Will they tell the story of…?

Police tape around skate parks

the way we avoided each other even before it got dark.

the panic buying of toilet rolls

The dull days inside, just one stroll allowed

the clapping for the nhs workers outside

the way the community came together

Somethings we should treasure

The video calling and time spent playing PlayStation games

The constant news feed and shaming of people who weren’t isolating

The time spent within our houses grating

cause of the sun shine outside

but we are still alive

we will fight on regardless…

I realised my truth

Sitting in the darkness of my nan’s cupboard under the stairs talking to god

an odd little boy

Who wanted his dreams to matter

Who wanted them to be true

I needed love but I need my beliefs to be real too.

my life’s foundations aren’t love as they ought to be

but wanting to have a special relationship with the creating force or spiritual entity

or maybe to be special or chosen myself

I am the monster who daydreamed blue skies

but when the light in my eyes dies

who will I be?

the man with tears in his eyes for all he let go

the man with tears in his eyes because he never got to let his heart show

someone that they mattered above all

my heart was always a shield or a wall.,,

Waiting for the girl in the fire

I have tried to keep my promises

I have tried to keep my vows

I have tried to keep my actions

I have tried to keep my course locked on you

I have held your voice in my head

when will it be my turn to save you instead

you the woman in the flames

on a throne of white light

I am desperate to fight

for the right to hold you in my arms

When will we speak with tongues unguarded

by the rules they have written

we all mean something to one another

Sisters and brothers

you are the word of love in my mouth

the song in my heart

you are the mornings light

the birds dancing mid flight

You told me you’d need me in the future

The flames descend from the sky

I am you and you are me

Yin and yang’s everlasting embrace

I know our soul cannot just die.

Ancestor’s song

These ashes

this dust,

this earth

from where I emerged

this rain

this pain

the blood surges

in my veins

these hands outstretched towards the sky

could be branches of trees

life is better taught when it dances

to music

through bodies through knees

whether we can hear the music or not

we dance to the tunes of our ancestors

their dreams beat in our chests

and bless our minds and souls

sometimes I think their ghosts watch on

or are reincarnated into our songs.

The writer

The clatter of screams
as vulnerable as a photo in time of the ill
looking inward to madness for the pill
looking for scape goats
to coat our sadness in grief
the way out temperature of relief
we are the haunted hungry ghosts
from an island mentality
caught in avarice like animality
the bleeding hearts couldn’t hold back their pack instincts
the writer keeps his thoughts succinct
but the light is where we are all linked
Hope must shine a light to scare the darkness away
we need the goddess to shine her rays
Wisdom is in the creation myth
but lies can’t paint the truth
the artist doesn’t need proof
the scientist his heart speaks louder than the rhythm in his chest
The door way answers the key with a rest.

Tether

A tether

not made of leather

binds us together

electric second sight

an angel wings sings of flight

you have a halo you can’t see

though it burns in my eyes

I spy, it weighs you down

but it makes you beautiful it’s your crown

dutifully fighting for what’s right

Our minds collide and I see into void

between us

but it’s our souls entwined

yours and mine

That make bells chime

stars align

signs I swallow

but I will follow your words Sophia

Goddess of wisdom

light of the soul

you understand my darkness

and my light

I see your face inside my mind.

The damned wait for another day

The damned wait for another day

to bleed all their cares away

we use hope like a light to brighten our path

but the only aftermath is frustration

we rise with the morning sun

ink our phrases on to paper

or write them on peoples Facebook walls

with our psycho babbling scrawl

we wait for the day we feel good

we should seize it all

the bad days and good if only we could

accept life’s miracles and teaching

I could be preaching

to the damned

but all I am

is a soul

burning out of control

like a seraphim

an angel watching in the dark

my soul giving off its divine spark.

Rat

Scurrying this way and that
avoiding the hierarchy of the fat cats
Dirty and free with no real responsibility
there can be no art without chaos
another example of pathos
or happiness
Flip the coin
The sides join
the anagram of rat is art
wouldn’t you like to rip apart
Civilisation and start anew
I turned into a rat my fur grew and grew
my tail burst I shrank and shrank
into dark spaces
surrounded by little faces
In this wasteland world
my appetite for chaos uncurled.

“On Painting Rats, and the Glorification of Them. They exist without permission. They are hated, hunted and persecuted. They live in quiet desperation amongst the filth. And yet they are capable of bringing entire civilizations to their knees. If you are dirty, insignificant, and unloved then rats are the ultimate role model.”
― Banksy, Wall and Piece