Innocent

Because it's Easter, I thought I would re-invent a poem I wrote last year called Innocent. It features in my 2020 collection of poetry called Sacred. I recorded a drum track and composed a synth track (Roland V-Combo) with some effects, and then mixed down my spoken voice over the top, using a multi-track recorder (Garage Band). This recording is not meant to be a rap, and I don't really think it fits into any particular genre either. This is just me presenting my personal take on what I consider to be one of the most pivotal events in world history. It's essentially spoken word with a trap beat. Take a listen, whatever your belief, and let me know what you think.

The last laugh

I’ll tell the jokes 

and you wear your frown 

I’ll make them happy 

when you bring them down 

You play the straight man 

and I’ll act the clown 

and I’ll have the last laugh tonight

I’ll bring the sunshine 

when you bring the cloud 

You fight your demons 

while I please the crowd 

I’ll be the wedding 

and you be the shroud 

but I’ll have the last laugh tonight 

I’ll write the comedy 

you load the gun 

You bring the sadness 

but I’ll have the fun 

You’ll stop the music 

yet I won’t succumb 

‘cos I’ll have the last laugh tonight 

Oh yeah 

I’ll have the last laugh tonight

Steve Wheeler © 30 March, 2021

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Mirrors

The mirror on my bathroom wall 

Tells tales and fictions of my fall 

Its narratives are often tall 

I cannot trust in them at all

The mirror on my bedroom stand 

Reveals the lines on face and hand 

Reflections I can understand 

As swiftly flows the hourglass sand

The mirror deep within my mind 

Shows pictures of another kind 

Of summer days and paths that wind 

Of days when time was less confined

Steve Wheeler © 29 March, 2021

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The awe in #autism

I have probably experienced mild autism all my life. I say probably, because I was never diagnosed. That doesn't minimise anything though. When our third child, Sam was born, it wasn't long before he began to exhibit some of the classic traits of autism spectrum behaviour. It made his early years in school hell, and the teachers struggled to understand him. Now grown to be a tall, talented 25 year old, with a degree in web design, Sam has adapted well to his neuro-diverse life. 

I wrote a story about a little boy called George (a fictitious character) to illustrate some of the thought processes autistic people can experience. I published the story in my most recent book Small Lights Burning. Here is a video of me reading Locked Inside. 

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I would stand on the shoulders of giants 

but I suffer from vertigo 

I would walk in another’s footsteps 

but it would be too far to go 

I would pick up the cross and carry it 

but the splinters hurt my hands 

I would walk the extra mile for you 

but I have more important plans 

I'm so sorry I can’t help you 

but I’m unlikely to be free 

I’m very much constrained 

by my availability 

I know you’d love my company 

but I really don’t have time 

to remember how you pulled me 

from the wreckage of my mind 

Steve Wheeler © 21 March, 2021

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Fathom

around, over and under 

floating distant sounds of thunder 

livid through consciousness 

cold blows the wind 

from out the west 

all but devised 

and realised,

I see the 

look gleam 

in your eyes

and wonder

what the mind

behind

has found

and whether its discovery

may be profound

I cannot fathom out

the thoughts of doubt

you hold within your

stone shield redoubt

the bulwarks 

of your soul 

impenetrable

as the ancient

living

rock

Steve Wheeler © 17 March, 2021

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why oh why

we undone come or else no-one when all is done and said is won we high we fly we fall we die we live we sigh oh why oh why oh why we call and rise and fall we consequently lie we die in underlying sin and cannot win there is no other kin there to devise our sigh or hear our cry oh why oh why we cry we die we kill we otherwise the night despise to rise again we fall we shift we flesh the rift and all the while design the drift nightmarish of the falls of conscience of the men and myths of the world forthwith where all we see is all we hope we cannot cope hang by our rope and out of reach beyond our eyes we grope our cry our cry our cry 

Steve Wheeler © 16 March, 2021

photo by Steve Wheeler © 16 March, 2021

I will stand

All that is of value 

the pure gold 

from the mould 

All the eternal riches 

I can hold 

that unfold 

in each dream of hope 

that takes flight 

in its might

Every deep desire 

shining bright 

in deepest night 

All are found in you 

by the plans 

from your hands 

Underneath your wings 

I will stand 

I will stand

Steve Wheeler © 15 March, 2021

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Who won the human race?

Who won the human race? 

Was anyone paying attention? 

Was there a photo finish 

to add some extra tension? 

Were you there at the finish tape 

when everyone crossed the line? 

Did you see who won the race 

and who came from behind? 

Were any world records broken 

or perhaps a personal best? 

When everyone's in the running 

the outcome is anyone's guess 

Was anyone disqualified 

because they jumped the gun? 

Was anyone's race over 

before it had even begun? 

Did you run with diligence 

and do your level best? 

Were you at peak fitness 

in your human racing vest? 

Someone tripped you up you say? 

