The Poetry Brothel : Immersive spoken word

The Ballroom at Red Lion, 640 High Road, Leytonstone, East London, E11 3AA

Saturday, 29 March 2025

8pm-midnight

£10.00

  • Save to calendar 2025-03-29 00:00:00 2025-03-29 00:00:00 Europe/London The Poetry Brothel : Immersive spoken word The Poetry Brothel is a sanctuary for the misfits, the dreamers, the beautifully strange souls of London. In this idiosyncratic temple, you'll encounter a cast of characters birthed from the deepest corners of our poets' minds. For a modest token, our poets will invite you into their worlds, offering a one-on-one experience that is uniquely yours - a taste of genuine connection, a glimpse into the raw and untamed heart of humanity, delivered through poetry that is as experimental as it is intima... The Ballroom at Red Lion, 640 High Road, Leytonstone, East London, E11 3AA Mad Pirvan
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The Poetry Brothel is a sanctuary for the misfits, the dreamers, the beautifully strange souls of London. In this idiosyncratic temple, you'll encounter a cast of characters birthed from the deepest corners of our poets' minds. For a modest token, our poets will invite you into their worlds, offering a one-on-one experience that is uniquely yours - a taste of genuine connection, a glimpse into the raw and untamed heart of humanity, delivered through poetry that is as experimental as it is intimate, as messy as it is real.

Their shadows rest in rain

The veil is thin—fluttering like a torn red curtain in a midnight breeze. The rain whispers, pooling in the footprints of those who once walked beside us. Shadows waver in the lamplight and their echoes spill into our world like ink on wet parchment. In this dreamscape, voices unravel from the hush of the past, murmuring prophecy, longing, and lament.

Here, time fractures, and the dead do not rest; they linger in unspoken verses, in love letters never sent, in the hush between raindrops.

Step into a night of spectral confessions, where poets slip between worlds,offering one-on-one readings from the depths of their haunted hearts. Come dressed in the colors of the storm—midnight blues, spectral silvers, drowned violets—and drift into a night of poetic divination. Dream what the dead dream.


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