Tag: life

#PoeticAnswers 59 – Someone Called Me From This Number, Can You Help Me Figure Out Why?

Thank you for calling,
How can I help?
I’m sorry, I don’t have that information,
Can I take some of your information?
I can try to make an informed decision
I can try to draw a logical conclusion
I can try to-

I’m sorry?
Well no I don’t know,
I need to know more
Before I can find out who knows
What you’re supposed to know,
So if you could let me know
A little more about-

I’m just the receptionist,
I’m just the front desk,
I’m trying to do my best
But I need to know the rest
Of your information, I can’t guess
Or things could become a mess
So if I could just-

If you-
Could you-
Can I-
Would you-
Ma’am if-
I need-
SHUT UP AND LET ME HELP YOU.

I need your name,
Your address,
Your contact telephone number,
Your email address,
Blood type,
Mother’s maiden name,
The fourth and seventh number of your bank card.

Thank you,
Was that so hard?
You want help?
I need help,
Professional help,
Psychiatric help
Because of customers like you.

It’s people like you
That make me want to
Change the ‘S’ to an ‘N’ in customer.
It’s people like you
That make me want to
Put a motor on my stapler and go on a rampage.
It’s people like you-

I’m sorry,
Did you just say ‘sorry’?
You’re the first person to ever say sorry.
I’m not saying sorry.
I’m sorry you feel that way.
I’m sorry but-
Sorry?

I’m sorry,
You have the wrong number.

Question from Felicia W. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 58 – Did You Get Enough Questions?

Over two-hundred
From the world and internet,
And friends and strangers.

I have enough for
Two and a half challenges
But it’s not enough.

I don’t plan to stop
So when it comes to questions,
Never stop asking.

Question from Peter G from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 57 – Why Am I Sticky?

It could be all matter of obscenities
And extremities
Which could be the source
Of my stickiness.

It could be the beer,
Sweet and sticky
And definitely
The wrong choice for this party.

It could be their breath,
So close it leaves condensation on your eardrums
And so heavy it drowns out the techno.

It could be the sweat,
Dripping, glistening and refracting
Looking like a perverse fancy dress
Where everyone wears glass.

Realistically,
It’s all of the above but
It’s mostly semen.

Question from my favourite li’l pervert, Arzoo.

#PoeticAnswers 56 – Who Am I?

I am the result of two strings of DNA,
I am the sum of everyone I have met,
I am the actions of myself and others,

I am happy,
I am independent,
I am capable of being anything,

I am unhappy,
I am at war with myself,
I am trying to figure out my place in this world,

I am alive,
I am dying,
I am here,

I am free,
I am limited,
I am a human being,

I am unique,
I am different,
I am my own person,

I am just like you.

Question from Lisa T. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 55 – How Can I Make Her Love Me Like I Love Her?

You can’t.

Because love isn’t something
That can be made in a shed like
Made to measure jigsaw pieces
Because love isn’t about
Making cuts and changes to make it fit.

Love is natural and organic,
Like the tree that was cut down
And stripped and made bare and
Manipulated and carved into
Something it wasn’t.

Love is something that needs to
Take root and grow
As a result of care and patience
And then let it’s arms
Reach out of their own accord.

It’s not something that should be
Forced and coerced under
Bright lights and routine and glass roofs
Because then it would be
Synthetic and false.

Love has to be authentic,
It can’t grow in a cage because
It won’t grow or blossom into what it should be.
Trying to force, construct or deconstruct it
Will only make it invalid.

It wouldn’t be true to her or you

Question from Colin M. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 54 – How’s The Poetry Challenge Going?

It’s like climbing a mountain of paper,
Or more appropriately, a mountain range
Because there’s a whole range of topics
But they all feel the same and I’m
Trudging through these snow drafts and
Getting colder in an uphill struggle because
I’m never peaking or reaching the
Tops of my potential because it’s a
Pinball tabletop plateau. That’s to say,
It’s feels like I’m falling flat on an incline and
Bouncing around ideas but nonetheless
Doing the same things over and over again.
I’m becoming snowblind and I
Can’t see the line between disillusion and mirage
And when it looks like I’m making tracks
I’m not smiling it’s just my face
Beginning to crack from the pressure and
Altitude and magnitude of the situation.
I’m seeing the same metaphors and visions
Dressed in different expositions but I know
They’re the same. It’s just repetition
Of ideas and images because I left
My originality behind twenty days ago
Because it ran out and I couldn’t carry
The excess weight of the emptiness around
And sometimes it feels like
I’m not even on the mountain anymore
Because I feel buried, like I’m underground,
Like I’m in hell like Persephone,
Five months after the kidnap.
Almost giving up on her
Fruitless endeavours and tired of
Repeating herself over and over.
Just waiting out for a
Bright new day and waiting for
The sun to come out and melt
All the misery away and
Finally manage to make and feel something
New.

