11/05/2012 09:51 BST | Updated 11/07/2012 06:12 BST

Adam Kammerling Performs 'WoofQuackMeowNeighMooOink' (VIDEO)

Adam Kammerling is the 2012 Hammer and Tongue National Slam Poet Championship.

“I was originally drawn to spoken word by the freedom it gives me as a writer. I love the fact that I can write and perform something that is basically an acapella rap, and then tell a story, and then do a piece of short theatre - all in the space of a single set.

“I can go to a spoken word night and be moved close to tears, and then see someone else who will make me laugh out loud. And sometimes I can experience those things in the same piece of writing. It's a consistently inspiring art form.

“Some people think performance poetry is easy. To be good at this takes work and a willingness to develop and absorb and be critical and have people be critical of you, and accept it because it will make you a better writer.

“Anyone that is up for that should throw themselves in head first. It's a wonderful scene to be a part of."

Poetry heroes:

Ross Sutherland and all of Aisle 16, Byron Vincent, John Hegley, Rob Auton, Sally Jenkinson, Rosy Carrick, Raymond Antrobus

Regular spots:

Hammer and Tongue, Chill Pill, Bang Said The Gun

Next gig:

Hamilton House, Britol, 17 May 2012


WoofQuackMeowNeighMooOink by Adam Kammerling

His sunken eyes are ringed in grey,

pupils peer from cold flesh caves,

facial hair sprouts like mould

his casual sportswear's dripped in stains.

Those eyes find a shadow of me

and I wish he'd sit elsewhere

before his bum hits the seat.

His questions come rapid fire,

inconsequential, like sonar.

What's your name?


Where are you going?


What are you doing? What are you doing in Hastings?

I'm doing a gig.

What colour is the train?


What colour is the carriage?


Why is the carriage blue?

I don't know.

Why is the carriage blue?

Maybe neutral colours?

Why is the carriage blue?


Why is the carriage blue?

He carries a blind man's cane

but his better eye flicks as landscape snaps in to the carriage's wake

I fling my own question through the galaxy of his and he replies

In a house near MEOW!

And in the same heartbeat he restarts

his white water inquisition, head twitching all the while

his boss eye wanders, he claps beneath the table

when my answers match his plans.

He mentions Emininem, Harry Potter

And Could this train bash the other train?

And Why do dogs have one head?

I laugh, and I make him laugh

A fluffy, globular guffaw.

I hesitate, shamefully,

when he asks my girlfriend's daughter's name

and where she lives and where is that?

He says his name is WoofQuackMeowNeighMooOink

And asks Is that a long name?

When I go to the toilet I reassure him

and push my bladder-swelling lengthy piss out

as fast as I can.

The instant we pull into Eastbourne

he is at the carriage door,

still rattling questions till he is gone.

No goodbye, no see you,

No good luck, nice to meet you,

just a question, a question, a step

and he is gone.

I find a seat on my Hasting's connection,

busy with people, bright with the first flashes of spring

like I'd woken from an uneasy sleep

alone, on a train.