Conditioning

With age, comes wisdom. But does age give us the right to censor what others see/read/learn/know? It is my opinion that those that 'protect' children from homosexuality are only adding to homophobia and self hate. If a child understands from a young age that some people are gay and some are heterosexual, then they will accept that as normality. If it is never explained to them, when they do eventually encounter it, they will react to it. Also, for children that do identify as being gay, if they are not educated that homosexuality is normal, they will go through all sorts of confusion and perhaps even self- hate, as I did as a child. What are we 'protecting' children from? Knowing the simple fact that some men love men, some love women, and some women love women, and some love men? Why is this STILL an issue?

Baggage

We all have baggage of some kind. A criminal record, an ex boyfriend that knots your stomach whenever you hear his name, the stand out embarrassing moment at school when you never thought your erection would go down and then the wrong person notices, points and laughs at you. The eternal victim of ones' terrible childhood experiences, the unplanned kids that we couldn't live without, yet they have ruined what our lives could have been. Yes, moments from our pasts brought about by split second decisions will forever impact our futures.

My attempt at sounding slightly Mary-Alice... More to come.

Alcohol Musings

As I approach the last few weeks of my University degree, I near not only the end of being a student, but the end of life as I know it- living in Kingston Upon Thames. Four incredible years have been spent here; there's been some intoxicating laughs, some body aching heartbreaks, many lessons of life learned, many many friends and enemies established, but most of all I seem to have cleared the path and discovered the road that leads to me. The me that knows his mind, his goals, his standards, his ambitions and his strengths.

Intellectual Intercourse

I have finally cracked Word Press and started my new 'pro freelance writer' site there at http://jameschristophersheppard.wordpress.com/

Please take a look and subscribe. I'll be posting reviews, features and poetry.

Less will be posted here at 'Choice was an extravagance', so please do visit the new site if you enjoy reading what I write.

Many thanks! :)

Gift-Wrapped

For three years I debated,
shifted mind and tried,
so I wrote the letter.
Precision of word clarified my ramblings, it was done.
Finality on paper,
my signature binding me to my word.
No more a whirlwind of thought drifting at terminal speed,
the letter said it all
in just one page, two hundred words.
Branded wonderings,
there ‘till rot creeps in
like cancer.

On the envelope I write her name. But the letter is mine.
Unforgotten, but laid to rest,
the encased letter lays in it’s paper tomb.
Seven letters spell h-e-r,
but I own these words, they are my creation.
Ownership not for sale,
no paper torn ash will fall here.
She cannot read my letter.
Her name is
only fiction.

Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/version2point0 (@version2point0)

Check out loads of other great poems this week at One Stop Wednesday! http://onestoppoetry.com/2011/03/one-shot-wednesday-week-37.html

Class Disguise

Your flowery words have little effect,
I’m sorry. Yes you
know some mighty big words
sound terribly impressive
and you’ve dressed in your best
middle class
disguise
with lips painted
road walker red.

My eyes trail,
I try to let my ears take over.
But I drift
further away.
Find myself staring
at my boots
and tight black jeans.

Do I
dress as a poet?
Do I
have less to say?

I leave and stroll
in damp air,
light a cigarette,
despite my flu filled head.
I am not
pretending.

Are you
fooling you?

London

Hatred fuelled eyes cut
Across stale air.
White van man
Shoots
Past.
Too fast,
Too close.

‘Thanks for that,
I was already having a stupendous day,
Walking through the rain
While you sit
In your warm dry seat.

Driving
like a fucking God’

River thick road to cross.
Red light,
green man
and cross.
Without a thought.

Sodden skin under jeans moan,
irritated, restricted.
Nicotine clouds hang low.
Concrete haze of earthy grey
light intensifies
Depression.

No lights, another river to cross.
Take your time,
get drenched by mechanical killing machines
darting past, double the limit.
Wait and hate
and curse
the dry
that don’t waste a second
on you.

Elephant birds bellow
above head.
‘Welcome to London’
the captain said.
‘One of the biggest and best cities in the world’.

http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/2011/03/poetry-potluck-idols-role-models-and.html
http://onestoppoetry.com/2011/03/one-shot-poetry-wednesday-celebrating-our-36th-week.html