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.