Can you help me name my 'saucy' new poem? Best title received by Sunday 6th Feb gets a signed hand-written copy in the post!

Young man! You make my mouth water
I was vegetarian before
But after just one taste of you
I’m your carnivore

Every glistening glance is a feast for my eyes
From your succulent shanks to your tender thighs
Let me pluck you, prepare you, oil your skin
As I take a moment to drink you in

Your rippled nipples like walnut whips
Surrounded in whirls of curls
Your breast moist under my fingertips
Softer than any girl’s

Don’t talk with your mouth full
Or bite off more than you can chew
The only dish I’m laying on my table
Is a man-sized portion of you

Natural, organic, nothing canned
I’m going to bake this cake by hand
No recipe to tell me how to do it
Forget extra virgin – here’s my cruet, unscrew it

For once I won’t listen to the three second rule
I could eat you off the floor
You’ve given me an appetite
I want you sizzling hot, not raw

I think it’s time to turn you over
I’m not quite sure you’re done just yet
So I’ll prick you ‘til your juices run
And I sense the scent of your salty sweat

I’ll stroke the fur of your ripe white peach
Push apart the flesh for my mouth to reach
The freshest fruit, the ripest bite
Of your sweetest meat, your sinews tight

Yes, I will have my fill of you
Over breakfast, lunch and dinner
I’ll truly make a meal of you
Who cares about getting thinner

When I’ve got you to plump me up
To wet my lips, to fill my cup
Make me melt as I slowly thaw
Keep me coming back for seconds
Please sir, can I have some more?

Copyright Marcus Reeves © 2011

Confessions Of A Door Whore

As a gay man, I’m a total disaster
There are so many rules that I’m yet to master
From concealing my feelings, to working out
Building up my bubble butt and perfecting my pout

I never ever swallow, I always spit
And I’m not into fisting, or any of that kinky leather shit
But where I really fall down is in my taste in song
You see, my musical preferences are totally wrong

Lady Gaga and her poker face leave me cold
I can’t stand The Smiths if the truth be told
I find Kylie satanic and I can’t deny
That Jake Shears and the Scissor Sisters make me want to die

The Pet Shop Boys are a pair of techno twunts
I loathe grandma Cher and her auto-tuned grunts
Madonna is a meaningless, withered old witch
Barbra Streisand? Back to Vegas with the overblown bitch!

Judy! Judy! Judy! passed over right on time
I’m only sad that Liza didn’t follow right behind
But worst of all – and where I feel I’ve really failed
Is that I'd love to see Kate Bush publicly flailed

Copyright Marcus Reeves © 2010

Happy New Year!

I hope you all had a good festive break and the new year brings great things. I've certainly got big plans for 2011 and intend to keep you all more informed about what I'm up to via more regular blogs and newsletters to my mailing list.

2010

My main focus last year was a collaboration with musical director Michael Roulston on the Concept Cast Recording of Postcards from God - The Sister Wendy Musical. I was especially pleased when in December, Sister Wendy appeared on Graham Norton's show on BBC Radio 2 and they listened to 'Viva Sister Wendy!' live on air. You can hear them chatting on the show's Myspace page and listen and download all the songs for free at www.postcardsfromgod.co.uk.

November saw my inclusion for the fourth year running in LGBT arts festival Wise Thoughts GFest and Michael and I took to the stage in two shows at the Cochrane Theatre, joined by our new choir The Quicksilver Singers. You can hear the live demos we recorded at those gigs at www.myspace.com/marcusreeves.

January / February

The new year sees a series of live appearances. On Saturday January 22nd, The Quicksilver Singers will perform at Lavender Nights, a fundraiser for HIV charity Positive East. I will be celebrating my birthday on Thursday February 3rd at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern performing alongside anarchic performance artist David Hoyle and on Thursday February 17th, Michael and I will visit the Double R Club, paying tribute to all things David Lynch.

I hope you can make it along to one of the shows!

Best wishes for 2011

Marcus

Through My Window Pane

I run my finger through a line of dust on the shutters my Mother chose. They barricade the windows throughout the house that will one day be mine. The house that Jack built.

Through the pane of frosted glass I watch the bench where we sat in the summer sun, now sitting heavy with freshly fallen snow.

I see you, smiling and shirtless. Your skin hot to my hand. I was worried I'd get burnt. We went inside and back to my single bed, descending in the swell of a sensual siesta.

