The Actor

All we are doing
Is putting on an act
Our bodies stage props
Ancient and cracked
Our hearts the electricity pulsing...

Through sound monitors and stage lights
Mechanical doors and Camera flashes
The scripted lines of our life re-unites

And as we get up each morning
We reach into our very own actors’ wardrobe
To wear today’s latest trend
Worn all across the globe
So there is no individual cast
Of actors fighting for their part
Instead we divide them up
In class, intelligence, talent and art

Next comes our debut performance…
Do we want to be pretty or plain?
Strong, weak... a protagonist, a fool
A hero won or victim slain?
The choice is ours – they’ll never know
That we wrote the script
And sowed the very threads
We came prepared, equipped…

To be anything you want
To be the idol of your dreams
The flawed hero, handsome villain
Our faces forever on your screens
To pause and play and fast-forward
To your heart’s content
And when you are bored of us
There will be another to fill that boredom like cement

But all this acting, all this pretending,
Faking, bending-truth and fact
Isn’t at all that healthy
Perhaps it was all made to distract?
Maybe we should all open our eyes
And see that we are not standing upon a stage
We are standing on grass, beneath clear skies
We are not wearing any kind of cloak or disguise
We are here not to act but to improvise.

Waking Up

I recently put up a YouTube video of a poem I wrote, hoping to perform it 'Slam-Poetry style' but my performace style is awful! I have a looooot to work on (including being able to recite my poem infront of a camera)!
   So here is the video in all its mediocre glory (and poem below):

Waking Up

What happens when we wake up and realise
That we've been living all these lies
That good and bad stand side by side
What happens when we understand
That we're being fed right into their hand
Us 'the people' - the 99%
Forced to believe sin and made to repent
But it’s too late for any kind of formation
To replace the current system that beats half-heartedly to any occasion
There's no more truth to fall back on
There's no light to be shone
The darkness consumes any flicker any flame
But we're already too blind to see through this game
The fascists are just a disguise
The communists take pleasure in being their alibies
Republicans are harvesting oil
And the Democrats believe in earth and the land’s soil
Everything we've been told has turned upside down
There's no monarchy, no jewel-encrusted crown
And there's wall of apathy
Put up to control the victims in society
The ones who worked and slept and ate and wept
The ones who want money, a 2-bedroom house and job security
The ones who died of old age
Forgotten long ago when they succumbed to that rage
Years left to be alone
Their dignity ripped from them the moment they were put in a home
Their own family telling us they can't see what we see
Their mind has gone, there's no point in making conversation
They’re in a better place, their heads no longer capable of realisation
And then they die and their life becomes a tomb
Forced into a coffin, there's no such thing as death coming too soon
When you're 83 and put of sight
You were never quite right...
And now were all too susceptible
To be anything but replicable, predictable
It's too late to write on banners and walls
To speak against money and spam phone calls
So we all go back to our beds
Feeling drained from our hearts to our heads
Thinking is the last thing we need
I mean we've already planted the seed
What more do you want?
Red paint and your own debutante?
You need to go back to reality
You don't see through the eyes we see
We've had ours closed all along
There is no right and wrong
Good or evil...
Just money and people

This Land

Recently I have been listening to a lot of PJ Harvey's latest album 'Let England Shake' which is all about conflicts in war, soldiers and a whole lot of other interesting and important things regarding our heritage, country, lifestyle and so on. Its definitely made me think more about what I had previously learnt and read about wars, especially modern ones and of my Granddad who never really liked to talk about his time fighting out in Burma during WW2. I live very close to the sea, in fact just a couple minutes’ walk away is a large golf-course that ends into tall cliffs along the Norfolk coast. I don't know why but I started imagining a battle taking place there and this poem is the result of that...

 

Snow falling through the winter cold,
sharing with it - the dreams of old
Ice and sleet that pave the way
To where my loved ones forever lay
Cold bodies beneath marbled stone
The Same tomb that will one-day be my home
This ancient crest of land
Sowed by the workers ancient hand
Has once again breathed life and death
With only the bleached-white bones left

Of those who fought through gas and rain
Over trenches in the pouring rain
Fields ablaze with rich explosions
Shrapnel falling deep into the oceans
It's gaping mouth - harsh and bitter
It's teeth woven like thick wicker
And as the winter snow melts clean
Who would know what this land has seen?
Let the memories die with those there
To keep fresh again this winter air

Dedicated to a Rather Wonderful Boy!

