Free Write With No Name Except The Name In My Head

Your deep like I threw a stone in the river Thames, then went searching for it

went under the current, risked my life, couldn't find it, so did it again

I never expected to find smoothness in the roughness of your vocal cords

You warm to me instantly and I warm next to you like a hot water bottle

lying there you keep me in, but my dreams need to get out

By your appearance alone I might not have fancied you

Typically good looking is not my type

but then you made me think

I thought.

You corrected me

I liked it

No

I like you

Your a man

It's a lot harder to find steel toe capped boots that protect you these days

I can't say 50% of the population are that way

I would be lying 

and they would be lying to themselves

You INSPIRE me

and I don't say that lightly

The last person who inspired me 

also tried to kill me

So I'm stuck

between a place of hastag twitter feeds hoping you say my name and using youtube as personal therapy 

Please find me

'A Poem That Is Calling For Respect' by Sacha Wise

RESPECT ME

without dismissing

RESPECT ME

like I am human

RESPECT ME

without changing me

RESPECT ME

I am human

RESPECT ME

like I'm you

RESPECT ME

I bleed brokenness too

RESPECT ME

I want so many things I can't have

don't need but admire

You

I feel bottled up inside your words

as you smash them on me

skin is broken

I bleed

so

do you

I ask for what you

find impossible to give

RESPECT

Mighty word

with action

so your sorry

is just a sorry reaction

Leave me empty and alone

I'd rather that than saying your my home

Treasure us like the past

because you don't

know me

or

owe me

Just respect the need for you to

not be in my life

I can't keep

saying it

with

empty words

that miss your ears 

and miss

mine

like

please 

one 

day

respect 

me



Then we can start again

like we never ended

my friend

Amazing Opportunity At Chase Neighbourhood Centre In St Ann's Nottingham

Hello!!!

Basically I want to drop a line to any 11-18 year olds who live near St Ann's Nottingham.

There are some amazing opportunities in your area thanks to the support of the Renewal Trust and Children In Need.

If there is anyone who lives close to the Chase Neighbourhood Centre there will be weekly poetry/spoken word workshop led by the leading spoken word artists in the UK... Deborah Stevenson and John Berkavitch. I (Sacha Wise) will be shadowing the workshop alongside fellow Mouthy Poet, Stephen Ashburn.

So there will be a lot of opportunity to get inspired from the best in the business and we will work towards a group performance at Say Sum Thin 5 on the 15th June at the Playhouse Nottingham. You can learn event management skills as well as personal performance skills, including increasing your confidence to perform if you desired. There will be support to guide you in whichever interest you may have.

You will also be able to work towards your Bronze/Silver/Gold Arts Awards, this can help towards UCAS points to go to university.

These workshops are completely FREE so come along on Thursdays (starting 21st Feb) from 5:30pm to 7:30pm.

Please support such a worthy cause of getting young people engaged in arts which can help them on a personally level as much as giving them tools to aspire to be greater academically and artistically. 

Please share this AMAZING opportunity for young people!

'Don't Trust Electric Sparks' Poem

I like you in a way that is undefinable so please don't try define me

My body getting close to you is just an electric spark going wild

It means NOTHING, I just can't control it

Your smile may mean everything but your love says make an effort

I can't hear the sharps and flats of love notes in your voice anymore

I am deaf to hearing anything about love

So please stop tuning me like your going mad for me to hear them cause I can't

Fantasies, even good ones, should be only that as you never use contraception

and they don't create BABIES

So stop all exercise, cause your muscles can't carry my problems

I prefer myself disliking your stubborn streak saying it's too much like me

Keep distance between our cities

To stop me from giving up everything I have ever owned to go live in yours

LIke ripped paper hats and popped party balloons on a hungover morning

We were never meant to be FOREVER

Your just a flicker of light for someone else's night time apartment

I have a power cut in my bedroom but I need a more permanent solution

Which we can never be so I am sorry….

I still think about you when I go to sleep and dream about you when my brain stops thinking

But our dreams don't go far enough to meet my needs or to stop us both being paralyzed 

"Cover Me With Lace Not Brusies" Poem against Domestic Violence

Today I was on the bus on my way into town and I saw a demonstration against domestic violence called One Billion Rising. I had to stop and come and hear more. I stood there and just knew I had to share my own experiences with the crowd that had gathered. The beauty about freedom is it give you ability to speak up, shout out and make a difference. I had this poem that I shared with the crowd that had gathered about domestic violence. It was a very empowering moment. I almost cried and other women did cry. Thank you for caring about such an important cause #1billionrising

Closed doors, shutting out memories
But cracking holes into her soul
So distant, the brokenness is his bully
He's protecting her like a used condom  

She’ll say, “Why do you dethrone me publically?”
He’ll say, “Why do I feel like you never there for me?”
But, "I'm right here", she'll cry
He'll look her in the eye and say, "And I'm just trying to make you better"

