I'm in trouble; if you know what I mean
I'm going down on my knees,
Don't hate me too much!
She is over eighteen.
My step-brother's - and a tease.
Saturday, 26 February 2011
Thursday, 24 February 2011
The Critic with No Chance
I want to shout,
I want to scream;
I want to direct it at you,
And I would say that you are wrong.
If I don't know left,
How could I have ever known
What was really right,
To teach respect you give a little,
Like the puppy off the lead;
The fall of respect
Is met by discipline
And discipline is followed,
By second chances and respect.
The thickening fog
Keeps a skippers course true.
The unknown voyage set upon, scares
But only out of learning
Can grow understanding and respect,
And as soon as you are in need,
And you will be,
Just be here.
You are the foundations of life.
I might never see what can be,
I might never feel it just so
I can't judge and I don't know,
So you don't need to listen to me.
I love to see strong families,
It makes my heart sing out;
Sometimes I see individuality,
Panda pawed uniform bear hug,
Lost: double or nothing pout.
One day I might have my chance;
To start my own voyage.
Then maybe I will see, how
Wrong that I have been,
Or maybe I'll be right
And my crew will be
So variously skilled
That we could be vaudeville,
Instead of just a dream
Played out past the window-sill.
I want to scream;
I want to direct it at you,
And I would say that you are wrong.
If I don't know left,
How could I have ever known
What was really right,
To teach respect you give a little,
Like the puppy off the lead;
The fall of respect
Is met by discipline
And discipline is followed,
By second chances and respect.
The thickening fog
Keeps a skippers course true.
The unknown voyage set upon, scares
But only out of learning
Can grow understanding and respect,
And as soon as you are in need,
And you will be,
Just be here.
You are the foundations of life.
I might never see what can be,
I might never feel it just so
I can't judge and I don't know,
So you don't need to listen to me.
I love to see strong families,
It makes my heart sing out;
Sometimes I see individuality,
Panda pawed uniform bear hug,
Lost: double or nothing pout.
One day I might have my chance;
To start my own voyage.
Then maybe I will see, how
Wrong that I have been,
Or maybe I'll be right
And my crew will be
So variously skilled
That we could be vaudeville,
Instead of just a dream
Played out past the window-sill.
Thursday, 17 February 2011
The Fox
The city fox lives on the outskirts of town,
Venturing in at night to feed taking what
They see as waste; it could be the
Country-side or the beach, he
Would find his food regard-
less. He mates if a mate
Be there but it isn't
His motivation or
Drive. He knows:
He is smart,
Calculating
Risk, supply
And environment,
He does this alone
And knows what he must
Do to survive. So often
Eyes catch glimpses of his
Friendly, caring, cute face;
They don't see the teeth tearing
Flesh from bone,picking the weakest
And most vulnerable prey, Feeding on
Babies, feeding on those unsuspecting;
Unsuspecting and dumb. He sits in covert
And stalks in the shadows and only he knows.
Only this little fox knows the solitude and the
Loneliness, of surviving. Already pushed out before
He has ever been close, He sits afar watching: Never
Noticed All alone, Living.
Venturing in at night to feed taking what
They see as waste; it could be the
Country-side or the beach, he
Would find his food regard-
less. He mates if a mate
Be there but it isn't
His motivation or
Drive. He knows:
He is smart,
Calculating
Risk, supply
And environment,
He does this alone
And knows what he must
Do to survive. So often
Eyes catch glimpses of his
Friendly, caring, cute face;
They don't see the teeth tearing
Flesh from bone,picking the weakest
And most vulnerable prey, Feeding on
Babies, feeding on those unsuspecting;
Unsuspecting and dumb. He sits in covert
And stalks in the shadows and only he knows.
Only this little fox knows the solitude and the
Loneliness, of surviving. Already pushed out before
He has ever been close, He sits afar watching: Never
Noticed All alone, Living.
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
The Morning of the Second Day without a Cigarette
In a ritual that dates back many a year,
I remove shoes, socks, trousers and shirt;
In that order and bag them with care.
