Playground Glory / Playground Stories
By Sean Graham
8th Dec 2013
We used to hang by the S shape iron bars. Remember?
The gates of our playground surrounded by burnt out cars - and fallen glass -
From high-rise concentration constructs.
Neighborhood watch reports too much now community center's shut.
PC procedures replace community leaders with PC's and we expected to be at ease? - act normal like.
We used to cut our teeth on them streets
Eat cubs for grub everybody loves young meat.
Where there's wolves you can't keep sheep.
So whatever the weather you better keep your shit neat!
After dodging from the Real policing authority.
All boys run from mum,
belts and them damn broken beats
Cowboys and American Indians,
More toy imitations.
Full armies with no grown commanders and no real chief
Sowing seeds of limits in minds of new zulu - genocide to a nation.
We all wished babylon would one day burn
but we left in the fire!!
Social engineering, cultural architecture.
Children of Thatcher.
Stopped paying the poll
But still pulling the heavy toll. All paying in heavy sentences with Capital letters and extra added isms
Fat pill to swallow. No milk to wash down - dirty vitamins.
Our playgrounds laid down the foundations of our prisons.
No prizes for correct guesstimations
Can't deny circumstantial strongholds on probable outcomes
But the daily edit don't speak it, Murder over mercy every time. Left regardless.
Youths in parks left guardless and left regardless of the hardships.
No need to be told
We all conform to the norm
Creep close to keep warm
No electricity no gas at home
So? - Over familiar with our failures to fit in with the in that leaves us out -
We try variable means and modes.
No doubt we create our own stack of shrapnel and bones assembling ivory towers of glory.
S bars our thrones and us; kings of our own - make believe stories.
Rulers - Over all little we are left to survey - as they survey our conditions through the I-SEE-U-CCTVS and tick statistical checklists behind one way screens.
The blackened debris of incinerated vehicles leave hollow holes in hollow carcasses.
Stood in mists of blackened smoke left wondering if there's a hope in hell to harness this -
Lifeless, future less, wait for the junk collectors.
No one comes to our park corner.
No one sees the bars we hang from.
As a writer and spokenword artist Graham has been acknowledged as a unique emerging talent. With his use of theatre and dance Sean is able to add dimension to his art where others cannot. His articulation of the spoken word and social commentry get to the heart of current affairs and hidden agendas. An example of his fusion of theatre, dance and spoken word are aparent in both his pieces Freedom of A Formless Kind (2013) and Buskin' Boy (2010) where he tackles issues to do with race, nationalism and the socially marginalised.
Sean has hosted events for Apples and Snakes, writen and produced several of his own writtings and been commissioned by the HalfMoon Theatre as a writer/creator.
His talent was also recognised by the East London dance and The Royal Opera House when they came together to produce a remake of the classic Opera Don Gio Vanni where Sean was commissoned as a choreographic artist and spoken word consultant.
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