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Young People’s Laureate
For London

SPREAD THE WORD’S YOUNG PEOPLE’S LAUREATE FOR LONDON, CECILIA KNAPP GIVES LONDON’S YOUNG PEOPLE A VOICE THROUGH POETRY. 

The Young People’s Laureate’s mission is to:

• Raise the visibility of poetry in the capital, nationally and internationally;

• Engage and inspire London’s young people with poetry through the issues that affect them;

• Support the development of London’s talented young poets in a tangible way.

Each year an esteemed judging panel selects a poet to become the Young People’s Laureate for London. On National Poetry Day, 1 October 2020, Cecilia Knapp was announced as the new Young People’s Laureate for London.

Caleb Femi was the first Young People’s Laureate 2016-18. Momtaza Mehri was the Young People’s Laureate 2018-19. Theresa Lola was the Young People’s Laureate for London 2019-2020. Previously, Spread the Word ran the Young Poet Laureate scheme, a role which was held by Selina Nwulu, Aisling Fahey and Warsan Shire.

Helping young people have their voices heard at a time of uncertainty and upheaval is Cecilia’s mission. Over the next year, Cecilia will undertake placements on four youth-focused residencies across the capital as well as receiving a range of mentoring and poetry-development opportunities to enhance her own career progression.

The programme is funded by Arts Council England and supported by a wide range of partners.

You can keep up to date with what the Young People’s Laureate for London is doing here, or through social media #YoungPeoplesLaureate

If you’d like to book the Laureate for a residency, event or commission, please email laureate@spreadtheword.org.uk

“Sharing stories is the greatest breeder of empathy. They show us how to walk in each other’s shoes and demonstrate the beautiful variety of humans in the world. I want my year as Laureate to be about collecting and celebrating stories from those who’s stories haven’t been told, working with London’s young people who haven’t had a chance to find their voice yet. Their voices are an essential contribution to the life of this City.”

Cecilia Knapp, Young People's Laureate for London 2020-2021

Cecilia's poetry

LOROS

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LOROS

by Cecilia Knapp

I watched my mother form
her new body. Cheekbones becoming violent,
hips clucking to meet skin.
I would wash her as she used to wash me,
holding a small plastic jug under
the warm water and tipping it over her back,
her edges broken by bubbles.

That night was like any other night
in the hospice. People quietly dying,
except we ate ham and pineapple pizza
in her bed.  Watch out for the men,
they have the upper hand, she said smelling salty,
shoulders poured against a medical pillow.
Then the next day, when the doctor said

she needed to eat more, she laughed,
told him she had waited her whole life to be
this thin. I laughed with her.
When I try to replay her voice
I can’t. This small slice is what I have.
A woman who is happy with her own shrinking
in the last few weeks of life.

You Know a Market Where the Tulips are Still Three Quid

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You Know a Market Where the Tulips are Still Three Quid

by Cecilia Knapp

and you buy them to remind yourself that you can.
They begin tight-lipped and upright,
but their petals become loose, droop.
Their stems will start to lean away from their own.
You know the cat will cry at two AM,
some nights you will sleep right through,
others your body will fling you upright as though
your brother is dying. You know what the wine does to your teeth.
You know about leaving.
You know you keep useless things
in case you need to build a shrine.
You know how to make gods of men
whose toothbrushes sit caked on the counter.
You know this, and you let them weigh your avocado,
rolling it around in their palm.

Honey Locust, Baby

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Honey Locust, Baby

 by Cecilia Knapp 

1.

the grey belly of the plane

the plump belly of the pigeon

the stench of sweet garden

wet paint and smooth wood

sprays of white flowers glowing

silk fists bursting from grey brick

the circle of our plastic chairs

the circles of our eyes

as yet uncertain of each other

the sun trips over itself

music slumps from

a high up open window

we write in biro leaning

on the soft of denimed knees

we don’t feel the cold

 

2.

a new tree planted

near the gaping empty plot

where the old one stood

when the rot sets in; a felling

making way for the new

this is how it goes

honey locust baby you are

thin as a newborn horse

thin as these young dreams

underneath the soil

the roots multiply in the warm dark

like corridors to many rooms

 

3.

early evening and a warm fuzz

summer has arrived at least for now

the trunk has thickened

taken fully by the yielding earth

the leaves a streak of fledgling green

on springy branches

we stand by the new tree

cradled by the buildings

buses glide past full of light

we know each other now

a thread drawn through each of us

having slowly revealed our lives

fish leaping briefly from water

we’re all still beginning

birds on a skinny wire

carry on honey baby

let the years advance

watch us rise and fly

off into our lives driving low

over cluttered dips and peaks

all there is to come for us

as you go on with your business

of growing future shade

like a curtain slowly unhooked

an audience to this road;

outlive us

In our garden

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In our garden

by Cecilia Knapp

 

the soil holds and gives,

the flowers are various,

sprayed across the high grass.