I walk awkwardly through to the shower,
Across the wet floor that just feels so dirty;
Around me the white ceramic tiles tower.
I wash off the dirt on my way through cold air,
Out through the archway and on to parade
In my skin to the others, half hidden there.
I brace myself and throw my body in,
It feels warmer than I had expected
As I find a lane, kick off and begin.
I look around and feel out of place,
And everyone else seems twice my age;
I ignore and avoid eyeing anyone's face.
I struggle with stamina and often rest:
I know I am unfit but it still annoys,
As the youngest I should be the best.
There are lots of women going up and down,
And a few men vigorously with speed;
I battle on, often fearing that I might drown.
I am proud, and in an hour swam a kilometre,
Which at times I thought I wouldn't achieve
But you just have not to let those fast old folk deter y'.
I climbed out, showered off and dried:
I found it all quite fun,
I ate some fruit as I walked into town,
Day two has just begun
But at least I have day one down.
I remove shoes, socks, trousers and shirt;
In that order and bag them with care.
I walk awkwardly through to the shower,
Across the wet floor that just feels so dirty;
Around me the white ceramic tiles tower.
I wash off the dirt on my way through cold air,
Out through the archway and on to parade
In my skin to the others, half hidden there.
I brace myself and throw my body in,
It feels warmer than I had expected
As I find a lane, kick off and begin.
I look around and feel out of place,
And everyone else seems twice my age;
I ignore and avoid eyeing anyone's face.
I struggle with stamina and often rest:
I know I am unfit but it still annoys,
As the youngest I should be the best.
There are lots of women going up and down,
And a few men vigorously with speed;
I battle on, often fearing that I might drown.
I am proud, and in an hour swam a kilometre,
Which at times I thought I wouldn't achieve
But you just have not to let those fast old folk deter y'.
I climbed out, showered off and dried:
I found it all quite fun,
I ate some fruit as I walked into town,
Day two has just begun
But at least I have day one down.
Lulled to Sleep on a Cold Winters Afternoon
It's bright but cold outside
In the world beyond the back doors;
It's dull and grey in the dining-room
Where the table and chairs and the dog's crate lives,
It's cold in there too. I shut us in
And draw the curtains, both doors closed,
We begin to relax and find comfort
In the rooms solitary heat. After much scrambling
I reside myself to lowlier climes; I lie beside her
On the floor, in the fire glow and fatiguing heat.
My eyelids raise and fall, like an ocean's swell;
As whip-cracks and the grinding of bone on teeth
Fill my ears. We lie, hind-quarters outstretched;
The dog to a bone and myself to sleep.
In the world beyond the back doors;
It's dull and grey in the dining-room
Where the table and chairs and the dog's crate lives,
It's cold in there too. I shut us in
And draw the curtains, both doors closed,
We begin to relax and find comfort
In the rooms solitary heat. After much scrambling
I reside myself to lowlier climes; I lie beside her
On the floor, in the fire glow and fatiguing heat.
My eyelids raise and fall, like an ocean's swell;
As whip-cracks and the grinding of bone on teeth
Fill my ears. We lie, hind-quarters outstretched;
The dog to a bone and myself to sleep.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Second-Hand Significance
The clock trots on like a horse
Ridden but with nowhere to go.
I watch the second-hand
And at first it appears to count backwards.
It takes a lifetime to get back around to twelve
And I find myself counting in thousands;
Just to make sure.
This little white travel alarm-clock,
With the square face,
With the curved corners, and
Glow-in-the-dark features
That have long since faded.
This clock,
And its incessant tick-tocking,
Are all that holds me
And the fabric of my world, together.
Right here: at this moment in time,
Without that clock, there would be nothing.
The skies outside would fade to white,
Washing with it all the colours of the world;
Like the paint off a brush
Under the hot-water tap.
The condensation on my window,
And the mould that has built up in the corners
Because of it would be no more.
