My Adidas

 

Sometimes your stride pattern is just as important as your shoes. The worn soul of mine meant all I had was my stride. All I had were stops and starts, long presses and short taps, perhaps they were Morse code to the universe, calling out for a new pair.

From the miles I have walked, the only thing I would wish upon anyone is the beauty of acquaintances providing rest from the intense heat.

Having made many strides, in recent times I found a formidable adversary that challenged me to dance down treacle-filled streets with concrete blocks strapped to my feet.

Even with two shoes as two sides to a story, my truth in all of this was that I had to Get Out. Clearings that energised me to walk a certain way were blocked or simply no longer existed.

I’d been here about 14 years ago yet I’d forgotten what the storm felt like. I forgot the scar caused by the lightning, I forgot the days of darkness and how I would have to keep my eyes open, fighting with the same fingertips I was holding onto my sanity with.

Every now and then my eyes would mistake a candle for the sun, yeah… I’d been here before. How many more strides could I get through?

Ask a friend, ask an adversary?

She sipped tea like Miss Piggy proved Kermit was cheating.

Stirred it now and then to keep me in a hopeless place.

My records laid before her showed my performance was ace

12-and-a-half years a slave, I took my calls and beatings.

When Liberty shook her bell I ran away, to freedom

The universe stopped re-healing my shoes and sent me several new pairs. The equilibrium has changed, I drive instead of walk, I have new scenery to take in and understand.

Even though lightning left a deeper scar from the second strike, I know that the path I am on is one that is made for me.

New shoes, my strides, in the words of Nas….”Whose world is this?”

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Filed under Non Poetic Blogs

1434

Some days, the world closes in around me.

For minutes at a time, the earth shakes as though a thousand dormant volcanoes have erupted in unison.

I chase after my breaths like a 5-year-old with bubbles on a breezy afternoon.

I am deaf to the beat of my heart.

The sun orbits the earth before I come around to the understanding of my plight.

I am at war with my shadow.

Afraid of fading from view, I like stringing sentences like tennis rackets.

Mantras slip through my fingers like perfect ex’s.

Questioning supposed recklessness I break fast.

Peace is a stranger that refuses to converse.

I silence the alarm despite being raised by a nurse.

Always an episode instead of a series.

The script seems more powerful every time.

Maybe this is what I deserve.

Payback for the other side of me.

Maybe it’s the design for me

Anxiety.

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7 A.M.

20170401_192908About to be the 3, 5, I’m laid up with teenage fever.

Feeling like Janet Jackson without the safety of a pre-nup

Our roads, different, we ran on petrol and diesel

Our roads different, supposedly Adidas and Asics,

Drumming our bases, we found laces/ electrifying connections like both worlds were tasered

Face to face we were a fumbling fortress of ferocious fondness

Maybe I’d been chasing Amy or maybe Gin met Tonic

See London at 1.30 birthed 7am in Germany

Had to check mate like we were head to toe in Burberry.

The bucket list met a vision causing intercontinental collision

Audibly adrenaline was all the way up, like it was a day of ascension.

There were starry eyed smiles brighter than Borealis,

The aura of sharp shooters turned battlefields to gardens

How do you spend time with someone and feel like you’ve left with a bargain?

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Frankfurt 3: Pardon your Ignorance

 

I’d visited Frankfurt to meet up with a poet I have only known through social media, yet has been like a brother for several years.  This was the 3rd and final poem from my writing session.

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Eyes of giants are wandering.

Aviators reflecting on the ground.

Beauty seems skin tight,

Fashionistas mix colours yet can’t do it with skin type

Flowing locks and optics box tick.

I just can’t with the lens being pedalled.

A fresh breeze invades the mood.

To settle the stomach, I engage with windbreakers and stone masons.

I was a fool for lane love ignoring the  map.

The cupboard love from Venus is the most fly of traps.

It’s time to switch the raps, worship and praise at new altars.

Maybe you will…..for the sake of our true calling.

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Frankfurt 2: Hey Jude, Judas

The photo below was taken in Hauptwache, Frankfurt, click here if you’d like to see a few more from my trip. Or scroll down and read on

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I know nothing of falling in love.

That tripping up, or a bit of a jigsaw.

Maniacally exclaiming life reshaping.

I stumbled over desperation until my chest demanded rest for its people.

Now salty for a taste of freedom

I grieve with ten thousand reasons for why we’re here.

What’s real talk to convenience?

Stores of obedience host underground shows.

Soon there’ll be no difference between breathing and blows.

Avalanches will flow.

Demons with god intentions only ever change lanes

Truth is loyal and destructive, it devastates and remains.

Where the sun sets the moon gains.

We all want the light without pain

We all want to know the 4-2-5 yet Judas gets in the way.

What are you a discipline of?

What’s your price today?

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Frankfurt 1: Reflecting

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Take a panorama of paradise

Divide it into 36 perfect 10ths

Is every pixel filled with the same shade?

Are black spots dangerous?

Would you break up if you found one?

What’s your flavour of danger and damnation?

Are heaven and hell real? Do cycles turn a corner?

Are you a moving star?

Are you right stationary?

Gallant souls and wisdom court before the marriage.

Is defeat an ex in waiting?

Can we feel your nakedness through your layers?

Does your drive need to pull over?

You’ve been playing musical chairs with your best moves.

What will it take for you to stand up?

Scrape the barrel or the sky, the deep and wide or the high.

There’s a choice to be made. Black like lemonade, or lack to the fade.

Who will you be?

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A. D. L. D

We arrive as a flash point, late on my time line. 

I’m tongue-tied by your outline. 

Like tour bus based buffets

The taste of your lane is scenic 

Could Morpheus love the Phoenix 

Are angels ever fiendish? 

Do butterflies ever get butterflies? 
Seven syllables make you and I 

Our cloudy memory lanes are filled with melodies of the 6

We are Barry and Iris on a Badu tip 

Is it common sense that I want you? 

Shhhh 
You are the voice of napalm singing Psalms 

Every note that leaves you is a lip bomb

Would I adore you be a call to arms? 
You know this is  more than a shuffle of the cards. 

Pepper and Tony Stark 

You’re queen of the odd shaped drum that gives my life a base 

I go Gaga for your poker face 

Is this bad romance? 
I know that 

The 18 steps of our slow dance lack symmetry 

Settling for smaller planets is withering 
You fall for what’s within 

So straight up, 

Your open skies are the needle for my turn table 

Every record you spin opens a book of revelation 
Though multiplexes mapped contact, this is free smoke. 

A road to the after glow found in the clouds 

Running touch lines since our first down 

Will two lasting embraces strike this match? 

Call this time’s greatest catch. 

Are we? 

A delayed story? 
 

 

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Filed under Random Poetics, Relationships