Wads of crocuses push through dirt.

Here we are, warm. The air is pink

and tender. There are no tall fences,

large hands, dark suits. Instead,

we plunge wrist deep

into the earth, heated

by the weather and we plant,

women touching shoulders.

Water shoots from rock.

We cup our hands and drink.

We eat until we glow like eggs.

We know what we deserve.

It happens as it should.

Easy sleep, exhausted

from the day. Here, no dark

corners, only the shade

from the heft of clever trees.

Here, our pain is old and shared,

a wooden bowl passed between us.

Somewhere, birds spit song

from their throats and the sea

is near but mild. The sun

comes out over and over

like a reel of film. Shame vanishes

like water dried on a stone.

Here, families stay together.

Here, there are fathers, boys.

And the tea is hot and ready.

 

At the poetry workshop before under-fifteen’s football training 

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At the poetry workshop before under-fifteen’s football training 

by Cecilia Knapp 

Dusk drops low over caged city pitches.

You’re a sea of nylon shirts in blue, 

in red and yellow. Tell me how it feels

when you’re out there. When the coach

fetches the key for the padlock to unleash

a wave of young feet onto AstroTurf.

What does it do to the guts to kick

a ball so hard it makes the fence posts

sing long after, vibrating around Vauxhall

and pinging off the buildings, forgetting

everything else but that sound. Look; I know

you’re itching to get out there. To slip 

on a thin bib that catches in the wind.

I know how many hours you’ve given to this.

How in the winter the cold makes your hands

numb and the light gives out before school’s

even done. But before you go, tell me

how it feels out there. When it’s just you,

running hard. I want to know. You rustle

in your coats like leaves. Then each one

of you writes; it feels like freedom.

 

Golden Shovel after The Pixies Where is my Mind?

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Golden Shovel after The Pixies Where is my Mind?

by Cecilia Knapp 

In this room the light falls with

a softness, grain like. Somehow all your

wants are released from under the feet

of a rainy August afternoon. And look; a table on

which a bowl of fruit is poised like a painting, the

peaches soft and exposed as bodies embracing air.

The room is thick and full with the smell of them and

of course before you tell yourself no you reach out your

hand and you take what you want because your head

has emptied of those sharp words you keep with yourself. On

and on, reaching for more, you take what you deserve; the

fruit. Piece after piece, you eat, you’re full and the ground

appears to soften like the world is blunted, smudged where 

the prospect of another day with yourself was terrible, but is

actually now a red plant in a terracotta pot on white stone steps; my

secrets, my secrets are beautiful, my mind.

Young Roots Group poems

Here we’re thrilled to share poems written by young women who took part in a series of online workshops with Cecilia when she was in residence with Young Roots and the Refugee Council. The aim of the workshops was to support the young women to use poetry to help them express themselves and to find ways to share experiences and support each other – especially when isolated during lockdown. They created some astonishing work as a group that we’re thrilled to share with you here. The poems are published here anonymously.

Illustrations by Jess Nash.

The Right

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To say no, and to not feel guilty.

Embrace my culture.

To love, and to be loved.

To go to school and to be happy.

Work, study, equal to men.

To get the same pay.

To be safe and to be free

from violence, from discrimination, 

have my freedom to say what I want.

To go anywhere I like.

To feel good, do what I want.

To ride a bike. To drive.

The right to be accepted

for my choices in life. To be myself.

To appreciate myself.

To follow myself. To follow

my dreams. To understand

that we are all the same

no matter where we came from.

The right to come back home,

feeling love.

You Are

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All the flowers in my garden.

My diary, when I need to talk.

The sun when the sky is grey, 

A glass of water.

The rose that stands bold after its been hurt.

Golden hair. The light

coming on in a dark room.

A mother’s love. 

The morning’s singing bird. 

Golden.

When my heart stops beating, you’re 

my heart beat. 

My lifeline when I am

on the edge.

