slanderhour

slanderhour

By slanderhourSociety & Culture
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slanderhour episodes

  • Semi - Reason

    and in the moment of silence,
    i search for my forsaken voice,
    buried somewhere,
    far and adrift,
    under the summit of sufferings,
    the rivers of rage,
    under trampled dreams,
    under the mottled page,
    the voice so aloof,
    i have forgotten it so well,
    the past of calamity,
    only if i had a voice; i could tell

    18 min
  • Semi - Stoicism

    You are as
    The silver moonlight
    Which with its grace
    Dances on the surface of this lake.
    You, who penetrates my depths
    And ripples into my being
    Causing waves to quake.
    I will be your shelter,
    In my open arms
    I will be your rest.
    I will be as the caves of old,
    Within me you may find peace
    From the raging tempest of the world.
    You may shutter your eyes and dream,
    For the fire will remain
    Even if to fuel it, I must burn.

    14 min
  • Michael Barrymore Vs Pete Doherty - Episode Four - That's Light Entertainment

    In smoky halls where shadows dance,

    There strides a man with flair and stance.
    With saxophone in hand, he's seen,
    Shane Ritchie, the jazz machine.

    His fingers glide on keys so fine,

    A melody born from his mind's design.
    Each note he plays, a tale untold,
    In his jazz world, he's bold and bold.

    His voice, a velvet, smooth and low,

    Sings of love lost and nights aglow.
    The rhythm flows through every chord,
    In Shane Ritchie, jazz is adored.

    In every riff, a story's spun,

    Of midnight dreams beneath the sun.
    With passion deep and soul so pure,
    Shane Ritchie's jazz will endure.

    32 min
  • Michael Barrymore Vs Pete Doherty - Episode Two - Body to Body

    In childhood's realm, young Barrymore did dwell,

    A world apart, where trials and hardships swelled.
    No tender hands to guide him on life's path,
    Alone he wandered, facing nature's wrath.

    With naught but strength and grit as his allies,

    He forged ahead beneath the open skies.
    No sheltered haven, no familial care,
    Yet in his heart, a fire burned, aware.

    Through solitary hours, his spirit grew,

    A resilient bloom, steadfast and true.
    He learned to navigate life's turbulent tide,
    As independence became his faithful guide.

    In iambic pentameter's rhythmic sway,

    The tale of Barrymore's youth takes its play.
    A child untamed, but with a noble flame,
    He braved the storms, each challenge he overcame.

    Though trials marked his path in early years,

    His spirit soared above all doubts and fears.
    In each footfall, a tale of strength untold,
    A young soul destined to break the mold.

    So let us ponder, in poetic rhyme,

    The resilience of Barrymore's early time.
    A child of fortitude, his own beacon bright,
    Who forged a path, defying starless night.

    23 min
  • Michael Barrymore Vs Pete Doherty

    In the spotlight's gaze, Michael Barrymore stood,

    A figure of laughter, a king of the hood.
    With charm and wit, he graced the TV screen,
    A maestro of entertainment, a living dream.

    His laughter contagious, a gift he shared,

    A jester of joy, he truly cared.
    From game shows to variety, his talents unfurled,
    Delighting audiences, across the wide world.

    But shadows cast their veil on his life,

    As troubles emerged, piercing like a knife.
    Adversity struck, tarnishing his name,
    A fall from grace, a tarnished flame.

    Yet through it all, a flicker remains,

    A man of resilience, enduring the strains.
    For in his heart, redemption may reside,
    A chance for renewal, a rising tide.

    Let us remember the laughter he brought,

    The moments of mirth, the battles fought.
    For within every soul, there lies a tale,
    Of triumph and struggle, of strength that won't fail.

    So, let us reflect on Michael's journey untold,

    With empathy and compassion, let our hearts unfold.
    For amidst the highs and lows that he's seen,
    Michael Barrymore, a complex human being.

    22 min
  • Semi - Convo

    So it goes, dear listener, that among the myriad of things that sets man apart from his animal counterparts is the gift of gab and the mastery of language. To be a man is to be a creature of speech and discourse.

    The art of conversation holds a significant role in our lives. It can ease our sorrows and afflictions, amplify our delights and jubilations, and enhance our understanding of the world. Indeed, conversation is a powerful tool that allows us to convey our thoughts, emotions, and experiences with great significance. It is a valuable vehicle that propels us forward on our journey of self-discovery and communal growth.

    22 min
  • Semi - Priest
    Garth meets a priest.
    Public transport drama.
    Garth and his friend have a difference of opinion.
    Exploring the SUBconscious
    Other things
    17 min
  • Semi - Exposition

    Your face did not rot

    like the others—the co-pilot,   
    for example, I saw him
    yesterday. His face is corn-
    mush: his wife and daughter,   
    the poor ignorant people, stare
    as if he will compose soon.
    He was more wronged than Job.   
    But your face did not rot
    like the others—it grew dark,
    and hard like ebony;
    the features progressed in their
    distinction. If I could cajole
    you to come back for an evening,   
    down from your compulsive
    orbiting, I would touch you,   
    read your face as Dallas,   
    your hoodlum gunner, now,
    with the blistered eyes, reads   
    his braille editions. I would
    touch your face as a disinterested
    scholar touches an original page.   
    However frightening, I would   
    discover you, and I would not
    turn you in; I would not make   
    you face your wife, or Dallas,   
    or the co-pilot, Jim. You
    could return to your crazy   
    orbiting, and I would not try   
    to fully understand what
    it means to you. All I know   
    is this: when I see you,   
    as I have seen you at least
    once every year of my life,   
    spin across the wilds of the sky   
    like a tiny, African god,
    I feel dead. I feel as if I were   
    the residue of a stranger’s life,   
    that I should pursue you.
    My head cocked toward the sky,   
    I cannot get off the ground,   
    and, you, passing over again,
    fast, perfect, and unwilling   
    to tell me that you are doing   
    well, or that it was mistake
    that placed you in that world,
    and me in this; or that misfortune   
    placed these worlds in us.

    24 min
  • Semi - Sub

    Love me, use me, Never let me go.

    Quench this unbearable thirst, this fire in my soul.

    ...


    Use me, hate me, ravage me, destroy me,

    As long as in the end you promise to hold me in your arms and love me.

    ...


    Grab my neck and pull my hair only keens and moans will be gotten from there.

    ...


    Stroke me like a harp, pluck me like a live wire string.

    Tighten me up, and snap me so I scream.

    ...


    Fill me, tempt me, push me, pull me.

    Throw me to the bed and make me sing

    ...


    Hold me down and shatter me,

    Pick me apart, and rebuild me made just for you.

    ...


    You met me a cracked photo frame empty and useless,

    Now fixed, filled full with only your image.

    ...


    Please don't leave me I promise to obey!

    Hold me apart so my pieces don't stray,

    Here in you arms Sir forever I will stay.

    33 min

About slanderhour

From the publisher's feed

A weekly pre-sleep, post-thought audio play investigating the nature of latent boredom and the strip-mining of emotional bereavement.