Tag: Reality

#PoeticAnswers 99 – Are You Sure We Exist?

I think that I think I exist.
If thinking equals being,
Then I think that I exist.
But it’s not a conscious
Decision to will myself
Into this existence
And this is evident by
The persistent indecision
That I find myself facing
On a daily basis.

Because I’ve lived
My life thinking
“I think, therefore I am”
But I find I am in
A constant battle of
Positive versus negative
And logic dictates
I wouldn’t wish it
Upon myself so
Who did?

How would I know
If this wasn’t just
Some kind of crazy,
Inconsistent coma dream
From one too many
Car crashes, causing
Flashes of different lives
To flash across my eyes
In a systematic series of
Fortunate and unfortunate events.

Maybe this isn’t even me,
Maybe I’m someone else’s
Fantasy or hallucination,
A nighttime thought creation
Or process of dissociation,
A cultivation and culmination
And overall manifestation
Of stress and frustration
Or a figment of a
Perfect stranger’s imagination.

But at the risk of waxing existential,
I don’t think we’ve considered
The absolute potential of
Being part of an extraterrestrial
Game of The Sims.
Being trapped at the whims
And mercies of martians
Or deities who let us
Virtually have no control
In our lives.

Question from Justine F. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 98 – What Would You Do If You Couldn’t Fail?

I wish I could say
I would take the time to
Do something sensible, like

Resit that maths exam
Or ask you out or
Wish for peace,

But the gravity and
The bitter reality
Is this:

I would stop trying,
I would stop learning,
I would stop being me.

I would become bored,
I would become complacent,
I would become a failure to myself.

I would probably become depressed,
I would probably stop caring,
I would probably kill myself.

Question from Michael Clark from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 95 – When Did You Realise How Good You Are?

It’s was never exactly obvious,
It was more like the longest
Dawning of the day, except
It wasn’t a twenty-four hour
Turn-around time for it to
Come around, it was more like
Several years of night skies and
Never shining out of the darkness.
Feeling a sort of substandard
That could only be applauded
By best friends and parents.

But since starting to write
And stage these poems,
I’ve seen real people,
Rooms of strangers
Clinging onto every word,
I’ve heard them laugh,
I’ve hugged them when they’ve cried,
I have had statements from people stating
That they can relate to
The work that I’m making.
Even though it’s not anything
Particularly groundbreaking,
The fact that it can actually
Mean something to someone.

This never happened overnight,
I never expected any of this,
I never expected to find this bliss
Or happiness in performing
Poetry.
I never imagined feeling
Good about myself or
Having other people
Appreciate and listen.
It doesn’t feel real,
It doesn’t feel every day,
But in this moment of
Existential realisation,
I’ve come to realise:
I’m pretty fantastic.

Question from Megan C. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 82 – Are You A Poet?

I know it seems hard to believe
That I wear my heart and soul on my sleeve
And my vocal chords and
Stand up in front of my fellow humans
And regale them with poetic tales
And awful rhymes about
My time on this earth.

Because I don’t fill the traditional mould,
I’m not young enough to be fresh on the scene
And I’m not old enough to be established
And I’m not clean shaven enough
Or too beardy to seem as wordy
As I try to be.

And I don’t have a degree in English
From a top university like Edinburgh or Cambridge,
I went to a uni out of sight and mind
And studied sound and lighting design
So I understand the quiet rage
That some people have when I step on the stage because
I spent years trying to hide from it.

And I don’t have a beret
Or skinny fit jeans
Or a memory strong enough
To remember my own poems and
It feels like I’m in a dream because
After this I have to go back to the
Corporate machine and

I don’t have books of Wordsworth or
Shakespeare and I don’t write every day and
It gives me the fear that I’m a fraud and
All of this will disappear like
Chalk on a pavement or rational thoughts into a beer so
I’ll take this neuroticism and use it to
Justify all my actions and make this seem real, so

Yes I am a poet because
I’ve got crippling depression and
And a a tormented childhood
And a mental state that barely exists
And I’m not afraid to show it and
That makes me a troubled artist.
So yes, I am a poet.
But I’m not sure I know it yet.

Question comes from a work colleague who didn’t realise what I do as a sideline.

#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