neal pike audiortoium draft

29 May

feedback does anything jar
does it make sense?

——

wings   oddly   bolted

pulling this body    in   wrong   directions

—-

bramble wrapped tongue

scratched words into irrevlance

from  a young  age

I  used   my   mouth  more  sparingly

 

—–

 

elders  around   me said

I  used  it   too  much   it was   mainly   windless

clouds  that  took   time  to  shift  places


i took  time to shift places

 

—-

I  was diffiernt with  oddly botled wings  that still

Twisted every time concrete/doors /carpet got my name

chose  to  sing  with tongues  like  mine

the  word   brave  caused  feathers  on my  wings  to recede

drop  like pellets

being  pushed  backwards

against a crowd of clouds

for  wanting to  push  forwards

 

—–

 

I could and wanted too

winds around me coverd my wings with the word

brave that  stroked  my  head  telling  me  I didn’t  have   to

do these  things  like  flying   backwards   or  singing  home written songs

I was brave for this

– – –
brave  for  not   letting   oddly  jointed  wings

fall  fall back  to   the  nest

brave  for not letting my tongue

stay sleep in its nest of thorns

brave for flying  to  stages

not flying off when the crowd drapes my edges


brave for not shutting a mouth that
I should be without

Jahrel’s Auditorium draft 2

29 May

Best times
[Verse 1]
There are certain things in my life I do regret,
If I had to pay for all my mistakes I’d probably be in debt,
Grown up, making better decisions, a change of lifestyle,
But there’s the gap in the middle of an adult and a young child,
So back to the red, yellow, white, blue ties,
Where everyone has got their own ties…
Different races, different groups, different tribes
Different set of skills with their very own minds,
Then in the class there is one dictator,
With the powers of the pen, projector and paper,
Whilst I’m waiting, waiting, waiting for the break to come,
Ready and waiting, waiting, waiting to go out and run,
Then the time comes, lunch break arrives
And as lunch break arrives so do the kids that skive,
So now I’ve got to run fast like a cheetah
Get to the front of the que for my pizza
Got my Yazoo, 250millitre
Now I’m fuelled for the arena…

[Hookx2]
The best times are the break times,
The bless times were the break times

[Verse 2]
Some days we were rioting-said wrecker
Other days play fighting-red letter
Some days playing basket and football
Other days talking to girls in the hall,
Cracking nuff joke cos there’s no real worries,
Cos everything was mild, even the curries,
There was certain older years you had to keep dodging
There were certain things that got your blood popping
Like that boy who was always ball hogging,
Someone else in your spot you’d take your girl snogging,
No democracy, no one is really in charge
Just he did/she did, that’s the rules of the yard,
A sense of entitlement for 55 minutes
To the environment when the fence is the limit,
The Freedom! Yeah the shackles are free
The Season! About to change immediately…
[Hookx2]
The best times are the break times,
The bless times were the break times

[Verse 3]
The snow is falling
The snow is falling
The snow is falling
The snow is falling,
Now the battle field is set
Look around you everywhere they could be a threat,
Instructions given out, here come the troops
Unlimited ammo and they ready to shoot,
Better start running here come the hunter gang
Got there recipe to make a human snowman,
Teachers inside, ya out of blessings
Kids screaming please! I wanna go to lesson!
Get a shock, looking at their own watch
Cos there’s 45 minutes still left on the clock,
The ground goes from…
White, brown to green
The war is over…time to head back to the canteen…

[Hookx4]
The best times are the break times,
The bless times were the break times

SST11 2nd Draft – Kat

29 May

Ok I’ve reworked this from my first draft and still have quite a lot I want to change even now but posting it anyways. Feedback is welcome – I mainly want to know how clear the overall meaning is coming across right now before I start doing the more itty bitty editing. Running time is 2-3 minutes and I have no out of the ordinary lighting ideas at the moment just a wash, maybe a spotlight depending how intense it gets.

This story I am struggling to write about.