You’re the hoping of dawn

that my eyes drink,

the heart of a book. 

The music that lifts, the smile that shines

in me. The smile that makes the trees sing.

You’re my legs when I can’t walk.

The silence, and the voice.

You’re my verses. The hope I testify to.

The gift.

Every important thing

in the world.

I am here because you have been

at my side.

Spring

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Spring trumpets.

Flying smiles, sunshine.

Freedom, dancing, soft skin, love.

Life is beautiful.

The acid green refreshing smell.

Retro yellows, browns and gold. 

Green eyes, green trees.

The sea, mountains, leaves.

Basil, spinach

fresh cucumber. 

Green apples and peppers.

The music.

The green birds.

The grass, your T-shirt.

My dress. 

A stormy morning.

The cover of my favourite book.

Our Whatsapps.

Ripe lemons, turmeric.

Flowers and daffodils, crocus and blossom.

a bunch of bananas. 

Comets and clouds, stars inspired.

Washing up gloves and sunglasses.

Your cheeks are like bright pink pens. 

The green plants are all human life,

my heart opens like a book.

Night falls like an orange ball, 

you see your childhood over and over again.

I can do anything. Paint.

Travel. I’m ready.

Walk for longer, 

stay out in the light,

Ice cream and friends,

birds singing, birth

good air.

Untitled

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I have been enjoying the crowd on the streets today.

Excitement is a light blue stomach.

I have been enjoying my art.

Happiness is mint green teeth.

I have been enjoying sleeping throughout the night.

I remember whole mornings full of sadness,

a huge tightness in my chest.

Anxiety is a scary brain.

Sadness, a black heart,

confusion is a silver head.

Grey clouds surround me. The confused day is full.

I left my family and I always miss them every single day.

Outside my window I can see the beautiful birds,

a tree and a house and so many cars.

I see people running.

A middle-aged man walking with his hands in the pockets.

I wish my older brother was here.

I want to see my family again.

I want to see my mother again.

And of all the green flowers bringing happiness to my eyes.

I will never stop believing in freedom.

I will never stop believing my laughter.

I remember the confidence I had in my body

in that transparent sea.

Relaxation, a blue mind.

I remember the beach

laying on the soft shiny sand. The sun was kissing

my skin and sea singing its wavey melody to my ears.

My favourite place is Asmera.

The beach, the countryside.

My favourite place is Massawa.

I know how to cook Anjera.

I know how to ride a bike.

I know how to eat,

I know how to make zigni.

I will never stop believing in myself.

I will never stop believing in change.

I will never stop believing that everything will be good.

If I could change the world, there would never be hungry children.

If I could change the world, there would never be no wars.

All family would live together forever,

no war and more peace.

I am a human,

I am atoms,

I am happiness

Our Places

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I see the street and someone’s house

I see trains rolling by and the pigeons

I see the endless jungle and heavy clouds

I see two squirrels playing 

I see music and bed

I see birds and monkeys

I hear the silence 

I hear voices in the other room

the cat purring on the bed

I hear cars

the TV

I hear my mum

the waves of the sea 

I feel the ice on my head

I feel cold and happy

I feel the hot air blowing on my skin

and the snow

I feel the warm sun

and wet rain 

I feel the sun shining down on my face 

I feel the heat and wind

I smell chicken and rice

the wet grass and the bare trees

coffee and oranges

the sand blended with sea water 

it’s a windy place

it’s raining

it’s snowing

the weather is hot

there’s a light sea breeze

I’m running along the beach with my dog 

I’m sitting on that bench with you

children are running trying to catch the chickens 

I’m dancing on a starry night on the beach 

I’m talking with my mum

drinking tea with her

I’m having a good time in a good place with my best friend

I’m stretching my arms to feel free

the rain is a blanket

the wind holds me

the sun is a wheel

the beach is a heaven 

his smile is a bullet

your eyes are an ocean

sometimes I want to walk in the rain

sometimes I want to go Germany

sometimes I want to dive very deep in the sea

sometimes I just want to feel a hot breeze on my face

sometimes i want to fly like bird to feel free

sometimes I want to walk

I've Been Thinking About

After Danusha Laméris

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how nice is to walk in the Spring and breathe in the air

how babies make me beam

how you make the best cups of tea

how when I call my father I feel happy

how he buys me flowers 

I’ve been thinking about when I chat with my friends

and they make me smile

when they call by

and we drink too much coffee and we talk

when they remember my birthday  

how the bus driver slows down to help me

when someone asks me how I am

when I see my sister’s children on video chat

how safe it felt when you said ‘welcome back’

Art Assassins

Over the summer of 2021 the Art Assassins of South London Gallery collaborated with Cecilia to produce a new zine of art and poetry. Named in honour of the new tree planted outside the gallery, the zine explores how poetry can help us archive our time and respond to the world around us, on our terms.