This poem is still pretty much in its primitive form; lots of editing shall be considered, but until then, this shall suffice!

I would never call myself an artist,
A musician, one who has talent beyond nature's demure
But with you, talent is uneccesary
And all that is important can crumble away
When presented with a simple kiss or touch
A word spoken honestly
And eyes that look so deeply, they are lost
In journey's of their own...

You are incomparable to any quote,
Lyric, painting or musical note
You are far greater than the height of
Human accomplishment yet or ever known
Shakespeare would be speechless
When presented with you; for no words
Could ever justify your being
Mozart would lay down his piano
And search beyond his music sheets
And still never find that melody in your soothing voice
Da vinci would mix all the colours
He'd ever used and go in search for more
Before dropping all of his brushes
And accepting paint can not show you
For who you really are
You are all the talent, all the creative wonders
The beauty, the truth
You are love and justice
And yet you shall always be more
For when I am with you, I might as well
Be the greatest of them all
Indeed, you would do well to call me
Shakespeare, Mozart, Da Vinci
Because you shall forever and always
Bring out the best in little old me.

15 Minutes of Fame

The churches have emptied
The crowds begin to disperse
And into the brothels--
They immerse
There's no doctors or nurses
Medical schools begin to close
Why pay for your degree;
When all you have to do is pose?
But what about the army...
They'll still be recruiting
But let us be warned
They'll all be prosecuiting
Life wont have a purpose
Unless it's in the stars
Concrete astrology
Along the californian boulevard
Forget the teachers
Police and shop-keepers--
When a lifestyle can be bought and sold
We wont need such preachers
And when the streets are empty
And all the doors are closed...
Out will come the rats
And our truths will be exposed

The Unmarked Grave

 

No name
To let us know
Which poor soul's body
Lies below
Is their sleep
Ever eternal
If the body
Is more husk than shell?

Did they have children
A mother or father?
Were they a spouse
Maybe a sister or brother?
How lonely
One must have been
To lay forgotten
Beneath grass no-longer green
A heroic death
Or welcomed perish?
This mystery...
I shall forever cherish
For whom else
Will grieve with me?
For this long-forgetten soul
We shall never meet or know
A story that
Will always be
Echoed through the debris

What I see

Do I see

What others see?

All this that surrounds me...

All the dirt and beauty

The wind, the cliffs

The sun and the sea

A man standing on his own

A women with a coat she's long out-grown

A feather floating by

A school boy on his way home

His mother, hiding bottles

So he'd never know.

And all this time

That ticks silently away

Begins to echo

With each new day

And so I stand in idleness

As the echo's fade away

'We'll sort you out' blues...

They say it'll all be over

In a month or two

You'll be much happier when

You stop feeling the way you do

It all takes time you see

I mean... what did you expect?

Your problems are only ours

When helping you is easy

And by that we mean pills!

Lots and lots of pills...

It doesn't matter if they

Turn your brain to mush

Until you forget your own free-will.

But it'll all be over

In a month or two

And then you can go back

To doing whatever it is that you do...

And then it may start all over again

And there'll be more pills to fix you up

And catch you out of the blue.

Us Women...

This poem is dedicated to two friends of mine, both of whom are called Sophie and are rather amazing people and brilliant feminists!



We are sensitive subjects,

Us women

Almost as sensitive

As our pretty little bodies

Our pretty little minds...

Such revolutions

Will never interest us

Oh no, we're far too innocent

To think such thoughts

The word 'politics'

Just simply isn't in our dictionary...

No, we're much too content

Sitting here, reading women's weekly

To think for ourselves...

The names 'Joan of Arc' and 'Emily Davison'

Are all new to me

We'd rather you know

'Judith Martin' now she

Really is a real woman to be...

So don't you fret, We're not

Planning our freedom

Our... liberty...

There's just simply

Too much to do

For us to care

About such petty things...

We're more than happy

To sit the hours away,

Staring out the window

And telling ourselves

Everthing will be okay..

Growing Up

There’s an edge

On the cliff

Where we’d sit for hours

Listen to the waves

And pick the flowers.

