Join your host with the most* Neil Fulwood for an evening of poetry, politics, proselytising and probably a few more things starting with P.

*The most what we’re not sure.


Teacher by day, DJ by night and a poet somewhere in between.

Caetano Capurro is a Urugayan poet who uses his experience of growing up around the world to dissect his experience with race, immigration and mental health. Delving in to each topic and exploring how his experience is reflected in that of the people around him, weaving rhymes and wordplay he tells his story through how he sees the world. 


You need to hold on, because the hopes dreams and desires, they have no best before date because our passions never expire no, they evolve. They grow and manifest they stand up to the test of time, they crest the hills of expectation, and I  know it sounds naive because under the watchful eye of our own observation it’s like watching paint dry, it’s like watching grass grow, it’s a process that’s light touch, A process that’s slow, one the longer you stare at the slower it will go, it’s so hard to step back and see the path you carved through stone, it’s so hard to realise how far you’ve come when you’re alone. You are a spark of greatness and together we are a flame of brilliance, and I don’t know how to explain this but we come alight we burn so bright and cast out the darkness that envelopes us because despite our fears doing all they can to contain us all the same, once we see our own shine, they’ll scurry in the the recess of your mind not forgotten but another hurdle we overcame. Another reminder that our pain is not what defines but our ability to grow stronger is what refines us, a moment that reminds us we are so much more than those emotions that try to confine us. So late those passions blossom in to possibility you never possibly expected to be possible. We contain all we need within ourselves to find greatness, all the drive within yourselves to make this, ignore the doubts they all hold in themselves to break this. Rediscover what compels you to uncover beauty, harness is and use it as your finest tool to carve out your hopes dreams and desires, because they have no best before date no, your passions don’t expire.

Best wishes,

Caetano Capurro
Poet | DJ | Playwright | Teacher

• The world is big enough to get lost but not too small to be found •



by 5 o’ clock the scalp unsmoothes becomes

fine-grade sandpaper     one hundred & fifty

thousand follicle-dots all charged & primed

& wired   scouts of live hair are rising   ready

it’s a revolt

the body rises despite ourselves 

as breath breathes on despite ourselves

one day we’ll reproduce into the earth or

into bright bright air

like the circle of snow-white light at the end of an exhaust pipe

into bright bright air 

                                         despite ourselves

And here’s a bio:

Rich Goodson’s ‘Mr Universe’ was chosen by The PBS as one of the best 4 pamphlets of 2017.
Last year he came first in Freedom From Torture’s poetry competition.  

This year he was longlisted in the National Poetry Competition.  

Zen Buddhist.  
Queer warrior.

Convincing and compulsive, original, adroit and dramatically exciting.”    
(George Szirtes, poet)

Experimental, playful, politically engaged… offers a wealth of creative approaches in poems that are full to the brim: he is following William Blake’s road of excess in search of knowledge.
(Andrew Jackson, PBS Pamphlet Selector)          

“Fast, decisive and funky.”  
(T.R.Langton, poet)

“...judicious to the point of delicacy.  They’re as taut as a dancer’s calf.
​(Gregory Woods,  poet and critic) 



An atomic bomb survivor donates her body for scientific research

I am just the silk of a nervous system

its vast tree fanning in a storm of creation

and all the nests have long gone of song

If you bring me an American cuckoo

then I will throw my doves.

I was just a girl who bled into a woman.

A Japanese shape in a polka dot dress,

the pattern branded onto my skin.

Each circle my ground zero.

Each burn your firestorm,

so here is your body.

If we took a drive over Earth now

I dreamt you and I were driving over Earth’s sky and tuned into the radio of each country hearing ballads fading out to white noise. We noticed moon was a frosted bullet-hole and behind the black glass of space was the explosion of impact where brain matters of Gods making new worlds were actually reflecting the end of ours. We passed the blue desert of ocean to ice and watched it shrink like snowflakes in greenhouses. We turned up the radio over Syria and all of the stars turned to cats-eyes taking us to streets of roadkill in human clothes. As we broke down their sun hurled itself through this street in an act of self-immolation for all the people maddened by war. I dreamt you and I were driving in darkness with earth and moon as our busted headlights, “it’s no wonder we got lost” you said. We turned off the radio and watched sap bleed out from elms as sparrows gave it song. We slept in the beautiful earth.

Adult Autism

Before I was special

I was an angel in formaldehyde.

I was a minotaur with bulging bollocks.

I was Perseus versus Medusa trapping her in my shield.

Now I am special

I am a jar of pickles prickling the palate.

I am a Roman statue the Visigoths defaced,

its penis severed, dusting the pink roses vulva.