December | 2019 | P.G.T. Troughton Writing

You can call me Pan,
‘Cause I’m never growing up.
I may have a beard but I’m a kid at heart,
No cruel words can tear me apart.

I’ll always dream of a brighter future,
Won’t let reality be my sutures.
I’ll work for my joy, not for my pay,
Try my best to help others everyday.

I refuse to lose my humanity,
Maybe I can help others to see.

Who cares if he’s on the streets?
Everyone needs something to eat.
He’s human too, say hello why don’t you?
Maybe you’ll make his sky a little more blue.

Kids don’t judge. They don’t care about skin, gender, or class,
And they certainly don’t give a shit about your past.
They give love to all those around.
They help the lost souls to become found.

Cheer up, have a little fun.
Can’t you see the workday is done?
Don’t just sit mindlessly watching tv,
Help your own kids to be free.
Those chains hold us down,
Better be careful or we will drown.

It’s time for you to be a kid again.
Hang up the briefcase, put down the pen.
Go outside and breathe the air,
It’s time you got out that chair.
I have to go now but I hope you see,
There’s so much more to life than just a screen.

© Peter Troughton

A crescendo.
It’s an ultimate high from an ultimate low.
My life is no crescendo.
There are no highs coming out of any lows.
There are no happy musical notes.

My life is more of a yoyo.
For every up there is a down.
For every smile a frown.
I put in my all and crash to a stop,
Before going right back to the start.

Maybe a bird’s cage is a better analogy,
Because the creative is never truly free.
We sing to the masses and give them our heart,
While critics sit back and tear us apart.
Us poets, artists, musicians and writers,
Make barely enough to buy a lighter.
The iron cell of this cage,
Is making less than minimum wage.
We poor out our heart and soul,
Come Christmas we can’t even afford the coal.

We are branded cows and egg laying hens,
We are the world’s colourful lens.
We are people and our work deserves more,
Than to be on the shelves of a dollar store.
So pick up your pens and brushes,
No longer will others hush us.
Our value is not in the money we make,
It’s in the art in which we partake.
Now is the time for the solution,
It is time for a creative revolution.

© Peter Troughton