He Drives He Drives This is a poem about mental health. This is how I feel sometimes. Stars running in the night sky. A young man slays a wedding in a black car. He drives he drives he drives. The mountains are coming to him faster. At first it was delights and gold. Now weed is the only thing that comes to him through the day. Fake laughs. Fake smiles. Fake confusing bodyguards trying to help out of compassion. Love for sure. He drives he drives he drives. Why did you ever see that. Hear this. Feel that. He can’t really work out stuff. The huff of the wind. It doesn’t move anything. Just offloads more. He drives he drives he drives. The thoughts fool him. Words do too that is the puzzle. A word is fickle but so strong at the time of understanding. We need to let go now. He drives he drives he drives. The changes. He doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t want to move anymore. It’s too much. Just when you have a bit of peace. A funeral of normality steals it. He drives he drives he drives. The funeral of life came at the wrong time. What would have happened? It’s a pointless question. Now it’s difficult. It will be okay but it’s okay not to feel at all at the moment. You will talk again and then it will be okay. You will drive to the sunset. Stop off at many colours. The colours will be happiness.
THE SHOUTING MUTE
By The Shouting Mute
The idea for this poem came from my wonderful Mum. I wrote this years ago, maybe on my first day after I left school. I said goodbye to that part of my life. I wanted to work in performing arts and creative writing, and this was what I wanted to stand for. The Shouting Mute gets his point across. The Shouting Mute lets people know what he thinks and feels. The Shouting Mute considers and then shouts. The Shouting Mute talks to you like a squirrel with a tigers roar. The Shouting Mute sees emotions in people. The Shouting Mute knows to listen with his eyes and ears before shouting. The Shouting Mute talks to you with his body. The Shouting Mute talks to you with his head. The Shouting Mute talks to you with his eyes. Watch a mute’s body and listen to their talking heart. Sharing their dreams, sharing their missions, sharing their opinions. The Shouting Mute is fighting for a world that has difference, Respect and peace, as its only agreement. The Mute does not stop talking. The listeners do not hear the mute’s words, Listen and you will hear the mute speak everyone’s unique language. I am a Mute but can you hear me? Yes you can. The quietest people in the room are always the loudest.
By The shouting Mute
This poem is an old one that’s had a makeover, like a pack of mini cheddars into a camembert. Some of you might recognise it from the older poems I shared before. I have renewed it so it is more like a lad just loving life, eating from a popular fried chicken establishment. It turns disability on its head. Why is disabled called disabled? It should have been called lucky bugger. I am a lucky bugger. I have a dream life, like asking my carer to get me coca cola, chocolate and ice cream. I am a lucky bugger. I have a driver to drive me wherever I want to go. Cinema, to get a cheeky bit of fried chicken, and the betting shop for ‘There Goes Shirley’ in the 14:45. I am a lucky bugger. I don’t do the washing, cooking and cleaning. Isn’t that everyone’s dream? I am a lucky bugger. Disabled people get to do some fantastic things, meet celebrities and royals, they are cool. I am a lucky bugger. I get to sit in the front row at the football, rugby matches, and the theatre. I am a lucky bugger. Some people give me money. Thanks but I don’t need it. I am a lucky bugger. I travel a lot. Sorry world. I am a lucky bugger. I get fantastic equipment, an electric wheelchair, an eye gaze, the coolest computer on earth. I am a lucky bugger. So don’t feel sorry for me, because I feel sorry for you.
Why I’m Afraid of Shaving
By The Shouting Mute
Relationship Slut This poem is a response to the facebook status function, specifically ‘in a relationship’. I wrote this just because I think it’s stupid and nobody really cares. It just shows more people get their heart broken. People respond to these status updates with, ‘they’re out of your league’, or ‘that couple is sweet’, or ‘what the hell, you and you don’t go together’. I don’t really care but the poem is to do with the facebook function and the stigma the word ‘relationship’ has now, when that word actually means so much more than just being a couple.
I’m a relationship slut. I’m in a relationship with my postman. I see him. I wave and he waves back. That’s technically a relationship. Should I change my Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’? I’m in a relationship with my dog, but she sleeps around all day. Should I change my Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’? I’ve been in a relationship with my toy dog, Scoop, since I was 3. It’s my longest relationship. Should I change my Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’, for 20+ years? I’m in a relationship with chocolate. I eat it at every opportunity. Should I change my Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’? I’m in a relationship with Batman. I love him. I’m an Adam West type of guy. Christian Bale is alright, better than Ben Affleck. Should I change my Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’? I’m in a relationship with my car. I take it out and it repays me by playing music. I’m in a relationship with the Aston Martin, but only in my dreams. I’m in a relationship with my wheelchair. It hugs my butt, and we get filthy together. I’m in a relationship with my switches. I bang them so hard, they break. Relationships, they’re funny things, filled with desires and dreams. Giving and gaining. We never could work that out. Inside, I’m a wet drip dreaming about romantic days. My Facebook status is in 500 relationships. I’m a relationship slut.
I’m an eye gaze
By The Shouting Mute
This is a poem from the point of view of my communication device. It’s called an eye gaze, because I use the device with my eyes. I like making things talk. When you rely on so many objects in your daily life, you start to imagine what characters they might have.
I’m an eye gaze. I’m here to help someone talk And do other things. Shopping, Tweeting, Facebooking, Dating, Emailing, Betting, Gambling, Playing Fantasy Football, Texting people, usually a crush, properly chatting to people face to face. Not on Zoom. Apart from in a lockdown. I will allow that. And doing stuff I don’t care about but have to do because it’s my bloody job. The list of possibilities of online mischief is longer than A trip around the globe a hundred zillion times. Luckily he hasn’t found the dark web. Yet. Dave’s not living in gangster’s paradise. Yet. I refuse to get involved in drugs or guns. He thinks it and presses my buttons with his eyes. I play music for him, really loud Until his mum says David John Young turn that down. His mum is very cool. She knows me better than Dave But I have to say he’s right until she proves he isn’t. I am really for talking but, honestly, Dave’s never on the chat page. Only when he has to be in meetings or at family dinners. I get splashes of pasta sauce, pizza, and chocolate milkshake, all over me. His eyes drill through my screen Like a light saber Cutting through a metal door. He’s on the dating sites again. This is when he uses me as a James Bond gadget To get potential partners to like him. I don’t know why he needs me at times like these, When his dreamy brown eyes do all the talking.