This film explores the work of this project, and showcases the fantastic young poets who took part.

Street Soccer X CALM

Cecilia’s third residency was with the football charity Street Soccer and the mental health charity CALM, working with a group of 11-15 year old young footballers to create their own poetry. Most of the poems they wrote are about football, and how it feels to play.

Cecilia says: “The young people worked hard on their poems and it was truly beautiful to see them each create a piece of work they were proud of. There was something so special, bonding and affirming about the whole group agreeing that when they’re playing, nothing else matters, and to see this idea reflected in their poems; their similarities drawn out and concretised through the synergy of the workshop space. It was great to have CALM in the room, who talked to the group about mental health awareness and what to do if you or a friend is suffering.”

The project culminated in a photoshoot of the participants playing football which we are showcasing alongside their poems here. Photos by Harvey Aspell.

Street Soccer x CALM Poems

Group poems

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Group poems

 

1.

I can be the best

I’ll win a contest

I got more

You got less

I am different from the rest

Can’t you see what you need to be?

I can be the best footballer

I can be the best.

 

2.

I believe I can’t be seen.

I dream that I will be a footballer

 or a youtuber one day.

I will be a pilot.

I wanna be a vlogger.

 

3.

If I could ask the world these questions,

I’d be surprised.

I can’t believe you lied.

You tried to switch sides.

Boris- be true right now.

Stop acting like a clown.

Poems by Mohammed

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Two poems by Mohammed

1.

My world is Dubai.

Due to the weather and getting married there one day.

My world is sushi and I would live my life with it.

My world is my cousin, we’re just too close.

My world is my PS5, just violate people on fifa and GTA.

My world is football, waiting to get pro.

My world is dark purple, my favourite.

 

2.

 

Lately I’ve been thinking about kicking ball

I remember Arsenal last season, and where they are at now

Home is when England wins the world cup qualification with Bukayo Saka, Sancho, Sterling, Rashford, coming home is like them four ballers to make it come home

I believe Arsenal won’t win the prem or champions league

Football feels like Arsenal

I know I can make it pro

Greenwood is better than Mount

Why did Christiano Ronaldo have to go to Manchester United and why are Arsenal so shit?

A poem by Lauren

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by Lauren

My world is Columbia in good weather

My world is bandeja paisa, the national dish of Columbia,

it’s delicious

My world is Jade, she is my bff and sister

My world is my phone, all my contacts are on it

My world is football, it makes me happy

My world is green and black

Poems by Tarek

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Two poems by Tarek

 1.

My world is Algeria because of the weather and it’s where I’m from.

My world is chicken and lamb- it tastes good.

My biggest inspiration is my dad. He tries to keep me happy all the time.

I would take all my money if I ever had to leave quickly.

I like playing football.

Green is on my countries national flag.

 

2.

 

Lately I’ve been thinking about school

I remember when I was small

Home is ok

Happiness is like football

I believe I can play football

Football feels like happiness

I am fourteen

When can I work?

A poem by Ryan

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By Ryan 

If I could go to one country or place, it would be France because of family, and sunshine.

If I could only eat one thing, it would be plantain and chicken because it is sweet and sumptuous.

The person I’m closest with is my dad because he is hard working and caring.

If I could bring one thing out of my house it would be my computer

One thing I couldn’t live without, is football. And internet. Because it’s fun and entertaining.

My favourite colour is red, cause of Arsenal. 

Two poems by Ilyas

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My world is Morocco in the summer.

My world is curry after a long day at school.

My word is my mum. She looks after me.

My world is football. I love the sport and it makes me happy and positive.

My world is my phone because it helps me with a lot of stuff.

My word is the colour blue.

2.

Lately I’ve been thinking about money

I remember when I went quad biking

Home is the place where I can be myself

Happiness is like the ball hitting the back of the net

I believe in Allah and I believe you can accomplish your dreams

Football feels like home

I know I can achieve anything if I work hard

Ilyas is better than Messi

Why is there never peace and always problems?

