A Song, A Scent

A song, a scent, suddenly I am in paradise
A sunny place, a happy place, a fun place 
Gravity feels a little lighter on weights, I'm weightless    


The breeze sings a calming song to my ears 
On tree branches, swinging on dance melody  
The flowers, bright and rich of hibiscus, red 


The sun plays disco with reflecting lights 
On the surface of aqua, like diamonds   
It sparkles, on rainbow colours, the sky so blue 


Even the aluminium roofing sheets join in  
Like an open invitation to symphony of happiness
The birds, the insects, the animals, come out to play  


A ripe mango lay hang on trees, coconut, cocoa   
Inviting me to plug, with taste on delight 
Every single senses in my mouth alive 


The shade gives me resting lie 
To sit and ponder, to enjoy every bit of nature
For here I wonder and awe life in treasures 


This is my utopia, my happy place
In the gardens of joy, in nature, on memory lane  
A scent, a song, suddenly I am in paradise 


Some where in my childhood memory 
Some where up on the mango tree 
A scent, a song, suddenly I am in paradise 

Through The Trenches; Don't bullshit me

I am pulled, stretched  
I am strained, I am stressed 
Half the time I am drained 


But you do not want to know that 
Do you, on courtesy call  
Just formalities, formalities  

For that is the normality 
In this day and age 
Formalities, just for the norm   


A friend once said, "please don't ask 
How I am, like "how are you doing"
Just to open rotten cans' smell

I am better off not reflecting to know 
To walk numb with thicker skin  
To destinations, than to open up  

And bleed dry, on side walks  
Half way through my journey
Wasting my economized energy

I am happily making my way 
Through the trenches, dirt accompany  
Don't bullshit me, with pleasantries  

Typos Like A Rush

The feel of face pimple, mountain of topography 
A rush of molehills sat firm on the face, picture perfect  
Looking back at me in mirrors, does my bump look big   


Holds in form the same gravity of annoyance 
As typos firmly sat in notes, pee ka boo
Poems and essays written, on thoughts  


Steven Fry thus quoting from Oscar Wilde
Thus wanting to make a point, on peek-ka-boo
Once included a note to his publishers


Saying "I will leave you to tidy up the woulds
wants, wouldn'ts and should, 
will and shall, should and whiches"
Etc etc etc etc.....on and on and on and on, pee ka boo 


I wrote a poem, an epic poem 
And got the title all tipsy wrong
A few typos, nicely stack like they belong 


Hidden from view, on first read
Second read, third read, blind 
Still hidden from view, pee ka boo 


Only to stand out like a post 
With flag on mountain 
On the critics first read 

So I ponder with frustration asking questions
Why does such glitches  always happen
Not always, sometimes, but too often, sometimes 


Sometimes it takes a whole day and more 
While typos play pee ka boo, hiding and poking out, bumps 
Like a fresh pimple, ready to be popped, squeezed out 

Would, for will, there and their
And all the other misfits, misfits 
My mind reads over, blank to blind 


At least I have 
Steven Fry and Oscar Wilde 
On my side, looking at the bigger picture 

Best have a second read before the critics' read 
Just in case, I overlooked another pee ka boo
Misfit, hiding from plain view 

Breathing Air

Inhale air with breath, living 

In hale to breathe with excitement glee  

Exhale  joy with life, breathing 

Pushing Buttons

When wise men go blind 
As it so happens, so often  
In the land of grey areas  


That being like 90% of the geography 
Leaves 10% shared 50, 50 
Amongst the black and white areas 


Reasons argued on doing right  
Is sponged, long forgotten 
When one has something to loose 


Fluid moral values and principles 
Only stand firm before being tested 
On calling their bluff, yea its  a mirage  


Watching ice cubes 
Melt and evaporate 
In the heat of rage 


What is man's 
Default setting 
I ask on observation, ponder  

Drowning In My Sleep

I spent forever getting upgrade, remade; sharpened nails, ready to cut down glass roofs and let out rage... swimming up from the depths so deep.  I'm drowning in my sleep, it's not just all in my head like a mirage. I am done with the daily dose of pills, society pushes down my throat; to keep me, keep you, keep us sleep walking, like the matrix. Birds spinning round above my head making me feel all dizzy, disgruntled, I see all in physical forms of pretense they pretend on false promises, they lecture, they pledge to.