That's really rather odd 

Fear not, I'll watch the replay 

in slow motion. Signed, God 

Steve Wheeler © 14 March, 2021

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School daze

Rusty gates and iron fences 

Future, past and present tenses 

Burning custard, sweaty socks 

Creaking desks and dusty books 

Playground fights and hullaballoo 

Mud and blood, and bruising too 

Smells and bells and girls and boys 

Screaming, screeching, making noise 

Exercise books, pen and ink 

Body odours, what a stink 

Back of the classroom passing notes 

Behind the bike shed, crafty smokes 

Useless shiny bog roll sheets 

Dirty sinks and broken seats 

Outdoor toilet wall confessions 

Dinner queues, and queues for lessons 

Compass, rubbers, rulers, pens 

Peering through a microscope lens 

Draughty rooms, cold corridors 

After school club, robot wars 

Squeaking chalk on an old blackboard 

Lunchtime football (never scored) 

Teacher shouting, no-one hearing 

Detention: lunchtime disappearing 

Homework lost, defacing signs 

Writing essays, doing lines 

Graffitied walls and other fooling 

So much for all that formal schooling 

Standing outside, waiting for the Head 

Wanting to be anywhere else instead

Steve Wheeler © 12 March, 2021

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Borrowed time

I’m living on borrowed time 

I stole it from the man next door 

He died a couple of weeks ago 

He doesn’t need it any more

I also ‘borrowed’ several days 

from great aunt Mildred and her cat 

It’s just an hour or two each month 

I’m fairly sure they won't miss that

I’ve taken time from all and sundry 

It waits for no-one, that’s for sure 

I’ve stolen days from now ‘til Monday 

I’ll take your weekend too and more

Time slips away all by itself 

It won’t need my assistance 

Time never tires or stops for rest 

Time always goes the distance

Each hour you waste is forever gone 

Its loss will cut you like a knife 

Procrastination is my name, and 

I’m having the time of your life 

Steve Wheeler © 11 March, 2021

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Blinded by the light

Silence of the night 

Solitude and cocoa mugs 

Congeal together 

Motionless in dark 

Not a sliver of light here 

In this pool of black

My eyes are open 

Or perhaps my eyes are closed 

Too dark to decide

My clock marks the hours 

Sentinel of a time slide 

As it slips away

Sleep eludes me now 

A whisper of a garment 

Keeps me wide awake

Morning will soon come

Dawn will caress my window 

With her pale fingers

Insomnia reigns 

My mind busy with its thoughts

Resisting all rest 

I fall silently 

into the vivid dreams of 

Rapid eye movement

Sudden hypnic jerk 

Dream of falling from great heights 

Wide awake again

My bedside lamp stand 

Switched on inadvertently 

Blinded by the light 

Steve Wheeler © 10 March, 2021

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Fight club

You took the wind out of my sails 

You stole my thunder, removed my bails 

You pulled the rug from beneath my feet 

and I was heading for defeat

You saw the chance and you moved right in 

I caught your uppercut on my chin 

The canvas floor rose fast to meet... 

and I’ll admit you had me beat

But then I spied your Achilles heel 

and the other weak spots you conceal 

I used them in my counter attack 

and I quickly put you on your back

Hostilities over, a truce was signed 

and soon our lives were realigned 

Best of friends now, two of a kind 

you in your neck brace, and I in mine 

Steve Wheeler © 10 March, 2021

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Number One

I want a high powered motorbike 

I want a million YouTube likes 

I want a ten pin bowling strike 

I want a droppable mic 

I don’t ever want food that’s beige 

I want my very own fan club page 

To play a set on the Pyramid stage 

I don’t wanna live in a cage 

I want patience and I want it now 

I want to slay the sacred cow 

I want peace but I don’t know how 

I don’t want a furrowed brow 

I want holidays in the sun 

I want to live to a hundred and one 

I want successes by the ton 

You know boys just wanna have fun 

I want to see the South of France 

I want to learn to salsa dance 

turn spirals in my yoga pants 

melt your heart with a single glance 

I wanna be your second to none 

Walk hand in hand till the day is done 

bringing you roses by the ton 

I wanna be your number one

Steve Wheeler © 9 March, 2021

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Alter ego

Gaze at the mirror imagery 

in look/ing glass, find clarity 

to see if there’s authentic me 

a true impression, naturally 

If I could juxtapositionally 

adopt a new, alternate me 

gain entry to new territory 

what might be my discovery?

If such a revised visage, i.e. 

[my alter ego] came to be 

from shadows of the former me 

who in that mirror might I see?

Hail to my new identity! 

A ghost of the alternate me! 

If I could call it differently 

who else could I possibly be?

Swapping, changing me for me 

change constantly [duality] 

My first me, supplementally 

severally, parity, equity

But what if I disliked that me 

and scorned that new reality? 

Could I revert to normality? 

On reflection, no. It’s still just me 

Steve Wheeler © 8 March, 2021

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When you're in Rome...