There’s a place

In the street

Where I first learnt to ride

I fell off

But I never once cried.

And there’s a room

In my house

Where no-one would find me

I’d sit by the window

And draw what I’d see.

They say you’ve got to

Grow up now

Stop returning to these

Old memories

You’re 17 now

Stop pretending you’re 3.

There’s a field

By my old friends' houses

With trees and a stream

The water ran cold

And now it’s just a dream.

There’s a park

Down by the bridge

We used to have picnics

Sit on the grass

And hunt for crickets.

They tell me I’ve

Got to stop

And think about my future

Sit, up

And practice good posture.

I don’t care about

What lies ahead.

I just want

To go back

To a time in my head.

I used to always

Want to grow up

Who care’s

About youth?

I want wisdom and gut.

But now I

Can’t stop remembering

The past, the time

The places, the people

I always thought would be mine.

Short Poem I

What is one life
To another,
When we cease
To live at all?
For the flower we
See as in bloom
Has not yet
Perfected it's form.

Waiting For A Hero

This poem was written after seeing a picture of Stella Vine’s latest public painting which was used as a backdrop for The Chapman Family’s Mima performance. After seeing the rather gory and morbid subjects in the painting, it felt important to me to capture this anti-war message into a poem. I hope it will suffice well.

The last four lines were used in the painting and are a lyric from the Chapman Family’s song ‘No More Tears’.

You can see pictures of the painting on Stella Vine's facebook page here - https://www.facebook.com/stellavine#!/media/set/?set=a.427503997282952.103945.227602890606398&type=3

And if you are interested in The Chapman Family, here is their facebook page - https://www.facebook.com/TheChapmanFamily

We’ll interfere

When money is the reward,

Land, oil,

And all the world’s spoils.

We’re waiting for a hero

The one to end this war,

But this tyranny of greed

Is no comic-book flaw.

The reality is death

At the hands of political shibboleth.

“We’re sorry for such casualties

But, that’s war.

We’d compensate their families

But it’s really such a chore…”

Front page news:

‘Civilian casualties rise’

First it was the prisoners

But now it’s the children’s turn

-to live like flies.

And we’re too proud

And patriotically ignorant

To deem ourselves the ‘cause’

As we become ever more belligerent.

This just in;

All wars have ended

We found the problem…

And now it has been mended.

All we needed was compassion

Instead of money, greed and fascism.

But who’s going to clean all the mess up?

We’ll tell the media it was charity

And government support

Of endless verity.

But deep down we’ll all know the truth,

It’s embedded in our culture

In our youth…

We listen to the papers

And the stories on the news

We want to feel human

But the media's our only muse

And all we can do

Is live our lives upside down

Where we can feel safe

Beneath this crown.

No More Lies

No More Fear

No More Hate

No More Tears

No More Lies

No More Fear

No More Hate

No More Tears

No More Lies

No More Fear

No More Hate

No More Tears

Poisonous Fruit

I may be bought and sold

Caught and told

Always weak, never bold

But at least I’m not your doll

You can chew me up

Spit me out

Eat me alive

And curse me with this drought

But I’ll still be mine

Though never free

At least I’ll live

At least I’ll be

You made my clothes

Sowed my woes

Took my hands

And kept me on my toes

Now I am a porcelain prize

No sailor will call for me

Until my cradle is made

Until I am no longer

Fruit of a poisonous tree.

Eclipse At Sunset

She smiles with weak eyes

A glint of wisdom

Guarded by her age

Threatened by a single hymn

Palms of wrinkled leather

Blue and grey like murky water

A stream into her lungs

Lived on through her daughter

The power and sanctity of youth

Are no longer of any use

Like the arm around her;

No longer tame but ruse

The candle she lit with a frail hand

Will eat away the dark

Until all the wax is consumed

And the light is no longer within her heart

She’ll leave with a whisper

On everyone’s lips

Though she died at sunset

They’ll sing of an eclipse.

To All The Fools...

