Writers block writing stop
Fighting what fires flocks
Painting luscious lions, locks
Ignited align with minds that won’t malign your crops.
You won’t see diamonds stop.
Shining when clouds climb on top.
The rush of the ride will drop.
Sometimes you’ve got to be a minotaur to get behind the door.
Frames change games, meanings names.
Blame remains that same iceberg lettuce.
This ain’t your average Tetris.
We shift gears because our vehicle lets us.
Watch your steps sun, don’t be caught in plain tiffs and vain rifts.
Your gift deserves more than memes and gifs.
I chop it up through writers block to give a soul a lift
Writers block writing stop
You can feel intimate with a militant.
They seem so real, yet when you touch them, you feel silicone.
But God said! So their thus said is legitimate.
Ignorant innocents are impudent kites
Hold on or be hung by string theory
Holy rollers become weed smokers.
Unnoticed, Moses became the Joker
Deleting pixels for their picture a bat symbol, not magnum opus
Hopeful loyalists practice upper lip stiffness as wisdom
Won’t take a knee or comb the heir to the family business.
Live in a dragons den whispering their knowledge of the litmus.
This divine monopoly’s a comedy of vapours and groupthink.
Where the audience is clowned for pointing out it stinks.
Rub sticks and create fire or feel the sword like molar of holy rollers
Code masters unmask the mode of most high and create players to sacrifice.
Who am I?
A born sinner, a dinner, a lost soul to a soul winner that won’t vary the bait.
Space invaders, snipers, rangers marshal the momentum of the naysayer.
Demon days filled with gorillas, gargoyles and goblins are a Lord’s Prayer.
Whose frames do you wear? Do you die or dare? Be a black life, matter?
I see red tape masters speak tongues in monotones like heaven’s got their name on the deed.
With all of these gang signs and storms seen I’m falling through my flaws.
My moorings are unsure and I’m dying to breathe, searching for answers.
If the real God we can’t see, is it because of us or gospel gangsters?
I was a Lego brick on heaven’s tables with ambitions of being Babel
It would be gravy if I trained well.
I wore the King James label like Air Jordans as an enabler to tap the mike
Cutting shapes for the sake of grand designs lit the eyes.
This mind was primed to freehand more than stencil.
The palette was filled with many colours yet I could only use one
Chew the word and bite your tongue, a babbling baby is free speech.
Slap you with psalms 1 -1 take the p when they reach
They besmirch and beseech the only souls that matter are those of their feet.
Watch how you breathe for Bruce Banner can’t stand spanners in the manor.
What’s love for the poets if you put slammers in the slammer.
Play hangman with every hang up, kill a so-called joker if they stand up
Raise your voice or raise the standard, one day I put my hands up
See I’d chewed on the green grass of home like it was magnanimous manna
How can you be two-faced if you don’t know you’ve got a mask on?
Why fight when I was rapt in the moment that my modem connected.
I didn’t know the download had been infected.
Exceptions and rules wisdom and fools the best fell afoul of while many played chicken.
To challenge was to play hopscotch in a minefield.
Jet fuel from a pulpit could melt your steel if you didn’t have the minerals
They built you so they can kill you.
They built you so they can kill, you.
I’d heed them and repent for I’m a heathen, seedling of evil if I believed them.
I counted years as days, days as hours, hours as minutes and in 15 I’d lost 30
In his eyes were fire and from his mouth swords but this revelation was not written by John.
The shoes I walked in were gone. Was heaven under new management?
Thought I was strapped in! Madness!
Stunned, I snapped into a coma, knowing I could explode at any moment.
Burnt by the cold and homeless, I should have known this was coming.
As the truth created fractions, my history was flagged to be deleted.
I learned that secrets were common knowledge and life hacking wasn’t to make things easier
So I vowed I wouldn’t give them flowers when they’ve kicked the bucket just to keep up appearances.
I’m no longer dumbfounded by the conceited for the mask has fallen.
They put karma’s face on the coin so I dare them to call it.
We were apples in fields of Perry,
Our exercise books were the gallery and shade where we ripened.
Your gallant smile garnished my appetite as my heart galloped.
At a chance glance you stirred the meat and the juices, I couldn’t decide between hunger and thirst.
I would have licked your lips for starters, chewed on your garter.
Every note was a recipe and I wanted you to cook my parsnip
Yet I was just fishing and you were already parsley.
We were like onion and garlic when English and Geography brought us together
Fondling the fringe of our fantasies in front of our future was a natural hazard.
Playing with the shape of you was the intention but, maybe I killed us thinking out loud.
Forethought and hindsight were toll roads asking us if we had enough change.
How deep were our pockets? Was I ready for yours in mine?
What’s a perfect 10 when you’re in year 9?
We never….so I guess I’ll never…..never mind
It was real at the time.
Maybe you were the first brick in a very long road
Maybe we would have found the lost city of gold
Now you’re living on the other side of a rainbow.
My flag is nowhere to be seen.
You’re the pear in a Perry field because I didn’t have the bottle.
I’m not a whine seller, simply a painter of paths.
Our moments on Fleet Street… thanks.
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?”
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
About 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?