I close the blind and wipe the dust away. A snowflake meanders into the glass, melting to the trickle of a tear. I had wanted there to be nothing between us. Now that's all there is.

For Josephine

Off I go into the snow, red brolly in hand, suitcase in tow, to take a plane and travel far, to bid farewell to my Grandmama...

Gospel for the Godless

I’m literally just back from an amazing evening at Soho Theatre to see Our Lady J’s ‘Gospel for the Godless’, an intimate collection of gospel and electro tinged songs, all spiritual, political and sensual to the core. I’d heard rumblings of Our Lady J when she came to these shores last year and did some gigs at the South Bank Centre, rapidly becoming the darling of the artsy gay set. Thankfully she’s still very down to earth, sharing tales of her upbringing and musical history with a knowing wink and a flick of her immaculate tresses. I always worry when acts that have started on the fringes such as Bistrotheque and Duckie (which she visited on her first visit to London) move into the West End and whilst some of the crowd seemed like ‘A gays’ to me, she was definitely preaching to the converted. The show was a moving blend of clever lyrics and heartfelt emotion – there’s not the arch knowingness or Bourgeois and Maurice here, nor the world weary sadness Justin Bond so beautifully and brokenly conveys – just brilliantly crafted and arranged soulful tunes. (I say 'just' - I'd give my right arm to write as well as she does.)

Some time ago I downloaded arguably her most popular song to date ‘Pink Prada Purse’ (which you have to hear to believe) and it’s a staple song on my iPod. A tale of revenge on handsome ex lovers, it sums up relationships in a neat way, I think – if only we could all get away with murder in such style!

Tonight and for the rest of her London run, she is joined by the London Show Choir, featuring the lovely Nathan Taylor who I have had the privilege of working with recently and the ebullient Cat Millsom, who had the dubious pleasure of featuring in both productions of my show ‘Postcards from God - The Sister Wendy Musical’. While having a post show tipple with Mr. Taylor after, Our Lady J stepped out and proved to be an utter delight – as charming, witty and funny as she is onstage.

Her new album shows a change of direction, bringing electronic elements into her gospel sound and it is really beautiful, powerful stuff – I downloaded ‘Hurt’, her cover of the Nine Inch Nails song made mainstream by Johnny Cash and it moved me to tears on the night bus (though admittedly I was in a slightly fragile mood this evening). If you can make one of her shows here in London or anywhere else, I’d highly recommend Our Lady J to anyone with ears that work.

Solar Synchronicity?

I’ve recently been writing a new play, (my first ‘proper’ play) called Single Numbers Only. It follows nine single people over nine days leading up to the ninth of September 2009 (09.09.09). As you might have guessed, numbers and puzzles are a large thread running through the piece. The tarot also feature heavily – none of the characters actually have names, but are given ‘titles’ inspired by the names of tarot cards.

As part of the play’s promotion, I’ve been looking for an artist to create a tarot card for each of the characters and recently put out a call online. The writer Stella Duffy who is one of my linked friends on Facebook suggested I contact Laurie Lipton, who makes jaw-dropping pencil drawings.

With a budget of less than zero, I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford to commission her, but had a look at some of her work anyway, which was very dark and gothic, with dancing skeletons and amazingly intricate detail. It wasn’t until I stumbled upon a different gallery that something spooky happened. I found the following picture, which comes from her book of illustrations to accompany the Splendor Solis, an alchemical manuscript from the 16th Century. The image shows the marriage of King and Queen, Sun and Moon.

‘So what?’ I hear you say. Well, while writing the play I’d had a rather odd episode where I wrote a scene late one night and very drunk (nothing new there). The next day I read the scene and found I’d ‘invented’ a legend concerning the birth of a child – half human, half god, who would rule the world and bring bounty to all. The ‘moonchild’ was born and murdered – but followers of the legend believed that the child would one day return, at a time when the planets aligned – a time that could perhaps be seen as the marriage of the sun and the moon. One of the characters recited the nursery rhyme that kept the story alive:

Didn’t your mother ever teach you the rhyme? ‘Moonchild, moonchild, come down to earth, as we honour the holy hour of your birth, as the sun and the moon and the earth collide, the sun the groom, the moon the bride. As the planets above us unite and entwine, let your blessed moonlight shine…’

I had no memory of writing the scene and had no idea of where it had come from. Had I simply read about the marriage of sun and moon somewhere and it had somehow trickled out of my subconscious? Or, in keeping with one of the themes of the play, was this some sort of sign? A curious case of solar synchronicity?

