Posts Tagged ‘bullying’


I’ve heavily revised this poem. Hope you all like it.

on a bright, september morning

his mother kissed him

let go of his hand for the first time

hanging in mid-air longing

to be held again before slowly

drifting down to his side

as he watched his mother

fade to grey in the crowd

realising he was alone

for the first time in his short life

in a world of unfamiliar faces,

unnatural bodies, slow motion figures,

orbiting his mind lowryquse

pass by going nowhere

a gaggle of kids stop, stare

his vulnerability exposed

in the sunlight bouncing

off a black mirror into eyes

belonging to distant relatives

he is alone, easy meat for the

slaughter men of the playground

encircling their prey like

a pack of wild chimps

and he is alone in a head of noise

figures pass by, not seeing him,

not hearing him not tasting him

as mandibles lash out

and he falls to the cold,

dark ocean of asphalt,

his body sinks deep

into a mass of hard blackness

rebounding ready for the

next punch as faceless objects

peer down at him laughter

intoxicated by primordial aggression

leering at his overwhelming confusion

tears flow down frightened cheeks

as fingers grapple to

pull hair, redden skin

rip his organs from his

body and eat them

while he watches

then it stops

the bell rings

dividing the air

and this asphalt space

is devoid of life,

no noise, no movement,

no beating,

and he lays on the skin

of the earth

the only sign of humanity

in this violent landscape


He remembers that first day at school

On a cold September morn as his mother

Let go of his hand for the first time and let it

Drop to the floor, kissed him on the forehead,

Turned around and left him there alone for the

First time in a field of unfamiliar faces, a

Landscape of slow motion figures, revolving

Around him like a L.S. Lowry painting and then

They see him, a gaggle of kids looking for the

Vulnerable, those alone, easy meat to pick on,

Waiting to strike them, destroy them in the blink of an

Eye before anyone notices what is happening

And then they begin their attack, moving slowly,

Encircling their prey like a pack of wild chimps

Ready for the right moment to set about their

Victim, and he is alone in a wall of noise as

Figures past by not seeing him, avoiding him

Not wanting to be there when they tear into him,

And the first punch comes from nowhere and he

Falls to the cold, dark ocean of asphalt, his body

Sinking deep into it before rebounding ready for the

Next kick as faceless objects peer down at him

Laughing, mocking, enjoying seeing him in

Confusion and pain, asking why, why, why,

And the beating begins like a shower of meteor’s

Ripping into the earth from everywhere and

Then it stops as the clock strikes ten and this

Asphalt space is devoid of life,

No more noise, no more movement,

No more beating’s, and he lays on the skin

Of the earth the only sign of humanity in

This violent landscape


Stood in a room

Surrounded by noise

Coming from walls

From glass, from lights

From people

But no words reach me

An indecipherable sound

A tsunami of noise

An avalanche of words

Nothing makes sense

I’m struggling to hear

To comprehend

To pick the words out

But the sentence is lost

All meaning is gone

I’m alone in a room

Full of people

Surrounded by noise

In the middle of a vortex

The eye of the tornado

As life goes on around me

Without me

 


standing in a crowded room

surrounded by humanity

I feel dead to the souls

of these around me

 

breathing the same air as me

yet unaware of my existence

unknowing and uncaring

I am a statue of stone

 

to those who move and mingle

around me with laughter and joy

telling jokes and tales

of lives gone and lives lived

 

they look straight through as if

I am a ghost of the past

the present and the future

I do not exist to them

 

as I drown in an ocean

of ignorance trying to reach a

shore that never appears

but grows ever distant

 

a shore that will broaden the

horizons of these that confine

me to a voiceless universe

a poisoned chalice never to be

 

consumed for fear of having their

own perceptions and

preconceptions challenged

and found wanting

 

by those who will judge

others without the

utterance of a single

vowel to them

 

and never look in the mirror

and judge the faceless soul

that stares at them

and ask the question

 

what am I doing to this person

 


Last night was another auspicious moment in my poetry experience. I lost my poetry reading virginity! I was very, very nervous as you can imagine, but the evening was made far more relaxing by being held in a small restaurant called the Kava based in Todmorden, West Yorkshire. I had never been to the Kava before but it is a lovely little vegetarian restaurant with a very pleasant and convivial atmosphere, helped by the intimate surroundings.

I went there with two friends, Nuala Robinson and Gaia Holmes. Both Nuala and myself attend a workshop run by Gaia called ‘Igniting the Spark’. The workshop is held every week although we are taking a break for the summer. The workshop is a very friendly environment and achieves what it sets out to do. It has certainly ignited my spark and I am enjoying writing poetry and having my creative side challenged every week by the various activities Gaia sets us. It is the other writers who go to the workshop who also inspire me to write better poetry and without them I would not have come so far in such a short space of time.

In the Kava was another friend who I knew and this helped to settle my nerves knowing that there were people there who had come to support me and the other poets based purely on our performance on the night and nothing else. Gaia was the guest poet and performed several of her amazing poems to a spell bound audience. All of Gaia’s poetry was very well received and she had well deserved rapturous applause at the end of her readings. The compare Anthony then read a poem and after two other poets had performed some outstanding poetry it was my turn to perform.

I got up and very nervously began to read my first poem ‘She Dreams’. All of a sudden my first night nerves had disappeared and I just concentrated on reading my poetry to the best of what I consider to be my limited ability. My next reading was ‘My Eyes’ which is a very personal poem about how I see not being able to read and understand non-verbal communication because of my Asperger’s Syndrome and how I imagine it is for someone else. The last reading was ‘Emily Bronte’s Pen’ which is my interpretation of what it must have been like to be the pen with which Emily Bronte wrote ‘Wuthering Heights’, Every since discovering the Bronte’s and Haworth last year they have held a special place in my heart and every time I visit Haworth Moor or the Bronte Parsonage I feel a tingle down my spine at the thought of walking in the footsteps of literary geniuses who changed the literary world forever with there outstanding poems and novels which have stood the test of time and always will do. At the end of my reading everybody applauded loudly and vigorously, especially my friend Simon who should be a professional applauder! The relief from finishing my very first poetry reading and losing my virginity was immense. All I wanted to do was find a bed and lie down for a very long time! But being 20 miles from home and with other poets still to read I couldn’t lie down anywhere. 

The rest of the poets were equally impressive and I realised how much I have to learn about poetry and I took inspiration from the other poets and their readings. After the event had finished everybody congratulated me on losing my poetry reading virginity and said I was a natural. To hear this gave me a boost to my confidence and has inspired me to carry on writing and reading poetry. Having Asperger’s and suffered from bullying has severely dented my confidence, but I am slowly getting it back through my new found passion.

I cannot thank Gaia Holmes enough for the lovely words she said to me at the end of the night, nor for the owners of the Kava Café who let us have the venue and all of the other poets and people who made it a magical evening for everybody. I got some ideas for a theme for my poetry and I cannot wait to read some poetry again whether it is one of my poor attempts or poetry by one of the greats.