MCMLVII On November 3rd 1957 mankind entered space for the first time with Sputnik 1 going into orbit. On May 21st 1957 Tony Stringfellow was born, at home in a small backstreet of Wolverhampton, a little Mr Creative from the first day! By the age of 14 he was taking commissions for paintings and his first poetry had been published in the local press. One of those poems, ‘The Beauty in War’ has been mistaken for Auden many times! After completing his education he flirted with a few careers before utilising his creative talents in the entertainment industry for almost 25 years as a puppet, prop and specialist costume maker for stars such as Ken Dodd and Timmy Mallett. Around the turn of the century he began to focus on his writing career, coming out of the poetical wardrobe! Since then he has had a number of books published including one delving into the writings of the pop icon Marc Bolan, which was acclaimed, and an audio collection of his own poetry. He has also become an accomplished radio presenter and host to poetry events. Tony Stringfellow is now a well seasoned wordsmith and artist/sculptor respected by his peers and with many strings to his bow. He teaches, gives talks, facilitates events and works with musicians and singers as well as just simply writing and performing his work. You can find his work in the Poetry House in New York, The Poetry Library in London and of course the Bodleian Library in Oxford, and maybe in space too soon! He lives in Shropshire with his wife and family. www.tonystringfellow.com
VOICE? I hear no voice As I turn my ears to the crowd, Just a silent muttering… Sighs of discontentment in a maze of opinions. Pale faces of placid expression Mouthing words of shallow intention, Eyes lost in a glaze of chat room jargon. Where is your voice? In a world wide connection Comes the distraction, Souls lost in a web of virtual backchat. Faces masked by an illusion of user names and passwords. Your words are safe within their cyber disguise, The narrator cannot be traced, He cannot be faced to account for his debate, Where is your voice? Lennon called for peace, Geldof called for food to end starvation, Bono called for money to banish poverty to extinction. Dylan called to us all, The angry protest singer Who denied the label. Joan Baez marched in anger Hand in hand with each rebel. Punks stood up to be counted - in zips, The causes of youth dripping like spit from their lips. They brandished sex pistols at authority And were obscene with clarity. They all had a voice! Where is the spunk of youth? It is twitching on keypads, Over texted on phones, Lost in reverberating drones and monotones Of abbreviated conversation With meaningless direction, A wasted labrinth of vocabulary. Where is your voice? Where is the passion of protest, The scream of discontent, The eruption of brave intent That gives you breath to breathe? Where are the violent shouts of compassion That vomits from the essence of youthful abstraction? Where are the flag bearers of your minds? Where is your voice? SCARS Crudely Dissected, A body Dispersed In allegoric Confusion. Illusion of intent, Bound in bales of deceit. Repeated act Of global harmony Extracts the tongue; A serial conspiracy To silence the voice Of choice. Product refinement? Product alignment! The consignment Dispatched By male order: Discrete delivery To the Frankenstiens Of slavery.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Change of venue for The Poetry Train (11/04/2011)
A couple of poems for Haiti (02/02/2010)
Under the Machine (22/10/2009)
A point of contention, I'm sure... (21/10/2009)
COFFEE CUPS AND PLATES (20/10/2009)
Reluctant Sculpture (16/07/2009)
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