Tag Archives: actualisation

BGM

Little Girl boxing a box of trials
Life tessellating
Future soul spinning records and tales
Wagging tongues tales dogging you
Walls won’t wail like untuned ivory
When tinkled ebony stands alone
Abseiling from the stars
With memories of Mardi Gras
Moribund artisans tobogganing through torpor will want your fuel
You better stand while you bus so they can have a seat
Sew stars seeds of street lamps
Grow in the light
You’re Black, whole
Hot tar cannot be touched
This Black Girl magic is just.

Pure.

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Filed under Race, Random Poetics

Last Words

Like the refrain of a keeper who got taken for a night stand

The last words of a fool brought the birth of a wise man

Shoulda would coulda became I am I can

I stand,

Up like a hyped fan, hardcore on the terraces

I man

Up on the premises, with knowledge of my nemesis

I ran, up in the heresies of Sadducees and philistines

Casting stone chips from the Exodus tablets to which they’ve been blind

Like medicine for ignorance water for chocolate

Too many yell F the world but I just sleep on top of it

Don’t care if my type will fit I’ve too many keys to be bored

Journalists use their qwerty to hurt me and liberals wont see my sword

Jabbing with rapier thrusts, raping and lusts, every phones a private eye

Which private I will eye trust

Political worlds are warring as our capital goes bust

It’s an economical vasectomy yet we’re all getting cuts

My country was on the cusp before she became a hoe for affection

See we’re already marked by the beast there’ll be no peace till the injection

I’m sniffing jailhouse rock to give my spirit an erection

Ignorance was bliss till I was damascussed by perfection

Now I kill myself to see the light like life was a rigged election

I see immaculate conceptions, conceptual connections masked by safe complexions

The end game is on reference Jay-Z and Obama deceptions

I’ll reach for a holy condom and call it supernatural protection

Only poets read poetry, communists destroyed the capital affection

Now Lupe Fiasco’s Dumb it down is our guitar’s plectrum

So Like the refrain of a keeper who got taken for a night stand

The last words of a fool brought the birth of a wise man

And Shoulda would coulda became I can for I am

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Filed under Just Living

Rebirth Control

My inspiration for my 7th of 30 poems comes from a Facebook status on the 16th of December posted by a talented musician friend of mine known as “Silverchet”. Follow @silverchet on twitter.

“I Dont Wanna Hear How 2010 is Gonna Be “Your Year”, Or How 2010 is A “Time for Change”, I Been Hearing That Year After Year, So Quit Procrastonating and do what you Gotta do…….I speak to myself as I do you all”

16 December at 18:19 ·

 

Rebirth control

At the end of every year we engage in a ritual of giving and receiving presents, to some we give our presence, to others we scribe from a sample of our essence.

Taking time to recharge, a new year will it bring a new start, a new chapter new lessons?

Will we have counted our blessings, paused for reflection, spotted our contradictions and created new traditions?

Halted attrition of self ignition

Or will we simply continue unpause the game from the X box

Continue where we left off

Revive the consternation instead of tidying our desktop

Let our system hang and our heads drop

Beheaded because we’re big headed

Talk about change yet we’re dreadlocked

Locked in dread because change means the whole head

We’ve got to brain wash and condition in order to sew fruition

We talk about chasing the dream not the competition

Every new year is a new you year until problems hit then, those resolutions…

Those Resolutions

Those revelations that made you make statements

How you knew they were pain staking but resolute enough

Yeah … those solutions, improvements…those resolutions that had so you so focussed you had me thinking change was embedded in your follicles

Only for 6 months later change is soluble like aspirin

Did you think change was a sprint?

Did you think  change would be a Usain of the bolt type change

Sweep you off your feet and leave you with no time to breathe type change

Where is the new you I say?

It takes pain to move pain because something has to die before you come back to life

Pre mortem dissection, microscopic detection for signs of regression

Grown folk need a soul session not a 1 month campaign at every month 11

Yelling to the world from midnight of the 31st I begin my resurrection

Obama’s slogan for election

I am who I choose to be and when I start’s change in me it is for my refreshment

It’s a present to my presence, my essence, my gain

Drink to a year of pain to locate the step up, celebrate finding it, then put up, shut up or full on step up.

Wake up, Get Up for the shooting range, take your best shot at life and work towards your main aim

For when your breath is short and your soul’s screaming to get away

You better be elected, there’ll be no more campaign, no more rebirth

Your life’s been your day to prove your worth

But how will you handle your 31st?

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Filed under Random Poetics