This story is when you should have gone straight home.
This story is still in its work uniform.
This story is practically naked.

This story is 7 shots when you get in then sleep.
This story is peer pressure
Skins and Tesco’s
It is stiff doors and Chinese food and details scattered like cigarette butts on the utility room floor.
It is knives and bleach and water.
This story loses track, stutters
Riddled with beige carpet burn and lack of prior knowledge.

This story is the apathy of government systems.
This story decides you look responsible enough,
crouched down on a wet floor with an unlocked back door.
It laughs along with police officers.
It talks about death by saying “it’s a fucking joke really”,
blames the parents we’ve never met.
Needs them.
needs picking up the morning after.

This story is finding a purpose.
Finding a place in your adolescence.
It’s the couch fabric pulled to pieces,
And your head of year who smiled so uncomfortably.
It’s the time you ran away when you were 14.
The broken glass on the pavement.
This story scars.

And it starts again
In a foreign evening with him being unable to stop shaking
Starts again at the bus stop two minutes late
Starts again hearing each voice break on a phone
like a richochet.

This story is ours, she says
Leaning away from the metal table top, from my notebook.
This story is your response to adults who tell you it’s just a phase.
It’s all the secrets kept because you don’t want to speak about them.

This story is unresponsive
increasingly concerned.

This story is the one you were never meant to write a poem about.

Beccy SST11 draft 2

29 May

Bit nervous about posting this. I rewrote the poem after Ioney’s  workshop on Friday and I’ve added a kind’ve weird script/monologue thing at the top because it’s just this idea I had to kind of make the poem part of that. Anyway, part of me thinks it’s massively pretentious and silly and I should just stick to doing a poem. If you agree please can you break it to me gently😉 Other feedback I want is; does the poem work alone as well? Which do you prefer poem alone/poem as part of thing.

Approx running time 2-3 mins

To the frightened (What I know about outer space)

Two siblings in the back of a car.
Sibling 1 Makes rocket launching noises
Sibling 1: And we have lift off! And the Galaxy Voyager 95 sets its course for Mars —
Sib2: Saturn
Sib1: — sets its course for Mars…
Current me: I mean, now I know that even if you could be bothered to send a rocket that far, you couldn’t actually land it on Saturn – it’s all gas. But it looked kind of pink in the pictures and it had rings, so it was my favourite.
Sib1: And the voyager is getting higher and higher, due to reach Mars in two hours. But what’s this? The rocket passes through a meteor shower and has to make a series of sudden turns –
Sib2: Look! I can get us through them –

Sib1:  – disaster! An enourmous meteor hits the Voyager! It’s on fire! It’s plummeting!

Sib2: But we can save it!

Sib1: No, we can’t. You should have left the controls alone.

 

(Me on my own)  Space travel is scary. The idea of crashing all that way terrified me, but then, so did crashing in a train or a car… not a bike, though. I hurtled myself down all the biggest hills like I wasn’t afraid of falling off, which is good, because I frequently did. But, somewhere between the ages of five and twenty-five, the idea of falling has become unbearable.

 

 

You will graze your knees. The stinging is worth

the moment of flight, though. Seeing your earth

from space, while your brother grabs the controls

weaves through sharp meteors and black holes –

which you totally could have handled – you

realise you’re small. That you could plunge into

the dark matter soup and not be counted

or missed. Knowing your meteor showers are

your parents traffic jams and just-caught swear

words when someone cuts them up, could make you

give up, step away from the console. Don’t.

Graze your knees for the moment of flight. It

doesn’t have to get a hundred likes, or

win a nobel prize – these wings are yours.

