Spaced, our flat adorned with post-student knickknacks and tatt you think you’re always gonna want to keep. Wrong. Back to the clubs and the pubs and the dub and the rub and rub-a-dub and rubber gloves and push and shoves and bars and ha-has and hoo-has. Brighton. Brighton. Right on. Yurt makers and yogis and Dolies and homeopathists and marches and artists and buskers and smugglers and jugglers and hustlers, down by the bright Brighton seaside.
**
Take a stroll on the pier. Smell some gear in the air. There’s a homeless man. Just there. Now here’re the festivals, Fat Boy on the beach, Pride in the park, passing joints in side streets, down in Brighton, right on Brighton. Seems so sweet. Those first fond years, the beers, the cheers, the chat, the bric-a-brac, the Snoopers Paradise fix, the politics, the lunatics, freethinkers, tinkers, smokers and in-jokers; ‘cos you know it’s Hove actually.
**
Cursed heavy hangovers cured like ham by noon snakebite hair of the dog. Cut to the night. Coming up drug. Getting around. Coming down. Buggery bollocks. Hug a tree. Free. Curling smoke. Always a joke. The dog’s bollocks. Top dogs. Peace frogs. Top Cat in the doghouse chat. Drinking down at Hector’s House. A wee dram. Am-dram plays above the pubs. Arches clubs. Archie’s bullshit and pitbull dogs. Full-of-shit prog-rocker dealers’ green door knockers, goddamn DJ gobshites and whities. Go down to the seafront at night-time in slippers and nighties. Alrighty.
**
Fist bumping mates popping round. Getting around, getting down in Kemp Town, with unkempt beds. Ashtrays surround. Getting high. Hello. Goodbye. Going out. Raucous and roaring in ferocious and precocious shouts. Round about. Down ‘ere, down there. Got an allotment under the stairs. Score a quick henry from Benny’s mate Claire. Rock stars and porn stars and born stars and writers and freedom fighters and cigarette lighters and the famous and nameless. Know-it-alls. Poets. Cools. And activists and actors, sculptors, producers, models, musicians, guitarists, Nick Cave, Paul McCartney, the bloke from The Fast Show (before he was the bloke from Harry Potter, but after he was the bloke from that advert who said, “We wanna be together.” What? You think I’m losing the non-UK and under thirty audience here? Who cares? I know what pants and sloppy joes are, don’t I? – the question is rhetorical, so let’s get back on topic, y’all.), Chris Eubank and his damn big dumb truck, the crusties, the skankers, the wankers, the skaters, the seekers, the shakers, Hare Krishnas and skins. Magpie bin men. The chancers, the dancers, the bouncers, half-ouncers, the anarchists, the taking the piss, the mates in a band, the parks, the punks, the drunks, junkies, joggers and rockers, the lazy, the crazy, the can’t be arsed, the mods and the mads and the off of their rockers. Try it on with a girl down the dark beach. Smashed up on mushrooms and head pumping beats. Walk back in late streets on two too tired feet. Whoosh! The West Pier is on fire. Best bang our drums then and get a bit higher, and take in the heat in laidback back seats.
**
Ashtrays overflowing with after-party cig butts. Freebutt gig band geezers eating banging All Day Breakfasts at the All Night Diner Dime Bar, smoking big cigars amongst ha-has, cha-chas, minds charred, strumming guitars and maybe sitars and drumming on tables on Mars, down in Brighton. Brighton. Right on Brighton. When the music was loud, as were the words of proud opinions, but it was also all bullshit. ‘Cos we love Brit cynicism. Down in hopping, bopping Brighton, right on Brighton, don’t be frightened, it’s more or less dangerous with the lights on, down in Brighton, right on Brighton. High times and nice times in right on Brighton. Right on, Brighton. Nice one.
***
RIGHT ON BRIGHTON
Just outta uni.
I was a real Real World Fresher.
Where could this featherweight newbie
Of this new century, go for his pleasure?
Hmm. Needed a new home.
Went down to Brighton where everyone’s green and stoned.
On my own.
Alone.
Down to Brighton where everyone’s gay.
Down to Brighton, where hippies are O.K.