Single Numbers Only will have a rehearsed reading at the Kings Head theatre in London on Thursday May 7th at 3 pm. Entry £5.

Splendor Solis artwork reproduced with kind permission from artist Laurie Lipton.

Haiku 16.02.09

What sad eyes he said
Two clear pools of endless blue
They glitter with tears

Haiku 13.02.09

Knot in my pocket
Unwanted stitch in the seam
Til rage burns the thread

Haiku 11.02.09

As a little experiment, I've started writing (or attempting to write) some Haiku. Here's my first effort:

Memory buzzes
An electric fly catcher
I swim to the light

The Rise And Fall of Marcus Reeves and The Shameless Plugs from Streatham Hill

At the time of writing, I should be doing the Charleston. Let me elucidate (gosh what a big word for a five foot seven part time tranny)…

In just a few short weeks I will be celebrating my thirtieth birthday and will mark it by looking back at what where I’ve been in my little-legged life so far, in the form of my new solo show, three zero. The piece is a sort of ‘introspective retrospective’, featuring highlights from all my solo shows so far, from my first play with songs, Cut Out and Keep… which told the story of my mother’s family, to the drama behind the scenes of my infamous flop musical Postcards from God via some poems and songs new and old.

Stuart Burrows, who directs and choreographs the London Gay Mens Chorus amongst other things has kindly taken me under his wing and is choreographing one of the sections. Me dancing doesn’t happen much (unless I’m a little ‘jolly’) and I’ve never ever done it on stage, so it was one of the challenges I set myself when I started work on the show.

The premiere will take place at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, where I’ve spent many a drunken and disgraceful night and I will be joined by some friends old and new, all of them favourites of mine – bearded ladies Timberlina and Le Gateau Chocolat, scrumptious pop art munchkin Dickie Beau and one of my all-time heroes Clementine The Living Fashion Doll. All rounded off with a soundtrack from my friends DJ Sina Evil and Ian Aitch. After all that I will probably fall over in a great heap and have to be carried home on a stretcher.

But before any dancing, drinking or falling over, I have allowed myself one treat for the month – the latest event from the one man powerhouse that is Rupert Smith AKA the House of Homosexual Culture.

I’ve already enjoyed Julian Clary’s induction into the HOHC Hall of fame (where he ate Paul Burston alive), had fabulous fun at their Quentin Crisp do and of course crowned my Christmas by doing a festive turn at their yuletide cabaret in the Clore Ballroom (marred only by falling asleep and leaving my very valuable Christmas Tree costume on the night bus afterwards. Ouch.).

Next up is an audience with Leee Black Childers. Who? I hear you ask. Heathen! I first came across Leee (so to speak) during my formative teenage years spent not doing my GCSE homework and reading any and every Bowie biography I could get my podgy little hands upon. He witnessed Warhol’s milieu (I must stop using all these posh words) first hand, photographing the gay underside of glam and punk rock culture and immersing himself elbow deep. He’s promised a few saucy anecdotes – I for one am waiting to find out whether Bowie really was all talk when it came to ‘Sweet Head’ and what really happened at the Stonewall riots – was it as anarchic and revolutionary as popular history claims, or are the accounts that I’ve heard true, where blood was shed, but not as much as you’d think – and not a lot really ‘went down’?

Rather like Rupert’s Holly Woodlawn event at the Drill Hall, I can’t turn down the opportunity to bask in the glow of an icon and will be there with bells on (though not Christmas ones - I left them on the night bus).

Now, back to the Charleston. Where did I leave my boater?

three zero premieres at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern on Tuesday February 3rd, Doors 7 pm, Tickets £5.00 – visit www.reevescorner.co.uk/threezero

Leee Black Childers hits the House of Homosexual Culture on Friday 30 January 2009 at the Purcell Room, 7.45pm, Tickets £20 – visit www.southbankcentre.co.uk

Paper roses and faded dreams…

On Saturday I had the great pleasure of seeing Pebbles On The Beach, written by Joanna Pinto and presented at the Old Red Lion by Weaver Hughes Ensemble. I first met Tim and Julia who run the company a few years ago when I was working at the Brockley Jack Theatre and we crossed paths again recently. They are a highly prolific couple, who usually have at least two if not three theatre projects on the go at one time. I saw their production of The Six Wives of Timothy Leary up at the Edinburgh Fringe this summer and was very impressed, but found Pebbles a much more weighty and moving piece.

