From Journeyman to June

May has passed and with it any attempt to write.  I thought I’d take a couple of days off after having such a fruitful April.  I’d lined up another bunch of work but clearly Journeyman wasn’t ready to be written.  Everyone takes a personal journey and mine certainly reflects my strengths and foibles as a writer.  After taking my initial break I got out of the habit of writing.  What I didn’t realise was just how important getting something written is to me.  The point I’m trying to make?  I’ll put it this way.  The mental picture I have is of Agent Smith from the Matrix taking over some innocents body.  Not that I regard my writing as some external malevolent external force, rather the way in which the Agents invades.  It’s not some gentle transformation.  It’s a painful wrestling match between the host and the invader.  The invader transforming the innocent into something else entirely.  I lie, writhing on the ground as the words fight for physical expression.  They want to live on the page.  But why must I fight so in order for the words to be born?  Why do I try and stop doing the one thing I want to do more of?  I’m sure there are as many answers as there are people.  In the meantime, the following is my first articulated poem for a month.  If I have any followers left, I hope you enjoy it!

Bent outta shape

I’m a three round fighter
but I’m eight rounds in
I’m a nuclear reactor
made of card and tin

my head’s spinning three sixty
there’s static in my hair
my eyes are staring madly
like an angry grizzly bear

my fingers are as twitchy
as a gangster full of crack
my brain is fizzing madly
I’m having an attack

I may be looking normal
but I’m gonna to blow apart
gonna make Krakatoa
sound like a baby’s fart

my guts are stuffed with fireworks
I’m drinking lighter fuel
gonna light some fukin matches
cos I’m a fucking fool

this dam of words is gonna blow
like an erupting boil
screaming as the poison bursts
they drain into the soil

get out my pen
get out my taps
let my fingers take the strain
these bastard words that roar about
they’re gonna blow my brain