True Fly (White Guy) 2009

I passed him by, (a young white guy – acting fly)
Blue bandana (under his cap), telling guys he’s ready to die
Middle class genetics and hallucinagenics (bad mix)
Listens to hip hop – says “I get it” (pathetic) – wants to play gangster tricks

Walked with a limp on his right side (the wrong side), slight bounce
Half a blunt in his mouth (badly rolled), bragging he can smoke an ounce
Never coughed up more than a gram, since leaving his pram (nobody knows)
Another Bill Clinton, sucks in (doesn’t inhale), then he blows.

(Finally) One night, carying his water pistol (in his pants)
Exposes the handle (looking gangster) and takes his Alpha Dog stance
Staring down his rival (geek with glasses) who took his “bitch”
Approaches him – squares up and gets the (trigger finger) itch

One bluff too many for young (and fly) white boy though
Geeky Glasses doesn’t take shit (but gangster doesn’t know)
Underneath the English books, he holds a blade (a bowie knife)
Always did (who would have thought?), Geek ready to defend his life

Geek throws down his hardbacks and flashes his blade
Blue Bandana boy (turns yellow), eyes kinda wide – staring – afraid
Middle class instinct kicks in – (not quite ready to die)
Geek walks on (like a real man should) – Pretty fly (for a white guy).

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Newcastle (for “Spence” – 2008)

cobble stones and granite walls
and mining pits and big brass balls
and pounds for pints and black and whites
and people love their sir john hall’s

river sides make rivalries
and claims to fame for histories
and gi’ em to mackem and tic and tack em
and pass ’em doon to Geordie quays

Lambton worms/local stories
and socialists and cast oot tories
and northern runs in vests for fun
and viz mag with anomolies

A Geordie poet will read this…
and…
will know my thoughts and understand
ye me marra, keep on the narra
For great is where ye roam the land!

* This was a piece dedicated to a north-eastern poet who I’m a fan of.
I think a few Geordies might find nostalgia or reference to it though.

Gone to the future

How many millennia beneath my feet?
Grass mown down, houses constructed
4 billion years in my very own street
Where lava once cooled where the land erupted

A new shopping outlet – fulfil my addiction
Lay down cement, lay down stones..,
A war fought here once with great affliction
I’m walking on skulls, walking on bones

Move into the future, our digital souls
Burn all the books, no need for shelves
Throw all the history upon the roasting coals
Hide your shame in fire, forget about yourselves…

Where I Lay (2009)

I thought the wind had died today
I felt just calm, right where I lay
But calm won’t last when lain like I
Beneath a dark and deep grey sky

Dreams are fleeting, nightmares rein
Amidst a snow cold winter’s pain
No rest is gained, nor hope restored
This summer sky, the Sun ignored

Weather beaten, season shy
Lay not to rest, but lay to die
No spring is here, nor summer day
The wind blows cold here where I lay

Love in reality (2010)

Beyond Valentine’s day commercial dealings
Hollywood scripts and fuzzy feelings;
You may find Love within its natural state

The films you watch and songs you sing
They miss the point with everything;
Dreams you can’t achieve, then learn to hate.

So what is Love if that’s not true
With all the shit they sell to you;
Is Love a myth, or is it true at all?

Well, Love is Truth and Truth is Love
It comes by choice, not from above;
So make it – don’t just wait for it to fall

The Writer (2011)

“Where is my pen and where is my paper?
I must write now – I’ll forget this later”
He looked at the white (of the page) on the table
And jotted down words of all he was able.

So scribbled he did and sentences made
He finished them off but felt so afraid
For what if the thoughts and the knowledge he had
Weren’t written so well on his new writing pad?

The yearning for truth that ran through his veins
Screamed out through his fingers and filled him with pains
But pain pushed aside, he pressed down his pen
Created those words, again.., and again.

Of all that he had, stored deep in his heart
It made him so sad but this was his art
And suffering quietly – his life filled with shame
Writing was all that he had to his name.

Cheap whisky bottles lay empty, alone
They helped his old heart turn into old stone
Though cold in the heart – his words retained heat
So just for tonight; death slept at his feet.

Depression, part II (2012)

It’s a self replicating virus and once it’s inside us..,
It becomes the unstoppable force

Gotta seal up the spaces, even the loving places..,
The only way to halt its course.

And once you are completely sealed – with nothing of yourself revealed..,
You’ll believe you averted disaster.

There’s no irony quite so great, that once you’ve stopped this certain fate..,
You’ve already made him your master

Depression, part I (2008)

I’m pressed down by a big weight
Situations I couldn’t anticipate
Equations of violence, in silence;
Magnified in feelings of hate

Leading to one thing only:
Living life as the lonely
In unlit rooms; like baron wombs
Where the prayers are unholy

And in its manifestation
It perfects its own formation.
Self creating; like blind men painting
but malevolent in sensation

untitled (2008)

And so the Earth still turns
The rain still comes, the Sun still burns

Seasons passed in just one breath…

But then the Earth stood still
The seas dried up, the winds gave chill

Winter stayed and I saw death…

And on the Earth alone
I walk across and have no home

The weather always stays the same…

I drain her of her last resource
Walk in hope and hold my course

But now I’ve lost the rain…

And Earth is now no more
too late to change new nature’s law

Seasons don’t rotate…

And now that man has passed
A root has gone and grown at last

Man is far too late

For man is gone and gone for good
The way the Earth knew that he would

Skies turn blue again

Earth she breathes, freed from pain
To feed herself and not feed men

And now… she brings the rain