They splash out on fast cars,
Big houses with pools,
Think they can conquer anything
Because we’re the fools.
They try to make us forget
By doping us with media
The advertisements aren’t a coincidence
They’re not there to feed ya,
No, they’re not your salvation,
Just another damnation.
And we’re happy to live this life
In front of a TV screen
Not knowing how to get up
And realise what we’re missing.
There’s alcohol, cigarettes and drugs
To make us think we’ve got a choice
But they’re just another function
To stop us from having a voice.
Free speech is compulsory
If we pay the right price
Anyone can have it
So long as their freedom will suffice
Our eyes don’t see the things
That their ears hear,
Our hearts don’t beat the way
Their brains make clear.
How can we be of any use?
When war feats a territorial motion
That keeps us thinking we’re on the right side
While the business men benefit with promotion.
It fucks up my mind
To think of how we have been bred,
Brought up to believe anything
Lies since day one, we were all spoon-fed!
And it’s not gonna get any better
Till we stop this slave labour
And make them pay all their faults
And do it in our favour.
It was never meant to be like this
We are our own identity
They never should have stopped our instincts
And put up walls of apathy.
It can’t be helped they say
Just ‘one of those things’
Well I can’t help but wonder…
That we’re the workers in this hive,
And every time we use our sting
We lose our hearts and die.

See Inside My Head

Dedicated to all men and women who have suffered at the hand of expectation and the burden of unfilling what others - before them - have fuillfilled. Especially to all the great Hollywood actresses of the 1900's and the men of Post-war Britain. So much opportunity and so much direction but so little encouragement and pride from those they wish would love them the most. And last but not least; to all those who think they have to comform and comply to anything but themselves, stay the person you are, do not change for the sake of 'duty' or others who do not appreciate the true value of life.


Can you see inside my head?

Reach in

And pluck out

Every bit of jelly-like substance

Untill I am only

Left with an empty skull.

This is how you see me -

Empty.

Like a vase without flowers

Or a book without words

I cannot be rewritten

As you had hoped.

Your ideas are not mine

I am 'The Ideal'

Blank slate to poison

See the blood dripping down

Dried brown like Earthly dirt.

I am 'whole' not 'a hole'

As you made clear

Unlike I - ambiguous and

Buried by those who do not

Seem to care.

I inhabit this shell

And you - my friend

Will never know such hell.

She Only Had Herself to Blame...

After reading 'Inspector Calls' by JB Priestly and Marilyn Monroe's biography, I put the themes together along with my own ideas (arguably the weaker components to this poem) and created this; 
(Still think if it as a draft, not sure when and if I'll come back to it though)



There once was a girl,

pretty as can be.

Grew up in an orphanage,

Never did see her family.


She was told they would come for her

One day, when she was older,

They said her pa would pick her up at 12

And carry her upon his shoulder.


When the clock struck 12

And noon had come,

Every day she would wait and wait

Thinking they were just running late.


But as she reached the age of 10

she realised they never were,

and they never would

come to collect her.


She grew up pretty fast

And began to hate her looks,

She learnt no-one would take her seriously

Never think she was into books.


The orphans used to call her names

Or pretend she wasn't there,

Then she began to use her looks

And they began to stare.


The boys would whistle to her

And beg her to come near,

The girls would talk behind her back

Hoping she would just disappear.


But time came to pass

And she was no longer adored,

Only good for one thing (Or so she thought)

A night out, a meaningless fling.


Some pills beside her bed

To help her sleep,

Were discarded on the floor

Amongst a dirty clothes heap.


She saw the bottle there

And thought of all her life,

Thought of each and everything

And all the troubles she was supressing.


Those pills are now inside her stomach

46 to be exact,

She was calm when swallowing them down

She saw death as a 'matter of fact'.


Now her body rots inside the earth

Below the ground we walk upon,

You see, it's never our fault

The poor girl; we shouldn't dwell upon.


She was always such a hopeless case

We knew it was bound to happen,

I think you'll find it was customary

She got what she deserved,

No self-respecting girl would have done the same

So we can only put herself to blame.

The Nuclear Family

There once was a couple

Who had it all;

Money, fame and

Their own grand hall.


But their nights were restless

As they tried and tried,

But no child would come

Oh, how they both cried.


They were offered a contract

That would set them for life,

But only on one condition...

She was to become his wife.


She never believed in paper

Their love was simply enough,

But her name was changed

And she was tied to his cuff.