I would be but an empty pen:
The quill dipped in an empty inkwell,
Writing on a blank sheet off paper.
Without this clock
And its gentle pace,
There would be no ringing
Of my tinnitus bell;
And no more amiable chatter
Out of it at the back of my mind;
The dull voices that squeeze
Through the bricks to my ear
And the rush of cistern water
Would be replaced with an
Unbearably loud silence,
In which even I couldn't hear my screams.
There would be no flesh nor bone
Upon my spirit
And no thoughts or feelings in my mind:
There would be absolute nothing
And in all of that nothing would sit everything
That existed in the nothingness.
And so I pray,
And I watch and I count;
I listen and I feel,
As my body synchronises with this clock
And relies on it, because
Without this little white travel alarm-clock,
If it was to ever stop,
This life and this existence
Would stop with that
Slender second-hand,
And we melt: flooding into the drains
Draining out into the vast uniform
Nothingness.
Ridden but with nowhere to go.
I watch the second-hand
And at first it appears to count backwards.
It takes a lifetime to get back around to twelve
And I find myself counting in thousands;
Just to make sure.
This little white travel alarm-clock,
With the square face,
With the curved corners, and
Glow-in-the-dark features
That have long since faded.
This clock,
And its incessant tick-tocking,
Are all that holds me
And the fabric of my world, together.
Right here: at this moment in time,
Without that clock, there would be nothing.
The skies outside would fade to white,
Washing with it all the colours of the world;
Like the paint off a brush
Under the hot-water tap.
The condensation on my window,
And the mould that has built up in the corners
Because of it would be no more.
I would be but an empty pen:
The quill dipped in an empty inkwell,
Writing on a blank sheet off paper.
Without this clock
And its gentle pace,
There would be no ringing
Of my tinnitus bell;
And no more amiable chatter
Out of it at the back of my mind;
The dull voices that squeeze
Through the bricks to my ear
And the rush of cistern water
Would be replaced with an
Unbearably loud silence,
In which even I couldn't hear my screams.
There would be no flesh nor bone
Upon my spirit
And no thoughts or feelings in my mind:
There would be absolute nothing
And in all of that nothing would sit everything
That existed in the nothingness.
And so I pray,
And I watch and I count;
I listen and I feel,
As my body synchronises with this clock
And relies on it, because
Without this little white travel alarm-clock,
If it was to ever stop,
This life and this existence
Would stop with that
Slender second-hand,
And we melt: flooding into the drains
Draining out into the vast uniform
Nothingness.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Defecate
Sometimes I don't know what I'm saying
And sometimes I don't know what I do;
I do stupid things when playing
And don't really mean to do what I do.
It doesn't help that I'm drunk: not at all
And it doesn't help I don't know who you are,
But what really concerns me is that you are a wall,
And your getting very close to me and my car.
I fell out with the car and am sulking on the path,
There is a pain that stops me from playing,
I stop right here and have a little laugh
Because I don't know what I am saying.
And sometimes I don't know what I do;
I do stupid things when playing
And don't really mean to do what I do.
It doesn't help that I'm drunk: not at all
And it doesn't help I don't know who you are,
But what really concerns me is that you are a wall,
And your getting very close to me and my car.
I fell out with the car and am sulking on the path,
There is a pain that stops me from playing,
I stop right here and have a little laugh
Because I don't know what I am saying.
The Dreams That The Dead Do Dream
I feel dead and talk dead,
I think dead and walk dead;
Once again I dreamed I died,
I wasn't alone but nobody cried.
Twice I have died in my sleep,
And twice I've been shot in the head;
God says that; 'what I sow Matthew I reap!'
But, still, I wake up in bed.
Could it just be a prediction,
That oneday will come to be true?
Should I pray now for benediction,
And wait it out on a pew.
I could be wrong, it could just be a dream,
Just something dreamed up in my bed: in my head;
From watching horrors and eating too much ice-cream,
But I can't help but feel that I'm already dead.
I think dead and walk dead;
Once again I dreamed I died,
I wasn't alone but nobody cried.
