Thursday, August 15, 2013
The Poetry of Danny Kemp!
Well, we had quite a bit of stir over our little blog here yesterday. It seems someone took exception to the type of material we post. How ridiculous! It clearly states on the preceding page before you get here that it is not suitable for anyone under 18. Oh, the lack of understanding in the ignorant.
Our usual featured author is away for some rather important business. Ben is turning in his Master's thesis; a huge accomplishment that not many even dare to tackle.
KUDOS BEN! WE ARE PROUD OF YOU!
In his absense, another gentleman from the UK has shared some of his poetry with us. Please welcome wordsmith Danny Kemp!
I Am Me.
Don’t label with a name,
Don’t label me by colour,
I am me,
I am no other.
Don’t foster on me your bigotry,
Nor peddle me your deception.
I’ll live my life as it pleases me.
Through my own perception.
My life has been surrounded,
by sycophants like you
With words full of nothingness
Thinking they will do.
Never can you fill my mind
With hatred and detestation.
I will live it in my way,
With steadfast determination.
Take your petty criticism and
Take away your disdain.
Live your life removed from me,
As I quickly forget your name.
Love Of Life.
A laugh is infectious.
A tear, shed alone.
A love never offered.
Is a fear never shown.
Passion can be passing.
Love can last forever.
Life can fall apart, but can
Love can bind it together?
To seek but never find.
To look but never see.
To want but never have,
that love that can never be.
To rise from the broken.
To love someone new.
To taste what’s forgotten.
Is to find the real you.
Take this heart from my body
Lay my soul bare.
Take every thought that I have.
Treat my love with care.
My heart is now dead
but my soul lives on.
I was a man once
Now that life has gone.
Reality Or Not?
Indifference built the walls, that locked creativity in.
Self-interest added the wire, that compounded that sin.
Expression was apprehended as complacency swallowed the keys
There was no public trial, and no-one listened to the pleas.
Innocence was the next to fall, trampled and crushed.
As to the deviance of wickedness all had rushed.
Greed played its hand, and what a hand it held.
Untiringly inviting, ‘til all felt compelled.
Step forward compassion, with the purest of heart. “Where do we begin,” it said? “Where do we start?
The battles have been lost that’s true, but the war is yet to end. We must stand together as one and this world we must defend.
This world existed before us, and will survive beyond our years. Hide away your diffidence and shed no more tears.
Creativity will be our sword, expression our eloquent speech, And innocence, it will be you, that bursts through the breach.
That which those four bearers of evil, has bestowed upon us all. Is now ended, and this will be our rallying call.
We must conquer and divide. We must succeed this day. That is my pledge of allegiance I offer to God to whom I pray.”
Hope was recalled, where deep in memory it lie. It joined the side of righteousness and raised its banner high.
The skirmish was uneven, as conscience won the day. The forces of evil were vanquished and sent far, far away.
Suddenly I awoke, as the day shone into my room. It was a dream you see, and I was engulfed, in the unchanged GLOOM.
Along The Way.
“I am heavy, I am tired” said the old man to the child.
“My life, is drawing to an end. It is not what I have done to life that has brought me here today, but what life has done to me along the way.
I was strong, I was fierce, I took no-one to my side, simply brushing them aside with no need of them. Now I find that I’m alone, but don’t pity nor disown those memories that I’ve sown, along the way.
My path was never straight, sometimes narrow, sometimes wide but along it I did stride to find you here. And I am pleased that I did, otherwise you would never know what I managed in my life, along the way.
I have reached that final bend, the one that leads me to my end, and now I leave you here to make your own way through this life. Tread your path with care, and always be aware that there is no such thing in life, as a mistake.”
Thank you Danny, for sharing your heart and your masterful ability in poetry with us!
Let me first confess something to you, I'm vain and like talking about myself. Usually I'm surrounded by people who only want to speak about themselves. I call them selfish and myself; misunderstood.
I will not bore you with my likes and dislikes, there are far more interesting people out there where you can measure your own against theirs. Instead, I will give you an example of what influenced my life. Just past my seventeenth birthday my Father died suddenly leaving me, his only child, and my Mother, who was verging on blindness. I was studying to be a Chartered Accountant, having changed my aspirations, from becoming a Helicopter pilot, on getting my 'O' level results from Shooters Hill Grammar School. I was a disappointment to both parents, having concentrated more on becoming a competent cricketer and the best open side wing forward never to play rugby for England than on my academic studies. Anyway, there I was on my way to the office when, without rhyme nor reason, I signed up to become a Police Cadet.
At the age of nineteen I was an up and running Police Constable, and here comes the thing. One day, whilst on duty, I found an eight year old boy who had been reported as missing from his home. Dutifully I returned him there to be greeted by a thankful Mother and a contemptuous Father sitting next to a roaring fire, stoking it with a steel poker.
When I saw the fear in his sons' eyes I knew immediately what had caused the inch wide festering wound on the boys face. I'll let you imagine what injuries I wanted to inflict on that man, but I didn't; and I've been ashamed of myself ever since.
I had a short career in the 'Job,' but no less eventful. I was the first to arrive at three deaths. One a sudden natural death, one a very 'bloody' suicide and one, where a jealous soldier shot his wife full in the face with both barrels of a 12 bore shotgun. All three were horrific and disturbing, but nothing has haunted me as much as that eight year old wounded child. I wonder if he ever lived long enough to extract revenge on his Father. I guess, in the age that we all live, I shouldn't say that, should I?
Why I started to write.
I was at work ( I am a London Licensed Taxi Driver) one sunny November day in 2006, minding my own business, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to Hospital and kept in for while, but it was not physical injuries that I suffered from; it was mental.
I had lost all confidence in myself, let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin, and the anxiety attacks would start.
I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly but I wasn't, I could not cope with life and thought about ending it.
Somehow or other with the help from my dear wife, and professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly, rebuilt my self-esteem.
It took almost four years to fully recover and become what I now am, somewhere close to what I was before that day, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write.
My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless it was there. After telling me to write another story, he said that there were two choices open to me: One, wait for a traditional deal. At sixty-two, with no literary profile or experience; little hope. Two, self-publish through New Generation Publishing.
This, I'm delighted to say, I did.
The success of my story, The Desolate Garden, is down to my sheer hard work, luck, in meeting a film producer and the uncompromising stance taken by Daniel Cooke my publisher, who never 'massages my inflated ego,' as he so often puts it.
From my Amazon Profile Page.
Once arrested for attempted murder in England, Danny Kemp decided that a career in writing was for him. No different than Nicholas Sparks, Mr. Kemp's first novel The Desolate Garden was picked up in a snap, and is currently being rendered into a movie. Outside the field of "run-ins with the law, Kemp draws on decades of experience, encompassing the Metropolitan Police, the tenancy of three English Public Houses, and the Licensed Taxi Trade in London, as well as being a radio voice-over artist in several radio plays, where he honed his sense of story and pacing.
(I was not found guilty…LOL)
Links. (Four chapters on Amazon)
Filming is due to begin this year with a set being built in the Unites Arab Emirates, and then locational work here in London. The budget for this project is $30,000,000’s. The production company is English, based in London.