They say aim high stars above and I am looking past, ready to fly past, G 6 in my back view, wings blowing fast into accelerations gained, it's light speed to destiny aimed for; then like a nightmare, boggy man, they come snatching platforms quicker, faster than we ever build them, made them, furiously fearful. They sit paranoid,  fearing to share  to see us, change clothes and become company men like them; not like them, it's a class state. It is a class state to keep the status quo.

The banker smiles like the demon's son on the devils advocate, playing drinking games with my blood thirst. I'm bleeding, he is drinking; money rules the world and it is evil at its core, so the big man sits with, evil wrapped up, around to gauge and the poor suffer pain of suffocating stress, watching the fat pig getting fatter on our children's blood as breakfast. Skinny man, skinny bone, kids looking alien, skinny head, mothers heart, torn out with  lungs still attached by the devils hands held out with laughter's on pride; he laughs in barbaric ways, in excitement; man them starving while the Ak 47 speaks loud, getting louder on battle grounds, fields tearful theaters, bodies dropping like rain fall pouring, it's messy out there rated PG 18, I am bleeding.

I am peeling off layers like onions with liquid in my eye's fountain, and this is just the start,  just starting; already my eyes are filled full with tears of this nonsense we justify bullshit  it's absurd; someone, somebody, anybody hold me back before I go raging. I am fuming on observations, based on reality checks, institutions built on corruptions, like castles on quick sand. It is all a fools game, fools fooling fools, on following fools stands; standards on the best dressed in ceremonies sat in seminars to discuss falseness,  on repeat sentence, on repeat play, on repeat play, on repeat play, rewind to replay. 

The best rather be left sleep walking, reality too hard to handle and the rest are left coked up drunk to numb the edge to want to think to know past the bullshit, sex games rules, religion, drug games rules, no difference left to see between the far right, far left, communist, fascist  and dictatorship rules. The same leaders in camouflage change clothes, schooled in the same school of thought, with no notion, concept of the grass root's pain; sipping on wine, tea and biscuits in meaningless, mindless, while-wind meetings of agenda, pledges and promises, false promises made, I am bleeding as witness forced to witness.

Peeling off layers, peeling off bullshit and this is just the start; the poor no longer able to tell the difference between politician's lies and truth. Its blurred, its greed in green eyes in fine suits, this is pain of knowing and it is wide spread from the four corners of the world like epidemic on invasion from sneeze like cold flu.

Companies on direct debt, quick to snatch quoting contract clauses, but slow to refund in mistakes made, dodging taxes on technicalities and bonuses, while the poor are trapped to pay on throats and daggers; slashed, they are all friends of the same clan of greed. So who police the policy makers, the judges robe is empty in encasement  of  moral value on earth, the comedian changed sides no longer making jokes of the men with riches; just ask who is in charge and they show faces, show of hands, coming out from the same holes of comfort, their colourless, colourless  colourless, colourless 

To talk debt on clauses, politics is all a game now; money men pulling strings, their voices stronger than society's call in need of fair play. It is money talk and the rest march past and they have plenty to talk with, talk about so they make up the stage and make up the rules of engagement and we are suppose to play against them on fair play, fair grounds.

Then I woke up from sleep walking or is it up from drowning in my sleep, or is it going back to sleep in daylight on hypnotized states. Drowning in my sleep, I am drowning in my sleep, I am drowning in my sleep.

Father Of Venus

Her Father, my Mother  

Who is to be blamed  in blame games

For expectation, setting standards  

To be kept, to be matched  

I blame her father, she blames my mother  
It is not Mars or Venus that holds blame tags 
To be renamed,  pointing fingures in blame game named  


Her father is Venus and my mother is Mars   
She moulded Mars, my mother did  
 For a man to be who I am 


I blame her father   
Fathering her love and expectation 
Mr Venus setting standards bars soo high 


I blame her father she blames my mother  
Now we are playing catch up, learning fast  
From rule books, discovery of unwritten love manual

That women are from fatherly Venus 
And men are from motherly Mars 
I bet you didn't think of it this way 

Rough Diamonds

Diamonds are a girls best friend   
A currency to the hearts desire 
And men strive to shower her with


Usher her with 
That which sparkles bright with glitter  
She has got to have it, to twinkle her eye   


But not as f'nd in t' earth, rough around the edges 
It has to be clean cut, to have its value sincere 
Never rough around the edges, a note of caution 


Like raw talent 
On wild stallions with strength  
Nurturing  needed to adore its full potential  


Entailing work to be done 
Before delivery in parcels, ribbon wrapped 
Never rough around the edges, hear me now 


Boats sink half way to float 
You have to get your hands dirty
To deliver on wanting success 