Twice I have died in my sleep,
And twice I've been shot in the head;
God says that; 'what I sow Matthew I reap!'
But, still, I wake up in bed.
Could it just be a prediction,
That oneday will come to be true?
Should I pray now for benediction,
And wait it out on a pew.
I could be wrong, it could just be a dream,
Just something dreamed up in my bed: in my head;
From watching horrors and eating too much ice-cream,
But I can't help but feel that I'm already dead.
My Death
A head filled with explosive force,
And the searing, scolding heat
Filling from the rear;
The second instance and the second sign.
The dull dark throbbing, in the night
Paralysed and blind but still awake;
Matter, skull and bone spill out,
Tired and overworked guttering.
The last watcher switches on a T.V,
And the swelling climaxes
In black silent heat;
Then there is nothing.
I awake. Then there is nothing.
And the searing, scolding heat
Filling from the rear;
The second instance and the second sign.
The dull dark throbbing, in the night
Paralysed and blind but still awake;
Matter, skull and bone spill out,
Tired and overworked guttering.
The last watcher switches on a T.V,
And the swelling climaxes
In black silent heat;
Then there is nothing.
I awake. Then there is nothing.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
Untitled 21/10/2010 (Unfinished)
I don't belong
Here
At all,
I'm not big,
Beautiful or tall,
I have nothing to
Show for
Life
That I
Have lived so far,
I've got no home,
Job or car,
I walk
Around in circles
With no place
To go,
No reserved table
No tickets to
A show.
Here
At all,
I'm not big,
Beautiful or tall,
I have nothing to
Show for
Life
That I
Have lived so far,
I've got no home,
Job or car,
I walk
Around in circles
With no place
To go,
No reserved table
No tickets to
A show.
Untitled 08/10/2010
I feel most
At home when I am alone,
Yet I love
To love and be loved back,
I am not
Worth much but I try
My best,
Unto fate I leave the rest,
Things look
Most promising looking from the bottom up,
Never half empty
Nor full,
I don't even have a cup,
This street
I roam all alone
Just one big soap opera,
All my life
As I have grown,
Circumstances change,
People come and go,
All I can say is;
'It's just a show',
I'm here now
Oneday I'll go!
At home when I am alone,
Yet I love
To love and be loved back,
I am not
Worth much but I try
My best,
Unto fate I leave the rest,
Things look
Most promising looking from the bottom up,
Never half empty
Nor full,
I don't even have a cup,
This street
I roam all alone
Just one big soap opera,
All my life
As I have grown,
Circumstances change,
People come and go,
All I can say is;
'It's just a show',
I'm here now
Oneday I'll go!
Untitled 06/10/2010
Sometimes I act like a fool,
A tool and say things
I don't mean,
But inside out I don't
Appear as I seem,
I like to chat shit,
Act the clown,
On the streets
And in the town;
I am a mystery man
Who says what he likes
But never means what he says,
Works as hard as he plays,
Welcomes he never out-stays.
I don't see much in this world for me,
A prisoner of society waiting
To break free,
Do what I can and be who I be,
Want to see?
Come take a walk with me.
Never hard done,
Don't live
By the gun,
Shot one but just for fun,
Take a walk in my shoes,
Over seas, car, train or aeroplane,
Experience life
With no stress or strain.
I am not
Saying I have
No troubles:
I do have some,
Fretting over them,
Now thats just dumb!
So follow me,
Learn and see,
A happy life
Fun and free.
A tool and say things
I don't mean,
But inside out I don't
Appear as I seem,
I like to chat shit,
Act the clown,
On the streets
And in the town;
I am a mystery man
Who says what he likes
But never means what he says,
Works as hard as he plays,
Welcomes he never out-stays.
I don't see much in this world for me,
A prisoner of society waiting
To break free,
Do what I can and be who I be,
Want to see?
Come take a walk with me.
