A Cry Of Help From A “Poltergeist”

It’s not fun being invisible.
I can feel a scream forming at the back of my throat, but I can’t make any sound.
I feel like nothing because I am basically nothing. Empty space.
It would be easy being nothing if I knew I wasn’t meant to be something.
It’s the worst suffering you can feel, watching others live.
The only thing I can do is scare people with my intensity.
I’m a prisoner shaking my bars.
I have no choice.
If only something could free me.

Advertisements

Living Uncertainty

Wearing clothes someone else has made
Eating food someone else has grown
Living in a home someone else has built

Does this feel like your life?
Do you feel in control?
How can you be sure this is freedom?
You can’t go wherever you want.
You can’t do everything you want to do.

You were taught algebra and grammar.
You learnt about wars and the achievements of dead people.
You weren’t taught how to live beyond the confines of walls.
Or if life were possible out of reach from satellite connections.

We are supposed to be advanced.
We are the human race that knows ever square inch of earth.
What are we without our guns, our computers, our armour?
We are delicate and defenceless.
Our skin blisters under the sun.
We bleed at the scrape of rock.
We are blind in the dark.

The truth is there is no truth.
We send rockets into space in hope something out there gives us an answer.
In the meantime, we try to cope with the overwhelming fear.
The fear of the unknown.
Or the fear that we will never know.

Fog Song (Reworking of T.S Eliot’s poem ‘Marina’)

This was a part of an exercise in my Experimental Writing class where we had to rework a piece of writing we liked.

For those of you who don’t know it, you can go to this link: http://poetry.rapgenius.com/Ts-eliot-marina-annotated

My goal was to reverse the original poem. ‘Marina’ was about an aging father lamenting his deceased daughter who was lost at sea. ‘Fog Song’ is the response from Marina. The title came from the idea that her voice calls out to him from the fog on the shores.

Fog Song

O’Father further
cracked with ice-fire
you have forgotten you remember
rotting June weak September
dissolved by a fog song grace
your conscious unknown knows
time beyond yourself where you spoken
for I un-spoken resigning your awake for I
un-woken
What world towards hurrying timbers
does nearer, lesser meet

Don’t Worry? Be Happy?

Since my childhood my Dad has always repeated this phrase to me in hope I would just abandon all my negativity and smile. Yes, it appears to be a good motto…I mean wouldn’t life be better if one just lived without that wretched thing called worry? Unfortunately, at least I found, it really is impossible to not worry about things. You have to worry about your future, if your income is steady, if you’re being reasonable spending a whole day in bed watching documentaries about serial killers, if you’re keeping up with all your friends, if you chose the right education path, if you’re healthy enough, if the world is going to shit, if you would survive a zombie apocalypse…you know, important stuff.

So, I wrote a piece using word association and phrase manipulation that picked apart that cute little saying ‘Don’t Worry Be Happy.’ It’s sort of like ‘Ignorance Is Bliss,’ isn’t it? If you just forget or turn a blind eye to the things that upset you, you’ll be alright, yeah?

(I would also like to note that even though the phrase bugs me, I still like Bobby McFerrin’s song.)

Happy Don’t Worry Be

Don’t worry, be happy. Worry not and happy you will be. Walk lot’s by the sea.
Short locks sway in the breeze. Cheese blocks and chocolate cake. Ink blots and total escape. Immersion costs but worry not, laughs are cheap and set us free. You won’t be sorry, you will be happy. The phone is ringing, your hair is thinning. The paper tower is getting higher but the kettle is on and your tongue’s on fire. You just got shat on, the car won’t start. The kids are crying and music the sucks. Despite the fact you’re slowly dying, dinner is ready and your dreams flying. Smack into the windshield, knuckles white, sunset swooning and muscles tight. Lovers moaning and sweat is pouring, doctors delivering and fathers snoring. The shorts are short and so is life, but not the queue or the bills or your strife. Don’t be sad when you can be stupid. The world is flat and god is forgiving, so lets see a play, play a board game, board a cruise ship and be happy.