Today’s question comes from a chat with a flyerer on the Royal Mile who was interested in what I do.

#PoeticAnswers 52 – Where Is This Train Going?

It’s not quite a one-way ticket,
But it’s not quite a return either.
It’s quite possibly
The vaguest journey to ever unfold,
Because this train tends to
Go off the rails
And meander and roll towards
Destinations and conclusions
That aren’t on a map.

And this train isn’t fuelled
By any standard means
Once the electricity ends,
Once it runs out of steam,
It starts running on imagination.
At which point, it’s less about
Point A to Point B and more like
Pointed to pointless
Endless, listless and aimless.

Going through cities and countryside
On a magical mystery ride through
Memories and dreams,
Riding into the future through
Detours of maybes,
Past purple skies and cities that never sleep
And fields of clouds and streams of whiskey,
Freestyling and meandering it’s way to
No where in particular.

Question from Michael Clark from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 51 – What Happens To Your Heart When You Go To Sleep?

The heart keeps going,
Awake and wired like
A caffeinated child.

The heart rests
Takes a moment away from the race
And takes life at it’s own pace.

We don’t sleep when we sleep
Our brains don’t shut off,
Our heart keeps pumping blood,
Our lungs keep breathing
And maybe that’s why
We’re still tired in the morning.
Because rest is a lie and
Our bodies keep going.
We think we’re dead to the world
But we’ve never been more alive.

Our brain dreams,
Processing thoughts and actions
Like a machine,
Like a computer with the screen turned off,
Creating images and flickering lights,
Playing tricks on our minds and retinas like
A limited edition, one-of-a-kind movie
In a cinema screening that no one saw,
Except for a projectionist in a dark room.

And our heart is the soundtrack,
Heart strings and pulsing drum beats,
Slow and steady
But swelling to crescendo,
Racing to action
A veritable ventricle
drum and bass underscore,
Returning to legato then coming to rest.

And, like any true heart,
The protagonist in the story,
Arriving on dampened horseback,
Head- and heartstrong,
The knight in shining armour
Chasing nightmares and negative thoughts away,
Then riding into the sunset,
Reminding you to love yourself

Question from Amanda P. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 50 – Is There An Art To Being A Stage Technician?

Yes.

Allow me to shed some light,
Hear me out on this matter,
There is as much artistry backstage
As there is on the stage.

Sonic, scenic and visual artists
Set the scene and the score
And illuminate the microcosms
Of stage and screen while
Remaining unseen and unheard
While building walls of sound and
Tapestries of light and
Entirely illusory worlds.

Because it’s a big-top circus
And we’re the juggler, and trapeze, and the balancing act
Performing behind the scenes.
Getting everything ready before
The clowns enter the stage.
Playing God,
Controlling the light they walk in,
Adding the music and sound to the mundanity,
Cueing them into life.

We are valid true artists.
Hiding in shadows,
Lighting the way
Making the music,
But staying out of the spotlight.
Forever alone in black space,
Making every day our magnum opus
While no one pays attention
To the man behind the curtain.

Question from ‘A Curious Follower’ from WordPress!

#PoeticAnswers 49 – Why Aren’t You Listening to Smash Mouth’s “All Star” Right Now?

Somebody once told me
That this song was the
Greatest Song in The World.
I believed them,
At the time, I wasn’t exactly
The sharpest tool in the shed.

I now realise I was wrong,
And the only people who believed it
Might as well have had their
Finger and their thumb in
Their ears, blocking out
All other opinions and
Never experienced real music.

YouTube is suffocating,
The parodies start coming
And they don’t stop coming,
With more samples than
Costco on a Saturday
And more covers than
The bedding section of IKEA

It’s spreading like a virus,
It’s spreading like an STD,
Infecting ears and brains
Like stereo herpes
Like cold sores on my inner ear,
An uncomfortable nuisance
Causing rage and discomfort
Proving that all that glitters
is not golden.

It needs to stop
I need to get away from this place
Things need to change.
We could all use a little change.
I’ll change the DVD to Shrek 2
And hope for the best.

Question from Michael Clark, and now I’ve got this song stuck in my head.