Sunday, 26 September 2010


Anyone write?
that includes emails
anyone read?
that includes texts. good.
I'm by no means an seasoned writer
and at best an amateur poet,
and that may explain why
within my brief time in this game
i have only come across three
types of performer:
those who write for sport
those who do it to relinquish thought
and then, honestly, you have the best.
where you want to be
is right where they have you
and you don't yearn for whatever word comes next
as the one they have you on already feels so blessed.
it's the one we tell are without an equal
and after a while, when told by enough people
sometimes they can go and believe it too.
so perfection is all they expect,
and they wont accept anything less
from anyone else,
even if that's another side of themselves
so their defeats fall to their wayside
hidden under their shadow
(the hardest place for anyone to grow)
so whether it was an inspiration, or burden
we're here all the same, to remember, and let go.
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome
to the funeral of the greatest poet who ever lived.

Saturday, 25 September 2010

Parents evening.

hello Ms Mahoney, Thank you for coming.

Well, I don't know what to say. Sean is doing well for sean. His attendance and punctuality, good. Good. For Sean. I mean he doesn't put his hand up never speaks in class never handed in homework through the term that's passed.

I mean, It's a bit obvious he's not going to be a rocket scientist. I mean, it's not rocket science. heh.

Mrs Mahoney. Please sit down.
uhhhhhhh- wow. Talkative isn't he?
There's a tendency to spout off on these long-winded rants at any opportunity. He's nice but in that class he can honestly at-times-be unruly. I just don't seem him ever having any interest in poetry.

Hello Ms Mahoney.
Your son is... Sean. oh yeah. him. well where do i begin. no complaints. He fits in, does what is given. what else. sorry i really don't know what to tell you- i think he pays attention..?

Ms? Mahoney. Mahoney, mahoney, ma---honey. Sean. where do i start. you know what, in his defence the other day he said something interesting in class. he said 'sir i'd love to do the work i just don't have the heart. My mind moves too fast' i think he said it to get a laugh. i mean if you look at his grades it evidently isn't the case. His performance has slipped since he's got that eczma on his face.

Ms Mahoney! Before you leave, i just wanted to talk to you. you see, i don't think, Sean, i don't think he's very focused and i don't know how well he's going to do on the gcse's and- well i think i might put him on a course as a mechanic. what you think?

I've never done a hundred press-ups in one go. But I've never done a press-up wrong. So don't tell me I'm out of rhythm when I'm dancing to a different song.

Friday, 3 September 2010

A political poem

The last time i made a stand it was
against the rise in price of the mini chicken fillet at KFC
for some it takes a lot to stand up for their rights
for me, it was twenty pence.
it's funny, the things that fill us with rage
especially when usually we're woken from 
a midday sun gently nudging our face
reminding us we've once again woken up late
or, is, is that just me?
I'm never filled with hate, never needing- anything
we, as people, have it all, more than ever before
and live life like there is nothing left to fight for
yet our country is at war
and have travel (and chicken) prices hiked further to hurt the poor
and constantly receive news alerts of danger right at our door
and we choose to not see, 
in the hope that whatever is happening
has as little to do with us as possible,
because we just want to keep on.
or, is, is that just me?
not wanting to get in the way, 
I begrudgingly dance to whatever rhythm they play
the dudes who run our lives, in suits who run the nation
i only see them in newspapers,
assuring us they're getting us out of whatever situation they put us in
i don't see myself as one of them,
not the to-be-helped or the to-be-helpers
because, we, as people, as young people, honestly,
have never been so removed from society
despite our connection to social networks
we're a generation focused on singularity
video game playing, music video watching,
celebrity-gossip-focused, zombies
In the grand scheme of things: powerless
and in our self-made universe, kings and queens
with our own routines and manageable things we can control
until the bigger plans of others bursts our protective bubble
"what do you mean twenty p? the mini fillet is a pound.
a pound! why are you doing this to me!? you know what,
no, I'll never ever ever have a chicken mini fillet again.
colonel meal please."
the knowledge that we're helpless to another's set of rules 
can brood in the back our heads until our refusal to admit 
this impotence leads to an anger, resulting in hurt children,
loved ones, friends, co-workers and choice of chicken
we will never rise up, but will have our fingers crossed
that the decisions of higher-ups don't affect us too much
and it never occurs that we, could speak up. Right?
or is, is that just me, again.
I did vote because it's the right thing to do.
I voted labour because mum and dad hated thatcher
who's a tory and no one likes David Cameron.
although, i guess some people must have voted for him
and now i'll sit under his order quietly complaining
and i'd be right to because he didn't get my vote.
so, I spoke.
i read the greeks have it right
i heard they stand up and fight
i, would want to, but for what?
it feels like we've already lost
street cameras on all corners
shit television hypnotises our arses to stay on sofas
with shit celebrities used to inspire us
selling cheap food that's killing us
reading shit magazines that miseducate us
and teach how to build up and then distrust
go on dating sites choosing convenience over love
flying military helicopters with xbox 360 controllers
so we can kill without heart
how long a fight is this, where do we start?
it's all shit, but it's all for us, and it's all for free
so who are we to complain?
I mean, is anyone here going to war over
the rise in price of oyster cards? of course not
because our rebellion has been conquered in baby steps
Unless, anyone willing to take a stand over twenty pence?