Up the slopes of Kathmandu 

or down in the gutters of Baku 

Lost in Piccadilly Square 

or off the coast of Saint-Nazaire 

This aphorism’s always true: 

when you’re in Rome do what the Romans do 

From Tokyo to Monaco 

or struggling through the Oslo snow 

From old Saipan to Kazakhstan 

Keep the rules and follow the plan 

No matter where you’re travelling through 

when you’re in Rome do what the Romans do

Out in San Francisco Bay 

or on the road to Mandalay 

In Luxembourg or Lichtenstein 

or the dusty streets of Palestine 

Head for the north from Timbuktu 

when you’re in Rome do what the Romans do 

In Chile, Mexico or Brazil 

or climbing up a Turkish hill 

In the rain forests of Malaysia 

you know exactly what I’ll say to ya: 

If you’re in doubt or you’re in a stew 

when you’re in Rome do what the Romans do

On an oil rig north of Aberdeen 

a runaway wedding in Gretna Green 

riding the plains of the Argentine 

and every point that’s in between 

There’s just one thing I’ll say to you: 

when you’re in Rome do what the Romans do

Steve Wheeler © 4 March, 2021

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All that's rotten (in this world)

Here's the link to the new video I produced to showcase All That's Rotten (In This World).

The poem is a bit of a rant about all of the rotten, selfish, corrupt and nasty stuff that's going on in the world today, and the criminals, politicians, fat cats and low-life who perpetrate it. You'll either love it or hate it, but you can't ignore it - the planet needs help and we need to call out those who are polluting it (most of us) and all the climate change deniers, anti-vaxxers, racists and other dangerous people we rub shoulders with. 

 

I can write a poem about anything

Be wary of those poets and be careful where their gaze is

‘cos where they look may be the subject for their phrases

Now I’m no exception, I’m a lyrical magpie

I’m gonna grab ideas from whatever I can spy

I write about romance and I write about love

about the earth below me and the sky above

The moon, the stars, the clouds, and the sea

the sunrise or the sunset, it’s all the same to me

Do all the flowers bloom at the start of the spring?

well, I can write a poem about anything

I write about death and I write about birth

and the ecological violence we’ve done to this Earth

I write about injustices and poverty

and about the rich excesses in society

I got verses condemning the obscenities of wealth

I’ve written about sickness and written about health

Do butterflies float, do honey bees sting?

I can write a poem about anything

I write about rebellion and I write about compliance

I write about the tensions between faith and science

I got verses about curses I got lines that make you shiver

I got lines that are sometimes awkward to deliver

I write about obsessions and I write about perversion

those awkward events you don’t include in conversation

Could Fred Astaire dance, could Pavarotti sing?

I can write a poem about anything

My poems cover incidents and accidents and consequence

My poems have coincidence, and diffidence and confidence

My poetry is humorous, my poetry is dark

My verses are ironic and sometimes full of snark

Hopefully, my poetry will make you stop and think

It may not prick your conscience but the truth is in the ink

We recognise each artist by the talents they can bring

and I can write a poem about anything

I write about pop culture and I cover propaganda

You’ll find many famous characters embedded in my stanzas

from Lennon to Lenin, and from Marilyn to Mao

there’s no point being squeamish as I slay the sacred cow

From rock ‘n’ roll music to the movie industry,

from notorious criminals to names from history

When you step into the shower does the telephone ring?

and I can write a poem about anything

Good, bad, indifferent, everyone’s fair game

if they fit into my poem I’ll be dropping their names

No-one’s ever safe, and no character’s taboo

Stick around me long enough I’ll write about you too

‘cos everyone’s a target and if on you the spotlight stops

you may be the next subject of the stanzas that I drop

Just as certainly as Monica married Chandler Bing

Friends, I can write a poem about anything

I write lines about our history and previous events

of battles and of struggles, attacking and defence

The Irish uprising, the American depression

Poems of contrition, or poems of confession

The war of independence and the Russian revolution

If anything we’ve learnt that war is never the solution

I haven’t got a dollar, I’ve never owned a thing

but I can write a poem about anything

I got lines about falsehood, the losers and the winners

I got stanzas for the saintly and poems for the sinners

I write about triumph and I write about despair

I write about anything if it’ll keep you in that chair

I got poems for the lonely and poems for the crowd

my lines can make you humble, or they can make you proud

You may suffer like a pauper, you may live like a king

but I can write a poem about anything

I write them while I’m laughing and I write them while I weep

I can even write the damn things while I’m drifting off to sleep

I can writing them in the bathroom I can write them on the stair

I can write them in the kitchen and just about any other where

When it gets into the blood the infection quickly spreads

‘til the rhythms and the rhymes are running round inside your head

You ask me if I’m crazy, but I really couldn’t care

‘cos it won’t keep me from poetry, it always gets me there

Just like fishes swim in water and birds fly on the wing

Yeah, I can write a poem about anything

Steve Wheeler © 1 March 2021

image by Fredrik Rubensson