The lights on in Brighton, where people have their say.
The big band bang boom and the tie-dye bop, smelly basement rooms and late night bus stops. Hip hop, chip shops, wearing flip flops, feeling tip top, never stop. Opt for late night clubs kicking comedic blubs and poetry slams and funk soul jams. Get a veggie burger from Grubbs.
**
Downing lager, by the beach, down in Brighton. Right on Brighton. Got the sights on. Got the lights on. Locked the highs on. Nice one. Hopping the highlights of hot sagas that race through my mind. Drinking mad hop lagers for the sake of fake rhymes, when the spell of Real Ale was always more my thing. Leaving Brighton’s seaside to one side, I’m thinking ‘bout wannabe Kurts, crusties, yurts, King Kurt T-shirts, shirkers, dread heads, head-shrinkers, burks, chav bling and youthful stride things. Living it up in strobe dubbed shake lighting. First high flying years in Brighton, right on, crazy Brighton, high with the lights on, quick like lightning, were a blast and fast and now past, but cast a fishing line from my mind back to the chats and the squats and the girls I had the hots for and the dim, dingy dealers’ pungent poky smoky flats, and Concorde 2 gigs, Komedia comics, cigs and all that. After work gorge at The Dorset and George, fall to the floors. Any takers for Basketmakers? And all the other lovely-jubbly bubbling pubs in the Lanes and all the subs. The entertaining drinks and grub. Getting high on doorsteps. Grooving up cool clubs.
**
See Arthouse World flicks at Duke of York’s. Tea at the caf, stirred with plastic forks. Get your copy of SchNEWS. Go to private views. Hear the beat of small bar blues. Hen party Valkyries. Art galleries. And geezers on good salaries, listening to Valerie, before it was Winehouse actually. And dub. Boy, down in Brighton, right on Brighton, the shakes were sure hot. Remember making it young, uncaring and alive, the guys and high fives, and the girls never got. The whirls, the mods, moody blues and bad moods. And self-proclaimed gods. Quirks, smirks and jerks. Jammers and jitters. Pints of bitter and carpet fitters. The protesters, anarchists, activists, the revellers, the Levellers, The Level, the lefties, the arties, house parties, the Commies, eco-friendlies, the cafs, the gift of the gabs, Alan’s friend Babs, Albion fans, albinos, fake tans, trans-genders on benders, drag queens on the scene, hang about at Tragic Roundabout and Eighties Matchbox concert bouts. The smokers, the jokers, midnight tokers, anti-voters and Attila The Stockbroker.
**
You’ll find more truth seekers there. Down in Blighty’s Brighton blimey seaside air. Right on Brighton. Nice one. Always a party. Everyone’s arty. Everyone’s vegan. Hm, fucking squawking, squealing, black bin bag ripping seagulls. Arseholes. Anyway, Brighton. Brighton. Right on Brighton. Nice one. Vegetarians, Vespas, hipsters, queens, has-beens, times good, Infinity Foods, Brighton rock and riots. Quiet. Smoke some weed, in our flat, playing board games and all that, with tunes and deep chat, people passing through, all knowing where it’s at. Chilling or standing up on our feet, dancing to The Streets, or some ska beats or Undertones, Stevie Wonder and The Ramones and Stones, and Bentley Rhythm Ace and Small Faces in haze. Smokes with The Strokes. Always broke. Not too much coke. The twirls and jokes, the girls and blokes who like boys to be girls who do boys in Blurred plagiarised quotes of rude boy shenanigans. Sing along again, high on hash with Johnny Cash, The Clash and Ash. De La Soul, maybe Ben Folds, and The Las, playing along with guitars. Billy Bragg. Arab Strap. Put on Dolly Parton, Frank Black, Jack White, Al Green, Patti Smith, Portishead, Grateful Dead, Hunky Dory, Gorky 5, Mogwai, The Pharcyde, The Hives, Derek and Clive, and Lee Scratch Perry, or watching the telly, filling our bellies with munchies, slow Brighton paced, can’t be arsed, watch Spaced, our flat adorned with post-student knickknacks and tatt you think you’re always gonna want to keep. Wrong. Back to the clubs and the pubs and the dub and the rub and rub-a-dub and rubber gloves and push and shoves and bars and ha-has and hoo-has. Brighton. Brighton. Right on. Yurt makers and yogis and Dolies and homeopathists and marches and artists and buskers and smugglers and jugglers and hustlers, down by the bright Brighton seaside.
