HeyJaredSteve Pottinger
I'm a poet and a writer and a stage manager at music festivals. I'll be here – mainly – to talk about my poetry, and maybe share the occasional poem. There may very well be some politics in there, too.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 8
- Latest publication
- Sep 25, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 9, 2026
Latest issues
Just not cricket... (opens the original)
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“How you doing, Tim?”“Well, Steve…”“Go on…”“If I’m honest…”“Nothing wrong with a bit of honesty, Tim…”“I feel betrayed…”“Well, I did warn you…”“What?”“I told you right at the start…”“Eh…?”“They’re shameless grifters….”“Give it a rest…”“Every flag-shagging one of them…”“Steve…”“So I’m sorry you had
Three poems (opens the original)
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Following a week in which I’ve done two gigs – a glorious one in Ely (thank you, Fen Speak!) and another on the Sunday of Morecambe Poetry Festival as part of the Midlands Takeover – and seeing as these reminded me just how much I love getting up and sharing my work, I thought I’d use this Substack to share three new poems with you, each of which have made it out into the world in their own sweet way. So make yourself a cuppa, and settle in.The first one came about – as so many of my poems do –
On singers, friendship, and genocide (opens the original)
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You know the story. Ed Sheeran invites his friend Macklemore to perform on his stadium tour. Macklemore uses his platform – as he always does – to speak out about what’s happening in Palestine, and the predictable response from defenders of genocide (conveniently ignoring that Macklemore also spoke out about Sudan, and Congo) is to screech that he must be thrown off the tour. Hey presto, he’s thrown off the tour. This sets off a chain of events – an unfortunate chain of events if you’re anything
Many years ago... (opens the original)
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…when I was still young and wanted nothing more than to visit as much of the world as possible and be amazed by the people I met and the things that I saw, I found myself travelling through China. There’s more stories about that than I can begin to tell you – every single day’s an adventure when you don’t speak the language and can’t recognise any of the characters used in road signs, maps, or menus – but there’s one that seems especially relevant today.I can’t remember exactly where I was – sou
Turning of the seasons (opens the original)
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This weekend saw my final music festival of the season done and dusted. Although – after a summer of hot, dry, and dusty festivals all across the UK – it would be more accurate to describe this last event as done and mudded. The rain returned, and with it the opportunity to wallow in nostalgia as I slid and splashed from van to stage and back again, and watched bands play to crowds whose size was determined by how many could fit within the shelter of the structure of the tent, beyond which a cur
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