Never hard done,
Don't live
By the gun,
Shot one but just for fun,
Take a walk in my shoes,
Over seas, car, train or aeroplane,
Experience life
With no stress or strain.
I am not
Saying I have
No troubles:
I do have some,
Fretting over them,
Now thats just dumb!
So follow me,
Learn and see,
A happy life
Fun and free.
Untitled 05/10/2010
Each day
We spend together
Even those apart,
You take up and fill a little more
O' my heart,
People may say I am mad
When they used to call me barmy,
Your unmatchable looks
Capable of stopping even the largest army.
You make me wonder,
You make me wish to dream,
If I had only
Found you sooner just how my life would've been,
The past
Don't matter much to me
The future means alot,
For one thing I shall truly try;
This one thing you and I,
Happiness you can never stop,
When you put a stop to a lie.
We spend together
Even those apart,
You take up and fill a little more
O' my heart,
People may say I am mad
When they used to call me barmy,
Your unmatchable looks
Capable of stopping even the largest army.
You make me wonder,
You make me wish to dream,
If I had only
Found you sooner just how my life would've been,
The past
Don't matter much to me
The future means alot,
For one thing I shall truly try;
This one thing you and I,
Happiness you can never stop,
When you put a stop to a lie.
Untitled 30/09/2010
In a world full
To the brim with faces,
Stories, and a million different places,
I struggle to know where I belong,
I find 'love' easy
But still it feels wrong,
Do I expect to-
Much too soon,
Should I take my time to find out,
What I want
If this is what love
And life is really all about?
I have new love
Always found in an angels face,
I feel
Like she feels the same as me,
But I cant help but feel
Burnt I will eventually be!
Young in heart,
Body and soul
We want
Each other but from life a different goal.
I do not know what I should do
Other than ride it out,
Oneday
Hopefully I shall know
What it is all about.
To the brim with faces,
Stories, and a million different places,
I struggle to know where I belong,
I find 'love' easy
But still it feels wrong,
Do I expect to-
Much too soon,
Should I take my time to find out,
What I want
If this is what love
And life is really all about?
I have new love
Always found in an angels face,
I feel
Like she feels the same as me,
But I cant help but feel
Burnt I will eventually be!
Young in heart,
Body and soul
We want
Each other but from life a different goal.
I do not know what I should do
Other than ride it out,
Oneday
Hopefully I shall know
What it is all about.
Untitled 29/09/2010
A girl more like that of an angel,
Not her of good looks and fortune,
She hath stolen from me
My very own heart;
Left me craving for her
E'ermore like the beast does the moon,
Something more beautiful than I
Have ever known:
This is just the start.
Be true my will for I want nothing
More than for this to be the start
Something long;
Long my will pushes
Forth into the eternal.
This angel be the gaurdian,
Fro' my dreams that I have
Longed for so.
This angel I shall doeth
My best to let her see,
That she is
My love and belongs
To me.
Not her of good looks and fortune,
She hath stolen from me
My very own heart;
Left me craving for her
E'ermore like the beast does the moon,
Something more beautiful than I
Have ever known:
This is just the start.
Be true my will for I want nothing
More than for this to be the start
Something long;
Long my will pushes
Forth into the eternal.
This angel be the gaurdian,
Fro' my dreams that I have
Longed for so.
This angel I shall doeth
My best to let her see,
That she is
My love and belongs
To me.
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Apĕ,Thē
The gentle melodic whirr of rotor
And the sporadic cicada click
Of electronic relay switches.
The tinnitus ring sounded
By a high-pitched infra-red clapper,
And the glare of lamp on picture glass
And street light on computer screen.
A lop-sided cushion;
Supported by lop-sided bums
That hold up bodies, that hang
In an ennui of apathy.
Lights flicker; trains pass,
Days die; the phone rings
Once or twice, letters fall into the house
Like little coffins falling
Into a crematorium furnace fire.
The patterns on the wall
Begin to blur and the ringing
Has taken over; numb but feeling
Every inch -
I go for a walk.
And the sporadic cicada click
Of electronic relay switches.