Two poems by Kayden

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My world is my mum. Supportive. Helpful.

My world is football because I enjoy staying alive.

My world is my phone. It can do anything.

My world is Jamaica. Weather. Family.

My world is jerk chicken and mac.

My world is purple.

2.

Lately I’ve been thinking about Dinero

I remember when I met you

Home is home

Love is money

I believe I can fly

Football is like a stress relief

I know I can achieve anything

Kayden is the GOAT

Why am I that guy?

A poem by Jason

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A poem by Jason 

My world is Madeira. My grandmother. The weather.

My world is Pastel De Nata.

My world is Mumzy. She’s helpful, supportive and very funny.

My world is phone because it’s connection.

My world is spending family time.

My world is blue like Chelsea football club.

Two poems by Richard

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Two poems by Richard

1.

My world is Portugal. Because that’s my home. And my family. I miss it.

My world is Bitoque because it’s just so nice and it’s the best Portuguese food.

My world is my brother because we have each other’s backs.

My world is my phone.

My world is football because it’s fun and it’s my favourite sport.

My world is blue because blue moon; Manchester City.

 

 2.  

Lately I’ve been thinking I remember when Portugal won the Euros.

Home is safely.

Love is like family.

I believe in Karma.

Football feels like home.

I know I can pass my G.C.S.E’S

Any fact is football is the best sport

A question for the world is; can there just be peace?

Two poems by Samuel

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Two poems by Samuel

1. 

Samuel

My world is Spain in the summer, the beaches.

Blue is my way,

Football is the place.

My world is my brother, a sports person like me.

My world is my football boots.

 

2. 

 

Home is football

Happiness is a sun

I believe in myself

Football feels like freedom

I know I can

Oranges are healthy

Why is racism a thing?

Two poems by Yousef

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Two poems by Yousef 

1.

Abu Dhabi because it’s really prosperous. Two aunties and my family.

Salad, because it’s healthy and lush.

Younes. Because I need him to live normally.

And he is so funny. And he is my brother.

Money and credit card because I need to buy things.

Football. It’s really obvious. Football is all I think about and it’s so fun, competitive and genuinely addictive. My negative emotions leave my consciousness.

Red and Blue. Liverpool. Lil Nas X, the sky and the Ocean.

 

2.

Lately I’ve been thinking about thinking about football

I remember when I was small, I started playing football

My home is football

Happiness is playing football

I believe in football

Freedom feels like football

I know I can play football

Messi is better than Ronaldo at football

My question for the world is how do I play football?

 

Two poems by Younes

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Two poems by Younes

1.

I score when I see the lights in Dubai.

I score when I eat random food.

I score when I’m with my brother.

I score when I have my football.

I score when I see the colour blue.

The thing I can’t give up is myself.

2. 

Lately I’ve been thinking about air

I remember yesterday

Home in one mnute away

Calm is like sleep

Love is like me

I believe I can ride a bike in the sky

Football feels like you

I know I can feel it

Something warm

When I feel you I feel born

I know I can breathe.

You good?

A poem by Ayum

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A poem by Ayum

Lately I’ve been thinking to be happier.

I remember what I remember.

Home is some place wonderful.

Love is like happiness.

I believe I can fly.

Football feels like joy.

Male seahorses give birth.

I know I can achieve anything.

A poem by Mo

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A p0em by Mo 

Lately I’ve been thinking about making it.

I remember, Home is Home.

I believe in Allah.

Football feels like freedom

I know I can achieve anything.

A poem by Redwan

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 A poem by Redwan

I’ve been thinking; I want you to be happier

I remember when I used to go to school

Home is home

Happiness is like football

I believe I look good

Football feels like freedom

I know I can be successful in the future

Redwan is the guy-

Do you think Arsenal is the best team?

A poem by Jeremiah

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How Many Questions? by Jeremiah 

Lately I’ve been thinking of Arsenal

I remember when we dominated England at one point

Home is where I belong

Love is like disappointment

I believe Arsenal will never win the champions League

Football feels like pleasure

I know I can be successful in the future

Tottenham have never won the Barclays PL.

Why are Arsenal so bad now?

 

A poem by Musab

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 A poem by Musab

Lately I’ve been thinking about..?

I remember..?

Home is home

Happiness is like the love of my life

I believe in Allah

Water is good for you

Football feels like freedom

I know I can achieve anything

Why don’t you all just lend me a fiver?

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