The story is that of Leo, a young man who, as a child, found out that he was adopted. In the course of the play he attempts to piece together the fragments of his fractured life and finally make some sort of sense of it.

Brighton beach opens up to space and time and using an array of simple props, Timothy Hughes weaves a dream-like world where fathers become grandfathers, girlfriends become teachers and pregnant actresses become playground bullies without any sense incongruity.

The motif of life as a beach was perhaps a little over-used in the text and there were a few moments that zipped by so fast I couldn’t quite catch them, but overall it was a very well-written play given a very inventive and witty staging. Michael Armstrong played Leo with a winning mixture of cruel arrogance and endearing naivety, the rest of the ensemble playing multiple roles as they created all the people who had touched his life in some way.

I was intrigued by the piece as I felt there were some similarities between it and my new play, Single Numbers Only.

The theme of adoption is important, but in some ways a bit of a red herring. Pebbles seems to me to be a puzzling piece about life and its inter-connectivity, showing that chance can have as much of a devastating effect as pre-meditated action. Leo’s anger at his adoption and rejection of the fact that his new parents really did love him as if he were their own leads him to ruin not only his own life, but the lives of the people he meets on his chaotic journey, a search for his own sense of identity. It’s not until his final reconciliation with those close to him that he can let go of that anger and the ghosts of memories that haunt him.

Having seen (and been in) my fill of ‘pub theatre’ and ‘studio’ productions, I can say that there was little to fault with this production, which was effortlessly and impressively slick. The design, direction and lighting were first class, with the actors giving genuinely moving and intimate performances, reduced to tears themselves (and having the same effect on me) at the show’s poignant finale.

(Production photos by Angela Larotonda © 2008)

Boy George 8 out of 10, David McAlmont 20 out of 10

Last weekend was really exciting as I got to see two of my all-time heroes in concert. After a Friday night watching the pitiful excuse for light entertainment that was BBC’s Children In Need it was exactly what I needed - Fern Cotton gurning away for five hours non stop isn't exactly my idea of fun (BTW – WTF has happened to Stephen Gately’s face?)!

On Saturday night I went to see Boy George at the Shaw Theatre. I was looking forward to it as I saw him play at Bush Hall a few years back and he gives good show. I must say that the Shaw is a very odd venue, as it’s part of a hotel – and certainly feels that way. Chaos reigned and the show started late as people wouldn’t stay in their seats and stood down the front (though I must admit I went down to the aisles after a while too after lots of fat people stood up in front of me).

George was a little sniffly, which he said (and I hope really was) a cold but was otherwise on good form. If there was one criticism it was that he really didn’t hit any of the high notes in much of his material (and there weren’t that many to start with), instead doing that ‘jazzy’ thing that many artists do in rephrasing their melodies at a lower pitch. Apart from that it was a lengthy and amazing set, with lots of Culture Club hits along with some of his more obscure solo material (including my favourites Stranger In This World and Unfinished Business) as well as some spirituals and his most recent single, the upbeat Yes We Can. His backing singers totally stole the show with solo turns and in a handful of duets with him. I think George’s music has become really good in recent years and it’s a shame that press attention on his personal life has eclipsed his talent at times.

Support was from the wonderful Declan Bennett who one day will be my husband (a boy has to have a dream).

On Sunday, my old friend from ushering days Aaron Paterson came round for a lunch and we had a yellow-sticker vegetarian feast, followed by a stroll around the streets of Streatham Hill (which was a lot more interesting than it sounds).

That night I went to the Jazz Café to see David McAlmont, who was performing the whole of his album A Little Communication to celebrate the tenth anniversary of its release. I have been following David’s music since his work with Bernard Butler and was lucky enough to meet him at an event by the House of Homosexual Culture last year. He was at his best with this show, relaxed, confident and telling a lot of funny and candid stories.

Every time I see him live he gets better and better. He had a few guests playing with him, including Martin Sakutu of The Laurel Collective and pianist Jon Regen whose style I totally loved. I really want to check out some of their music.

I am always amazed by the skill of really good musicians, in that they can make a totally different sound from the same instrument and convey their own style and emotions so effortlessly. Something to aspire to there I think!