 

James Fields SST11 draft 2

29 May

The land of dreams and nightmares (3:00 approx running time)

Video and lyrics

Look upon the sight you see
A scarecrow reads prose articulately
Look upon the sight you see
Bare bones dance diligently

Haunted horsemen duel to the death
As violent crows breathe fiery breath
As you fix your gaze on the eye of an ogre
Youll never believe you are truly sober

A bearded men sells shoes to a cat
And greets a Dragon with a tip of his hat

If by any Chance you notice a bee
You must bow your head by royal decree
And nature is in the act
There’s a thieving rose Bush that’s a fact
you’ll begging me to exercise tact
If it was by a thorny flower
you were attacked.

A dog in a coat sells the finest ales
A wise old goat tells cautionary tales
The hares and hamsters gather at 3
To plot their wicked villainy

Bare witness
Bare witness
A giant keeps an eye on  his fitness

Bare witness
Bare witness
An old man hunts birds with a discus

Nothing else could be so true
When I say the sky is a terrible view
when you see it split in two
And a demonic pupil stares at you

The clock strikes half past one
The parade of zombies has begun
They walk with a lurch to the beat of drum
A giant snake who bows to none
Arrives to spoil the fun
With fangs like pillars
Saints and sinners
Head for the hills and run

With a scaly form both large and long
And a fear inspiring tongue
The tyrant heckles
his enemies
With truly malevolent song

‘The smell of your fear leaves me smiling with delight

even the creatures of the night see me as a terrible sight
They hate me, they slate me, they borderline berate me
But have you heard me lately

Rule this land is what I’ll do
My dreams will come true
When opposed by so few
There is nothing you can do
I’ll make a meal out of you

if evils your addiction
I could be your new Affliction
I’m in the best position
There’s no way I won’t succeed

I’m the sharpest serpent that you could perceive
I got carnivorous charisma
The kind you won’t believe

Petra Mijic – SST11 Draft 2

28 May

Recipe for Disaster

Ingredients

 

1 deceased father

1 unavailable mother

1 innocent, abandoned child, told to be seen and not heard

Place in:

a supposedly safe educational environment

and mix well with:

1 sadistic child molester

 

After sifting through the potential ingredients add:

10 heaped tea spoons of praise and encouragement 

to:

the most accessibly vulnerable,

then pour in:

1 cup full of trust

and spice well with:

a clear intent of misguided direction.

 

Allow a good few months for the attraction to rise and for the attachment to settle.

Make sure to introduce:

a large splash of helplessness, 

for good measure.

Decorate with:

a repertoire of rules:

Do not allow the child to talk. Do not allow the child to leave. Do not allow the child to understand.

 

Rape.

Repeat this process as necessary, carefully folding in:

reassurances, black lies and emotional ties,

whilst whisking away those first moments.

Aim to fragment the mind.

 

 

To ensure silence, finish your masterpiece by coating with

a glaze of denial and thick layers of victim blame.

To preserve your product make sure to keep it in

a dark isolated room.

Best served chilled.

 

 

 

 

neal pike second draft sst11

21 May

——

wings   oddly   bolted

pulling this body    in   wrong   directions

—-

tongue  wrapped up  in brambles

scratching words into irrelevance

from  a young  age

I  used   my   mouth  more than sparingly

 

—–

 

elders  around   me said

I  used  it   too  much   it was   mainly   windless

clouds  that  took   time  to  shift  places


it took me time to shift places

 

—-

I  was diffiernt with  oddly botled wings  that

Grew  more bolts as I got older

chose  to  sing  with tongues  like  mine

the  word   brave  caused  feathers  on my  wings  to recede

drop  like pellets

being  pushed  backwards

against a crowd of clouds

for  wanting to  push  forwards

 

—–

 

because I could and wanted too

winds around me coverd my wings with the word

brave stroking  my  head  telling  me  I didn’t  have   to

do these  things  like  flying   backwards   or  singing  home written songs

I was brave for this

– – –
brave  for  not   letting   oddly  jointed  wings

fall  fall back  to   the  nest

brave for not letting my tongue nestle

against the brambles

brave for flying  to  stages

then not flying off when the crowd drapes around the edge of me


brave for not shutting a mouth that

should always be shut

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