I knew from about five or six years old that I had a knack for writing stories and a genuine curiosity about listening to other peoples. When I was a teenager I realised I could rhyme pretty well too.
In my early 20s I decided I would create an alter ego called “Si Pi” or “Si Pi the Poetry Guy”. You can see him doing his make up in the image below linked to the audio. I never felt quite right as Si Pi. I always felt a bit split, like I was fracturing myself.
So I gave up the make-up and welcomed Si Pi (what I believe to be my inner child) into my heart where he will always reside. In a away I see myself as Si Pi’s agent. He has all the creative talent and it’s my job, as an adult, to channel, nurture, protect and frame that talent for the benefit of all.
Below is the first poem I wrote for other people. It’s all about me, unsurprisingly, but it is meant to be performed for an audience. I called it ‘Poetry’…
Poetry
Poetry is usually something I want to keep,
Reserving judgement but giving me faith.
It is something that I keep in an interactive box,
With double bolted locks.
I never usually speak aloud,
The words I spill for healing.
I never usually stray from isolated silence,
For the sake of public, therapeutic dealing.
This is what soothes me,
This is what makes me my stillest.
When writing I feel like the soberest statue,
Feeding thoughts through a ball point pen.
How they can map your mind,
Only leaving you the rind.
This ink, the blood that splatters upon the page,
From pure delight, to darkened rage,
Creating colours that go beyond blue black and red.
Making a feather of that balloon full of lead.
They allow us to sit on our garden paths,
And draw lines in the stones.
Still, this is cul-de-sac, that life as boundless as it seems,
Limits us,
But that does not have to haunt us in our dreams.
Poetry to me seems as cyclical as anything else.
It often goes nowhere,
Streamed towards channels that refuse to open up, out,
Onto that wide oceanic horizon.
Where we can put down our pens.
Where we can breathe under water,
Live lives without slaughter.
But still enjoy the sweetest meats.
Enjoy the rhythm without the beats.
Play the game, devoid of cheats.
For me, this is what a poem should do,
Excite and idealise, hesitate then realise,
Ask a question to get one back,
Spin your head, may be walk another track.
But no… probably not,
Probably the one you’re already on,
Possibly the poem led you on,
And on and on, and on and on…
From then on I did various open mics, a couple of festivals and commissions for special occasions but I still hadn’t found my niche. I also attempted to set up two other types of businesses. One being an online radio station called BetPo Radio the other a creative arts sanctuary and events space called The Mezzanine Arts Depot.
Neither of which ever became fully established, leaving me to return to what I always wanted to be doing, which was writing, particularly poetry, for other people. There was a very strong pull there and so after much toing and froing I find myself here doing exactly that, finding a place for all this rhyme…