**
Take a stroll on the pier. Smell some gear in the air. There’s a homeless man. Just there. Now here’re the festivals, Fat Boy on the beach, Pride in the park, passing joints in side streets, down in Brighton, right on Brighton. Seems so sweet. Those first fond years, the beers, the cheers, the chat, the bric-a-brac, the Snoopers Paradise fix, the politics, the lunatics, freethinkers, tinkers, smokers and in-jokers; ‘cos you know it’s Hove actually.
**
Cursed heavy hangovers cured like ham by noon snakebite hair of the dog. Cut to the night. Coming up drug. Getting around. Coming down. Buggery bollocks. Hug a tree. Free. Curling smoke. Always a joke. The dog’s bollocks. Top dogs. Peace frogs. Top Cat in the doghouse chat. Drinking down at Hector’s House. A wee dram. Am-dram plays above the pubs. Arches clubs. Archie’s bullshit and pitbull dogs. Full-of-shit prog-rocker dealers’ green door knockers, goddamn DJ gobshites and whities. Go down to the seafront at night-time in slippers and nighties. Alrighty.
**
Fist bumping mates popping round. Getting around, getting down in Kemp Town, with unkempt beds. Ashtrays surround. Getting high. Hello. Goodbye. Going out. Raucous and roaring in ferocious and precocious shouts. Round about. Down ‘ere, down there. Got an allotment under the stairs. Score a quick henry from Benny’s mate Claire. Rock stars and porn stars and born stars and writers and freedom fighters and cigarette lighters and the famous and nameless. Know-it-alls. Poets. Cools. And activists and actors, sculptors, producers, models, musicians, guitarists, Nick Cave, Paul McCartney, the bloke from The Fast Show (before he was the bloke from Harry Potter, but after he was the bloke from that advert who said, “We wanna be together.” What? You think I’m losing the non-UK and under thirty audience here? Who cares? I know what pants and sloppy joes are, don’t I? – the question is rhetorical, so let’s get back on topic, y’all.), Chris Eubank and his damn big dumb truck, the crusties, the skankers, the wankers, the skaters, the seekers, the shakers, Hare Krishnas and skins. Magpie bin men. The chancers, the dancers, the bouncers, half-ouncers, the anarchists, the taking the piss, the mates in a band, the parks, the punks, the drunks, junkies, joggers and rockers, the lazy, the crazy, the can’t be arsed, the mods and the mads and the off of their rockers. Try it on with a girl down the dark beach. Smashed up on mushrooms and head pumping beats. Walk back in late streets on two too tired feet. Whoosh! The West Pier is on fire. Best bang our drums then and get a bit higher, and take in the heat in laidback back seats.
**
Ashtrays overflowing with after-party cig butts. Freebutt gig band geezers eating banging All Day Breakfasts at the All Night Diner Dime Bar, smoking big cigars amongst ha-has, cha-chas, minds charred, strumming guitars and maybe sitars and drumming on tables on Mars, down in Brighton. Brighton. Right on Brighton. When the music was loud, as were the words of proud opinions, but it was also all bullshit. ‘Cos we love Brit cynicism. Down in hopping, bopping Brighton, right on Brighton, don’t be frightened, it’s more or less dangerous with the lights on, down in Brighton, right on Brighton. High times and nice times in right on Brighton. Right on, Brighton. Nice one.
***
MATRIX VISIONS - The New Book - Out Now!
My new book Matrix Visions is now available, and it's free on Kindle for 5 whole days: 5th May - 9th May.Amazon.com: http://amzn.com/B01F2LPVE6
Amazon.co.uk: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01F2LPVE6
Paperback editions are also available.