Her words want to say something
That doesn’t need the pain relief of alcohol
But the waver in her voice isolates her
Innermost thoughts from most people

Looking for warmth in a thin lace shawl
Wrapping it over her arms to cover the bruises
But it barely covers her heart
Her mind is cloudy with excuses

She remembers speaking his words not hers
“No one’s loved her like he has”
“No one’s even known her like he has”
“Who else would want her?”-It must be true love 

She waited for this to make sense to her
While he convinced her with scripture
She was disobedience in the act
Every doubt he saw, he took as a fact 

She became like a bad actor not knowing character
But looking at the face paint her bruises made
And feeling the bumps and hills across her face
Still, with dinner on his plate bang on eight 

Hands moulding children out of dumplings
French kissing with lasagne
Waiting for passion to heat up in the oven
But when he came home, she was still alone 

He would aim words like nuclear weapons
They would feed off each others negative emotions
He would store revenge like a recipe
So don’t tell me married people can’t get raped 

Hatred overcoming love in a race of pride
This lace shawl placed round her neck and over her eyes
Fighting him for bits of light in the darkness of where she lies
Before she’s switched off completely 

She rips through lace, to expose the bare skin
Policemen looking
Like they understand the pain she’s been in
Asking her to cut off all promises, like circumcision 

She knows his heart was broken before
She's a doctor trying to save the bloody thing
But it's more like heart transplant
Where she has to give him hers for him to live 

She’s asking for love to be transformed into light
That goes faster than the eye
That way he wouldn't be able to stop it penetrating his insides
She would be his superhero 

Cause as a little girl her fantasies defied gravity
Now gravity pulls her into black holes of confusion
The concussion has gone to her head
And she is too dizzy to consider her future 

She can’t stay she’ll be destroyed
She can’t leave he’ll be destroyed
Choices she’s been trying to avoid making for 5 years
And it’s not easier to make 5 years later 

Making her despises freedom
As she is battling with it under her duvet
Her voice sounds to her like an out of tune choir
But it's telling her to forgive  

It tells her to look into her own eyes next time
Instead of believing someone else’s lies
That is the only way you’ll find freedom   

When you're alone

This Is A Poem I Wrote From A Memory I Had Today

Broken From Birth

Being heart broken the way to healing

Women choose men for this reason

Decision made from broken homes

left on cold conciousness of stone

and forgotten

Until a woman in love remembers 

all the maternal faces he has known 

And guides his mouth towards hers

as she sucks in his pain as her own

poison

Trust her to also go

She looks just like the other women

so he pushes her

She falls

She is not safe in his crumbling tower

She can't be stronger than his mother 

He blames but she no longer listens

to his pain

His moans sound the same as

ice-cream falling out of undeveloped hands

and tantrums 

throwing her to the ground

Poetry Dies Because A Guy Has Spoken That Word?!

Poetry I knock you out!

Your dead cause I SAY so....

Wrong.

My friend Nathan A Thompson your wrong. 

Basically from what I can see there was a bit of a scandal in the UK poetry scene about two weeks ago when a young spoken word slam artist kind of turned his back on the performance poetry that he actually still teaches young people, through an article in the Independent. 

He declared poetry dead.

Here is the article he wrote, titled, "Poetry Slams Do Nothing To Help The Art Form Survive"...

Read The Original Article Here

I must say I say 'poets united' came out in full force and there were Facebook posts, Twitter tweets and blog posts galore.... where the performance poets fought back with their pens, or laptops, towards something of victory. I saw a tweet that said something along the lines of... 'you don't want to upset a poet as their attack with their pens will be brutal.' That made me chuckle.

I think at this point Nathan Thompson was in the corner surrounded by some angry poets all waving their pens very high to the sky and shouting loudly (after all they are performance poets) until Nathan realised it was getting too dangerous to be silent amidst the LOUD metaphorical disses that were dirtying his otherwise unheard of name.

He posted a response, a kind of justification and kind of acceptance of his wrong... but not really. Check it out:

Interview With Nathan Thompson

From this response, I got he actually does like poetry slams and apparently was attacking the attitude that slam is more authentic because it is underground. Obviously he cannot see the value of slam when he teaches it to young children in schools I presume. Oh but yes but he says he does see the value in slam to inspire young people to write. 

Now I am confused.

Maybe it was something to do with the £100 he was offered to write the piece... I don't know.

All I do know is I have seen many talented and hard-working spoken word artists who put their scars out there in a brave and selfless way. They craft their art and polish their acts to create something which can bring a bearded, butch of a man to tears. 

I know I have seen it. 

The magic they create is the similar to a conversation with a lover who you thought you would never see again and have missed sorely along your path. It's a similar type of aching performance poetry fills.... and longs for that one person to smile, laugh, or be touched in a way that forever changes their path. 

I know I have felt it.