Postmodern Poetry | Wild Stage

Where do I err?
Flailing at the railings of my life’s swimming pool
Reaching for the safety of the security blanket covering me
What am I doing wrong?
I am too close to the divide.
Strangers in my mind unkind to the findings
Recent excursions into the deep unknown
Asking too much for the receipt of familiar consciousness
Cups of tea and the drinking of an occasional latte
What is the breaking point of my mind?
Too close to the ether, too far away from electrical vibrations
Time is like a nation of zombies awaiting my pornographic reinvention
Standing naked at my front door.
I have been here before
Forgetful of the greatness of building my character
Like stepping stones across a frozen lake in my heart
Darting across the temporal void in avoidance of one more bloody conversation
The inner journey of man
The planned intervention
The existential cartography of my soul
It seems like we all need a common goal
And mental health is the way forward for the masses
Something to join the meditation with the mediation of higher and lower worlds
The frogs of the cauldron and the skulls of the pirate ship
Something I shoot straight from the hip
As a western cowboy in the Indian deserts
Land reclamation expert number one
Ask me where I belong and I will say it is right here
Where I stand defending my hand
Leading the leaderless with a magic marker and slight of my pen
Something again and again to drum out the pacing of seconds
Minutes away from the hours we share as our blessings together
Poets in tune and in the rudeness of awakening
Settling down for some more slumber party to rejoice in.

AI Summary

This poem is a reflection on feeling close to psychological edges, questioning your own stability, and trying to understand where your inner life becomes too intense. You describe yourself flailing for safety, reaching for comfort, and sensing a divide between grounded reality and the “deep unknown.” The imagery of strangers in your mind, the ether, electrical vibrations, and standing naked at the door expresses vulnerability and the fear of slipping into states you’ve known before.

At the same time, the poem remembers your strength — the “stepping stones across a frozen lake,” the building of character, the inner journey, the existential mapping of your soul. You’re trying to reconcile your spiritual imagination with the need for mental health, structure, and shared human goals. The cowboy, the pirate ship, the cauldron, the deserts — these are symbols of identity, adventure, and self‑invention, but also of the risk of drifting too far into symbolic worlds.

Justify
The wrote
Hens and chickens weren’t there
It was, however, Christmas time:
You’ll never forget a family rhyme.
Like the snowfall
That never landed on Baby Day.
The month’s TV was
An Islamic fine
The [ ] is no good game crime
How 20:20 of you to thank me
Now that the time is going blank.

Grandmother wasn’t collected at the market
She sareed herself accepting the Id of [ ],
Where have the cops been?
Concerned about her health
After family dinners.

It’s just not going to get with you,
Their lines are no good.
The old tidings that are missionaries
We’re dissenting you now that you are rude.
Aim at me, canon all around
That is the karma of a family learning things that are proud.

The east has food that the west thus accepted is the best,
So never never never
Never never never
Erm (… Newsnight?!? Paranoia- Panorama)
– put my love to the test, Ma’am

[ And we conclude USA-Stylie
‘ ‘ ]
Grand Ma’am.

AI Summary

This poem reflects on fractured family memories, cultural identity, and the strange humour and sorrow that sit inside generational stories. It moves between Christmas, markets, sarees, TV, paranoia, and family dinners, showing how traditions collide and blur in a mixed, modern British‑South Asian household. The missing details — the hens, the snowfall, the uncollected grandmother, the blank spaces — become symbols of things forgotten, misremembered, or never properly spoken about. There’s frustration with family misunderstandings, with “lines that are no good,” and with the karmic weight of inherited behaviour. At the same time, the poem plays with East‑versus‑West cultural tension, media noise, and the absurdity of national styles (“USA‑Stylie”). Ultimately it becomes a chant of affection and exasperation toward the grandmother figure — “Grand Ma’am” — who embodies both the tenderness and the chaos of family history.