So, what's Matrix Visions all about? Here's the blurb:
From the strange dark side of visionary spiritual conspiracy secrets, this poetic book of enigmas and brand new discoveries is much more than a collection of curious verse concoctions - Matrix Visions is a sneaky glimpse into the hypnotising matrix itself.
You’ll come across cryptic but plain poems like: The Malicious Magicians, Red Snake Rules, The Devil’s In The Detail, Alien Acupuncture and The 11:11. And you can discover hitherto untold secrets in: The Pentagon’s Hidden Half, Dollar Bill Devils And Dogs, The Secret Art History, The QR Code Code, How To Get A Face In Advertising and The Secret Sphinx, with plenty of picture examples along the way.
The red matrix is staring you right in the face. You just haven’t seen it yet.
Thanks!
Harry
RHYME AND REBELLION - OUT NOW AND FREE ON KINDLE
My new poetry book Rhyme and Rebellion is now available and it's free on Kindle for the next five days (23rd Sep - 27th Sep) - see the links below.
Here's the blurb:
Swiping, biting, seething, pleading, fresh and funny, Whitewolf’s latest book of verse is a language sandwich filled with shit, shopping, poverty, war, Wi-Fi and wordplay.
Awaken your inner rebel for the modern era, with poems like: Equality For The Poor, You’re So Far Right, Ads, Abs And Apps, P.C. Pussies, Reality And T.V, Puppet Politician and The Google Boogie.
And here are three fun and quirky accompanying performance poetry vids:
BEAT BOMB BOOM: https://www.goodreads.com/videos/1093...
SHIT POLITICS: https://www.goodreads.com/videos/1088...
SHEEP SLEEP: https://www.goodreads.com/videos/1091...
Paperback and Kindle editions available.
FREE ON KINDLE:
Amazon.com: http://a.co/2qZ2ciO
Amazon.co.uk: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01LX8P3IB
Thanks to everyone for your support!
Peace, love and rebellion,
Harry.
My book's been voted one of the 50 Best Indie Books of 2016!
[image error]A huge thank you to everyone who voted for my book Rhyme and Rebellion, making it one of Readfree.ly's 50 BEST INDIE BOOKS OF 2016 - scraping in at number 43!
With over 10,000 votes being cast this year, I'm obviously pretty chuffed to be a finalist of "one of the most popular and prestigious prizes available to indie authors". I can't thank all you voters enough!
http://www.readfree.ly/50-best-indie-...
Wanna know what all the fuss is about? Well, Rhyme and Rebellion is available in Kindle and paperback editions, so grab a copy now!
Only £1.49/$1.49 on Kindle and £2.99/$5.49 in paperback, on Amazon.
Amazon.co.uk: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01LX8P3IB
Amazon.com: http://a.co/2qZ2ciO
![Rhyme and Rebellion by [Whitewolf, Harry]](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1483373815i/21606315.jpg)
And if you're new to my poetry and would like to sample some for FREE, you can read my Two Beat Newbie book in its entirety here.
Thank you all and a Happy New Year!
New Book - Coming Soon!
Hey, hey, hey, my new book of poetry will be out in May!
INDIE POET - Thirty Poems From My Thirties: 2006 – 2016 is a collection of previously unpublished poems, most of which were written before 2015 – the year my debut collection New Beat Newbie was released. So, as with Propaganda Monkeys - Twenty Poems From My Twenties: 1996 - 2006, this book shows a slightly different side to The Whitewolf: my present day style of writing is still in development, and there are a lot more personal themes at play - but don’t worry, there’s still the usual anti-establishment stuff as well, and it’s obviously still amazingly brilliant. ;)
Check out this performance promo vid for a taster: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yohno...
I’ll be doing a Kindle giveaway upon the book’s release, so be sure to keep an eye out.
In the meantime, if you haven’t already read it, you can read Two Beat Newbie (perhaps my best collection) in its entirety for free on my website: www.harrywhitewolf.com
Thanks so much for everyone’s continued support of my work.
Love to you all,
Harry.
