Poetry Corner
A small selection of poetry by Raymond Johnson

This poem was written when I was feeling down and needed something to cheer me up and realised what used to make me feel better isn't around anymore. In many ways it's not the burden of problems that are difficult, it's the fact that the usual solutions are no longer available. Mechanisms to cope with stress are diminished leaving no choice but to tackle difficulties head on. There is no particular style to this poem, no rhymes or rhythm, just a thought process choosing the best words to express how I feel. It doesn't matter if it's not fully understandable to the reader, that's not the point.

I Try...

So here it comes,
The day of fruition grows ever closer,
Ever nearer to the end,
Nothing I can do now but prepare,
To cushion the blow of a metaphorical fall.

The need to rest to clear the mind is essential,
To distract from the inevitable,
Not to dwell on what cannot be avoided,
Just focus upon what is at hand.

I watch television,
Using a license that I ever pay,
For hypocrites and the high classes,
To broadcast so-called reality,
All the while being told what to think,
Baking is fashion and dancing requires votes,
No more sitcoms.

I watch the news,
Because a plane has exploded,
I'm informed about a new movie,
To discover Faith* was right.

I listen to the radio,
To a light-heated breakfast show,
The annoying host is witty so I accept his banter,
Then the news interrupts to be told I'm not wanted,
I change channel to music,
The latest chart toppers,
To hear autotuned karaoke,
Presented by a bored DJ who knows it.

My dietary requirements are simple,
Potatoes, carrots and some pie,
But is that really chicken,
Or a distressed bleeding horse?

I distract by gaming,
Told to press start,
10 out of 10,
My game is an animation just press X,
Add another forty quid,
Top of the charts,
I play the story,
Gruff man, girl and zombie,
I play online, only one choice,
A single plush man,
But you can pay for an in-game hat,
Where are the monsters, where is the fun?
It's just a generic deathmatch, time to run.

I chat online,
It's genuinely lots of fun,
A new update in an everlasting loop,
Blocking rooms to avoid their security holes,
Blocking its very purpose,
No chat room means no Java required.

I install World Of Warcraft,
A night to wait for fun,
Ninety percent female characters,
I become a buxom elf, off to perform quests,
It becomes another reality, a modern day holodeck,
I eventually give up, my purse strings stretch so far,
I'm excited about the Hollywood movie,
I watch the trailer,
Just swordfighing men,
Not the game I played.

I converse on Twitter,
Talking about gaming and Dr Who,
To be told I'm white male,
Privileged and should be ashamed,
I discuss Tom Baker and Jon Pertwee,
Old Dr Whos are more fun,
I'm told I'm a retard,
And Matt Smith is number one.

Everywhere that I hide,
Is simply no longer any fun,
I have no distraction,
I try, I try, I try...
But have no choice,
I have to face the fear.

 

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* "It's not news, it's advertising" - Faith Connors.