Our Learning Will Never End (Found Poem)

school is not authentic

we make our own music

A canvas. Paint. A microphone.

let me quote the lyrics

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Recycled Lyrics #2: ‘Softly Weeping’

In the corner
fixing up my mind,
you can find me
most of the time
softly weeping
safely inside
my cage

And in the kitchen
somewhere down the hall,
I can capture us
standing straight and tall
sweetly dreaming
stealing to the sky
again

clutching on to this
cockeyed good-bye kiss.
Darling you’ve been missed
Darling, I’ve been

In the corner
most of the time
you can reach me
leeching off my mind,
softly weeping
safely inside
my brain.

‘Cause now and then
I remember my place.
Heavy drinking
blinking into space
softly sleeping
slipping away
to your cage

clutching on to this
cockeyed good-bye kiss.
Darling you’ve been missed
and darling, while you’re sleeping
I’ll be softly weeping

Rhyme Exercise: End Times

Some GCSE kids write rock songs about living in ‘the end times’,

fumbling over syllables and the length of lines,

soul searching for the most desperate rhymes.

One of them heard Tom Waits for the very first time.

Now everything’s the devil in disguise,

and that waitress,

sure,

she’s got marmalade thighs

but he doesn’t know why

or whether it’s a good thing, besides,

his lyrics are still sticky and adolescent inside.

Like the tissues hiding down his bedside

This is the kid who learnt how to make love and socialise

By repeatedly watching those Central Perk guys.

His favourite has changed from Joey to Ross.

S’pose he feels like he can empathise.

‘I prefer Seinfeld anyway’ he lies

Still forgetting to dot his ‘I’s

But he pretends to prefer anything his friends

don’t know

don’t like

or even despise.

It justifies him feeling marginalised.

Heck, maybe these are the end times

But who ever promised him otherwise?

Recycled Lyrics #1: Time Piece

Cassette reels to CDs, still sealed,
I’m not listening, I’m playing
loops, chasing after you, worn out
shoes, and you’re lost looking for the next route.

Friction sores: losing the wrong war.
What the heck were we fightin for?
for weak reflections from dirty windows
willing it on,
turning time,
never watching where it goes.
I’m never letting go

Oh
Please don’t try
and shield the rain,
play me
my favourite song again.
It’s inside my head.
Crocodile tears, empty threats.
We know trying wont ease the pain.
I’ll just stop filing my scenes with rain,
There’s no more original imagery
anyway
Tomorrow is today
take the silver
spoon from my mouth,
and I’ll find those cotton clouds
someday.

When you feel your wounds
won’t heal. You turn
against the loyal troops
that learn to drift through
and miss the cues, just wandering
Wondering how best to lose.

Take a turn on the oars and do all your chores.
What the heck am I crying for?
You’re praying
that the minute hand slows

turning time,
never watching where it goes.
I’m never letting go

Oh please! Don’t hide behind the rain.
Put on that happy song again.
It’s inside my head.
Crocodile tears, empty threats.
Lying wont ease the pain,
so stop trying to catch the rain.
Spent too long willing that the limelight shows

Tomorrow is today
Take the silver
spoon from your mouth

and you will taste those cotton clouds
Someday

The clocks
ticking the gun
shot the others
running me
not

Oh please don’t try and fight the rain.
The world just turns around again.
It’s inside my head,
right?

A ball-point romance and an empty bed,
crying won’t switch on the night light 
It may be hard to take the strain
the pain will never outweigh
knowing that tomorrow is today
but take that final word from your mouth
and you will feel those cotton clouds
Someday.

The Marionette #4

Desperate to avoid aggravating his wounds by attempting to tidy up the debris, Arthur placed his puppets on the equally battered stool by his bed and left their remains to waste.  He lay back, kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his jacket. Above him the mood had changed; the alcohol had set in. His parents were laughing, dancing and singing along to Vo-Do-Do-De-O Blues. The music was distorted and skipped occasionally; the record had been played a few times too many. Once more, dust fell from the ceiling; it too danced across the room, and as if dropped by a fairy, it seemed to glitter in the light.

His eyes were dragged up towards the solitary caged light dangling in the middle of the room. The light appeared brighter than before, bearing down, consuming him. His empty gut was pulling in all the energy of his body. He became light-headed. His senses numbed and all bodily boundaries began to disappear. He felt enormous and expansive like he could reach the distant stars and digest their cosmic energy. He was the pulse of the water, the convulsions of the earth, the breath of the wind and the explosive heat of the fire.