And thanks to science

A child was born,

Though their love had gone

And the contract was torn.


The court saw praise

And pittied them both,

No Bible was needed

No hand shake or oath.


The child grew up

He was big and strong,

Looked just like his father

And never did wrong.


But time passed by

His parents were gone,

They never were happy

Though their lives were long.


What was there left

To love in this world?

Five decades he lived

Before the lies unfurled.


He wasn't happy

He wasn't sad,

But he felt guilt

For his mum and dad.


It was his fault

They never did love again,

He reminded them too much

Of all their conflict and pain.


So he tied himself a noose

And took one last breath,

He thought of his parents

And embraced death.

Just a Suit

You stand afar
always a silhoutte
always just a suit.
I should have been proud of you
the money, the house,
the lifestyle too.
I should have been happier
as I, the flesh and offspring
born into a cocoon of your success.
Shared by blood and bone.
Now luxury is a rarety
as mind becomes eternal
and independence brakes suburban comformity.
I am just an expectation
but you will never realise
I can also be such a devestation.
I carry no beacon or ticket
no, I am inside - a screaming mute.
And my future will not be a suit
no, my future will not be a suit.

Untitled

The crisp, white blanket of gleaming envy
will embrace us in snowfall
and dress us in the finery of all the green emeralds
and all the manicured jewelles of mankind.

We will gather in mourning
for the sun has already sunk deep
into the earths hollowed crust
magma no longer burns the insides.

The clocks will tick from dawn to dusk
but no light or dark will come
but waves of pristine anger
decorated with riches and drum rolls.

How very lavish,
How very decadent they will become
and from all the corners of the world
they will build again this damaged soul.

The Mirror

A mirror infront of me, a reflection of truth
But I, the believer can lie and fake my youth
I can throw away scars and cover-up blemishes
With foundation and concealer
Even wash away the effects of alcoholic beverages.
I can breathe in, making for a perfect toned stomach
And wish away the thoughts that prove my mind havock.
My hair can be tied away, my eyes painted over
My lips only rosy with gloss, my nails pretty with artificial perks.
My legs are shapeless and will prove to be a task
Leggings and jeggings will be used as a mask.
Oh what a dreadful thing a mirror can become
You think you look so pretty and sweet
Till you realise it's all just a cheat.
I think I'll stay at home today
Who needs this reflection anyway?

The Idol

Do you smile with white, gleaming teeth?

And what about your hair... is it long and blonde?

Oh and you’ll have to be a size 4 – 6…

If not, then we can fix you up with pills and photo-shop!

Infact, we have just the job for you…

Become our puppet and we’ll hold you up with strings

But don’t worry; we can make you dance and sing!

Do you want to be a star?

Live in Hollywood and sleep in Egyptian cotton..?

Well then, why don’t you come with us!

They all do in the end…

We’ll give you a new sense of purpose

To match that new Gucci bag and Vera Wang dress

We’ll even throw in stiletto’s… how kind!

There you go… the perfect person for us!

Oh but wait, we’ve found someone else…

She’s much younger and prettier than you

I’m sorry but you won’t be back by popular demand.

The truth is… we’ve found someone new

And better still… she’s a size 2!

Sorry your trip has ended so quickly

No refund is available…

We’ll send out your résumé,

You really were helpful

Now go-on, it’s past your pay-day.

Good luck with the future

I’m sure there’ll be something,

Maybe a Panto

Or even your own reality TV show!

And we’ll have to cancel that contract

But your money will last you a lifetime…

Oh but you spent it all on that pad in LA!

Never mind, you’ll get it all back… someday…

Hare on a wire

They hunt you down

Like hare on a wire

And wear a morbid crown

Made from blood spilt on fire.

They sit back in their mansions

And watch the weather change

They think they’ve done enough

When all the fruit bares strange.

Oh how they all dress accordingly

And pull-out pocket watches of gold

But underneath that waistcoat

Bares a heart grown cold.

Those men are just a handful

It’s us that are the majority

We let them poison the air

But who says they’re the legitimate authority?

It’s time we take back the earth

And all they have bestowed.

The trees and the fields

The soil and the crops already sowed.

And beneath this land are the dead

Skeletons of pure and white

We shall use their bones to build again

And hope this time, we’ll do it right.