Tag Archive | poetry

Rant #140415 ‘The Real People’

  
He says he’s working for ‘the real’ people.
Well that’s me fucked then.
I am a robot,
a symbiant,
a withered apparition,
the collective expression of other people’s ideas,
jammed into a man shaped hole and trapped there.
I am the product of a system,
and he would not like to meet me.
There might be discussion,
or disagreement,
I might offend his religious devotion to a set of ideas,
to the principles of his private club,
set up for ‘the real people’,
the ones who agree,
who play nice,
who appreciate his practiced smile.
They flock around and their saviour,
scrape and bow,
until something changes,
and they are not ‘real people’,
or he finds himself less ‘real’,
exposing the lizard within,
hidden inhumanity tends to frighten the electorate,
so best keep that skin suit zipped mate,
and don’t look too deeply into their eyes,
or they may see the monster inside.
I am happy in my tin,
insulated,
distant,
immune to the disease of ‘the real people’.
I am no longer flesh and bone, waiting to be ground,
I see,
I think,
I feel,
but I will never be ‘real’.
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Late night, early morning

Lights firing inside my head,


perhaps, afraid one day they will go out.


I follow her constant breathing, with envy at each effortless sigh,


hoping soon my mind will wander or be distracted by morpheus touch.


I turn, torturing myself,


shifting weight.


Processing, clearing, exploring yesterday and the day ahead.


I hope for rest, but a pretension lives on,


where this malady is some inspirational disease.


I fear it is a curse.

 

Writing and running – part two (I hate self-discipline)

Resorting to poetry, I can barely breath,

having captured an hour, to move less gently.

For this one I warmed down, but feel shaky legged,

insecure heartbeat, ice-cream pain, intense.

A talk about dogs, some nearly hit cars,

colder, but brighter, and still not too hard.

Building it slowly, but too fast for me,

phone slapping comfort, keeping a beat.

A rhythm, de-synced to ventricles furred,

ripping the filth that from torpor it learnt.

Inaction made steady, can easily seduce,

that part of me wanting, to without effort produce,

all that I hope for, with no courage put in.

A teacher once told me, I lacked self-discipline,

I still hate him.

 

Seasonally Effected – A cultural open mic

photo credit: ucumari via photopin cc

photo credit: ucumari via photopin cc

Join or contribute to a new cultural open mic – The first event will be at the Dot Cafe in Rochester on 27th February 2013. Let us know your coming here: http://goo.gl/SSgYY

Poetry, philosophy, music, short-stories, painting, plays, history, short-films, photography, stand-up comedy and anything else that I may have forgotten, are all welcome at Seasonally Effected.

Following the Short Encounter’s event last October, I thought it’d be fun to put together a much broader event. Seasonally Effected will give 5-10 minute slots to anyone who would like to respond to the theme. The theme being right now, February, the end of winter, early 2013 or anything related to it, however tangentially.

If you would like to book a slot, whether to sing a song, show and talk about a painting, read a poem, show a short film or make us laugh, then send me an email at:

seasonallyeffected@gmail.com
book soon, as places are limited.

Please include a brief description of what you would like to do and how it relates to the theme, along with a short bio.

If your stuck for an idea, apparently the 27th is International Polar Bear Day.

(Please note that there will be limited technical equipment, so most performances will be unplugged – if let me know what sort of set up you need, I will try and accommodate as best I can)

photo credit: ucumari via photopin cc

Pause

Amongst a crowd of people,
speaking words I do not understand.
I never make a sound,
but know many things in the quiet of a beer glass night.
Watching as the clouds turn black
and laughter stills,
there is a peaceful pause.

20120627-232725.jpg

Searching for Sci-Fi Art and Music from or inspired by the Medway Towns

I am putting together the podcasts for ‘Short Encounters‘, a collection of Medway inspired Science Fiction stories from local Writers via ME4 Writers.  If anyone has got any Art work or photos they would like to contribute to the accompanying booklet OR any Music (ambient background sounds or appropriate tunes that I could put between or after the stories) and would like to get involved, please let me know.

Please note that this is a labour of love and completely devoid of any financial benefit to anyone (especially me ;-> )  I will credit any work contributed and hope that by working with a lot of other people, everyone involved gets to reach audiences they might not otherwise.

If you are interested or have any questions, please email me on: roy_smith@hotmail.co.uk or on twitter @roy_smith –  Please share this with anyone who you think might like to know about it.

Cheers

Roy

Squashed two

I am squashed between two worlds
and though grown from my roots,
trying to maintain some clemency.
Hoping to think and not offend;
I was raised too cautious,
but in awe of heroes;
I fought inside my mind:
I did not step on grass.
I did not talk in class.
I did not sleep around.
I held back most I felt.

Understanding is the rarest thing,
a ghost amongst ideas.
And when the call was sounded
and as usual I had no heart,
but on hearing violent voices and
displays of casual threat,
the petty digs and schadenfreude,
provoked a hidden rage.

Speaking a little louder,
at risk of unknown change
then in a moment critical,
SMIILING.

To share an open feeling
of honest lost belief,
where no one is a victor,
but everyone is heard.
Better loud than silent
I suppose, or else I’m wrong,
to roar my thoughts ferocious,
as I retreat in to my cage.