INDIE POET - Thirty Poems From My Thirties: 2006 – 2016 is a collection of previously unpublished poems, most of which were written before 2015 – the year my debut collection New Beat Newbie was released. So, as with Propaganda Monkeys - Twenty Poems From My Twenties: 1996 - 2006, this book shows a slightly different side to The Whitewolf: my present day style of writing is still in development, and there are a lot more personal themes at play - but don’t worry, there’s still the usual anti-establishment stuff as well, and it’s obviously still amazingly brilliant. ;)
Check out this performance promo vid for a taster: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yohno...
I’ll be doing a Kindle giveaway upon the book’s release, so be sure to keep an eye out.
In the meantime, if you haven’t already read it, you can read Two Beat Newbie (perhaps my best collection) in its entirety for free on my website: www.harrywhitewolf.com
Thanks so much for everyone’s continued support of my work.
Love to you all,
Harry.
MY POETRY’S NOW ON SOUNDCLOUD!
I’ve been gradually uploading some new poetry performances to Soundcloud over the last month or so, and I now have a selection of 15 tracks for your listening pleasure or critical scrutiny!
If you like what you hear, then please do a Soundcloud newbie a favour and follow me. Thank you.
https://soundcloud.com/harry-whitewolf
If I’m allowed to have my own favourite performances, I guess they would be:
A new version of my poem Beat Elite.
The poem Old McDonald Had A Restaurant.
My ‘cover version’ of the Allen Ginsberg poem Hum Bom!
And the mini-epic Right On Brighton
Also on Soundcloud, you can check out an audio chapter from my book The Road To Purification: Hustlers, Hassles & Hash, complete with atmospheric background music, recorded by Book Narrator:
https://soundcloud.com/user-399564578...
And an interview with me on the Losing The Plot podcast:
https://soundcloud.com/losingtheplotp...
You can find more of my poetry performances on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...
And I’ve recently started uploading my recordings to Vimeo too:
https://vimeo.com/harrywhitewolf
You can follow me on those ‘n all if you like. Nudge, nudge...
Thanks to you all for the continued support and indie lovin’.
If you like what you hear, then please do a Soundcloud newbie a favour and follow me. Thank you.
https://soundcloud.com/harry-whitewolf
If I’m allowed to have my own favourite performances, I guess they would be:
A new version of my poem Beat Elite.
The poem Old McDonald Had A Restaurant.
My ‘cover version’ of the Allen Ginsberg poem Hum Bom!
And the mini-epic Right On Brighton
Also on Soundcloud, you can check out an audio chapter from my book The Road To Purification: Hustlers, Hassles & Hash, complete with atmospheric background music, recorded by Book Narrator:
https://soundcloud.com/user-399564578...
And an interview with me on the Losing The Plot podcast:
https://soundcloud.com/losingtheplotp...
You can find more of my poetry performances on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...
And I’ve recently started uploading my recordings to Vimeo too:
https://vimeo.com/harrywhitewolf
You can follow me on those ‘n all if you like. Nudge, nudge...
Thanks to you all for the continued support and indie lovin’.
UNDERDOGS UNITE - OUT NOW & FREE ON KINDLE FOR FIVE DAYS
![Underdogs Unite by [Whitewolf, Harry]](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1506602439i/24031162.jpg)
Attention all underdogs!
The brand new poetry book Underdogs Unite is now available as paperback and Kindle editions, and it’s FREE on Kindle (globally) for five days (28th September - 2nd October), so grab a copy now. Thank you!
Amazon.com: http://a.co/98CKPG2
Amazon.co.uk: http://amzn.eu/3VAI2Ow
Reviewers of advance copies have said:
"This could be the Whitewolf's best book ever...And that's saying a lot as at least 2 of his in the past (Two Beat Newbie and The Road to Purification) are on my all-time-favourites list."
"Harry's writing is a jazzy flow of emotions and empathy for the downtrodden."
"...this collection is far longer than Harry’s previous releases and that is a majorly good thing, it’s like he has stepped up a level and is closer to the famous beat poets of the past...”
"This collection of poems expresses some of the harder questions of our time from the perspective of someone who is brave enough to look into the abyss eye to eye and then see a way out for all of us."
"This is in the top two of my personal Whitewolf countdown."
This has been a public service announcement, monitored closely by a secret faction of the Elite, on behalf of Harry Whitewolf.