The tinnitus ring sounded
By a high-pitched infra-red clapper,
And the glare of lamp on picture glass
And street light on computer screen.
A lop-sided cushion;
Supported by lop-sided bums
That hold up bodies, that hang
In an ennui of apathy.
Lights flicker; trains pass,
Days die; the phone rings
Once or twice, letters fall into the house
Like little coffins falling
Into a crematorium furnace fire.
The patterns on the wall
Begin to blur and the ringing
Has taken over; numb but feeling
Every inch -
I go for a walk.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Last Night
Last night I bought some cigarettes and whiskey,
I sat on the sand down by the sea,
I drank and smoked for hours in the dark night,
I am pathetic and worthless at best alright,
All I could think about was dying,
I gave it to the Gods for trying,
A little note sat in my pocket to find on my corpse,
Dying is not what I wanted not one of my hopes,
I died out there by the sea in the sand,
An angel picked me up and led my drunk body by hand,
I awoke in the light of day back in my bed,
I had been kept from becoming dead,
I could not move all I done was stare,
I had no thought of feeling no life no care,
Part of me washed up on the shore today,
It sits next to a piece of me from another day,
There is not much of me left and the tide is coming in,
On the sand my life will end before it has chance to begin.
I sat on the sand down by the sea,
I drank and smoked for hours in the dark night,
I am pathetic and worthless at best alright,
All I could think about was dying,
I gave it to the Gods for trying,
A little note sat in my pocket to find on my corpse,
Dying is not what I wanted not one of my hopes,
I died out there by the sea in the sand,
An angel picked me up and led my drunk body by hand,
I awoke in the light of day back in my bed,
I had been kept from becoming dead,
I could not move all I done was stare,
I had no thought of feeling no life no care,
Part of me washed up on the shore today,
It sits next to a piece of me from another day,
There is not much of me left and the tide is coming in,
On the sand my life will end before it has chance to begin.
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
The Masri See Through The Veil That The Comorant Wears, Labelled democracy.
The winter fights its final demise
And it falls into its final trimester,
The weather warms but he still blows,
The rattling bones of building site fences,
Whistling, jingling in the wind,
And we rejoice and shed our thick coats
As the dark morning'd days come to an end.
As the march hare springs from east
Under the new moons metallic night,
Each morning day restores my faith
As, in righteous belief, the Kemet people fight.
All men must follow suit
For us all to ever be free,
All they want is our money in Whatehall,
Together we will stand until we make them see,
That all we want from life is our freedom
And the True Democracy.
And it falls into its final trimester,
The weather warms but he still blows,
The rattling bones of building site fences,
Whistling, jingling in the wind,
And we rejoice and shed our thick coats
As the dark morning'd days come to an end.
As the march hare springs from east
Under the new moons metallic night,
Each morning day restores my faith
As, in righteous belief, the Kemet people fight.
All men must follow suit
For us all to ever be free,
All they want is our money in Whatehall,
Together we will stand until we make them see,
That all we want from life is our freedom
And the True Democracy.
April
No month was ever so pretty
For a youth, so angelic and serene;
The Springtime flowers so fragrant
And the meadow grass so green.
In April the whole world lives,
New life spring forth and gambol;
Such a felicitous life that April gives,
As under the cherry blooms we ramble.
Though April showers may beat
Among the flowers,on the mud,
God's fecund offer we must greet:
The rain, April's life blood.
Now April's perfect Springtime's past,
But still her beauty we can see
And though her flowers will not last,
April will always live in me.
For a youth, so angelic and serene;
The Springtime flowers so fragrant
And the meadow grass so green.
In April the whole world lives,
New life spring forth and gambol;
Such a felicitous life that April gives,
As under the cherry blooms we ramble.
Though April showers may beat
Among the flowers,on the mud,
God's fecund offer we must greet:
The rain, April's life blood.
Now April's perfect Springtime's past,
But still her beauty we can see
And though her flowers will not last,
April will always live in me.
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