To carve a beautiful diamond 
And bring out, its sparkles and dream 
Never rough on edges to show to a girl  

Chinese Ageing

The Chinese say, no lie
We are a year plus one on our birthdays 
Nine months before birth, alive and kicking  


The young would love that, adapt that  
Desperate to be legal in shops, and outings 
Desperate to be legal, to show on proof of IDs   


Yearning to have their independence 
While still living under the roof of parental nest  
Yep, the young would love that 


A year plus one, the Chinese say 
Nine months before birth, the Chinese say 
Yet still influenced by the external environment  


Adulthood would hate that 
To an extent, to the point at that age 
Where age is no longer mentioned 


Don't you know it is rude to ask  
This is way past teen years  glide 
You should know better, than to ask 


Such questions of age, such rudeness of insult  
Appearances should tell, wise eyes should see  
Though subtle, still visible, appearances should tell 


Birthday cakes with no numbered age shown 
Random numbers of candles,  it holds 
If you are that inclined  to blow a wish on sentiments  


A year plus one the Chinese say 
Nine months, before birth
A case is made here, the Chinese say 


Yea adulthood would hate that  
And the young would love that 
I guess that is why, we choose to disregard 
A year plus one, to the Chinese reason  

The Tourist Shop

Things we pick up along the way  
In life we journey to and fro 
Destination to destination, to and fro


Picking memorabilia from spot to spot  
In tangible and intangible souvenir  gifts 
In forms they come, from corner to corner  


Be it experience and lessons learnt    
Or affection from knowing you, knowing me  
It is the treasures bolted in memory box   


Some get statues, some buy T-shirts 
Some get ripped off hoping to pick a bargain  
Leaches picking on the holiday gullible 


But always be assured , in shapes and sizes  
Journeys leaves an impact 
Before moving on, in chapters written 


Some are codes to decipher, in life's scribbles  
Some are stories on repeat told 
Some to be hidden banished from day light  


These are things we pick along the way  
From the ages we journey along the way  
To this day and expecting more 


A quick stop by the gift shop, quick now  
Hoping to pick a good bargain
Before curtains close 


And its time 
To say good bye
Good bye 

The Boss's Boss

Summer nears the end of seasons 
Like car journeys, road trip 
So many drama and excitement  
To have witnessed,  being a part of 


So many happy memories, on drive by  
To archive in memory banks, stored  
Against the week long starts

Like clock works  
Mechanism 
Stroking away 


With alarm sounds, dress code  
Pay code, stage set reverse  
In characters played 


Say hello to the boss, 
In bosses for me, in greeting   
Seen in my rear view mirror 
    
Tell him to let you off by 5 
On time by 5 
On the dot by 5 

While the sun, 
Still smiles 
With a happy face

For a quick run 
On the parks of play parks
Before the sun goes down 

For the night's rest 
And cars are back 
Sat on drive ways 

Parked to rest the night 
The night, to rest the night 
To rest the night away  

Allow Me

Let me wake your inner child

With sweet lullaby, on acapela  

Just to see you smile

Worded Definition

What is words, acts and actions  
What is  seen in emotions, feeling 
What is seen of tags on graffiti walls    


What is said, sang, and heard  
What is it, that stays on one's mind  
In thoughts and wants and desire too   


What is it, that makes you human   
To want to see tomorrow, daylight tomorrow   
What will you miss, in hold of treasure 


Who will know you are gone and no more  
What is life in meaning in standing 
What will your summary be  in thoughts 


What is your worth , in meaning
To another in love or hate   
In being you, just being you  


No pretence on acts and answers  
Sat in confession booth  
With amnesty's pardon 


Who holds the door, and stands so firm  
With faith in you, to wait for you  
Long enough for passage  pass 


What is the value of your words   
Deeds and actions, in situ   
Who are you to be, being defined  

The Monetary Value

My monetary value  
A lot of pundits ask , to know 
What I make from writing, what I am worth 
Pen to paper on signing cheques    


Like show us your value 
It has been calendars past  
Since I started writing
And putting to post, as readers digest 


Value on earth is measured  monetary  
On the scale of what acquisition gained 
To be priced, putting pen to paper 
Where is the money men


How much are you getting  
From this that you write, in scribbles 
To be on first name basis 
With the Banker Manager 


"The money issue"
Hmmm truthfully I made a fiver 
Sent to me by Google adserve 
Show me the money men  


So I am a fiver on value gained 
If money was to be my objective in goal
I made a fiver, hurray hooray,
First name basis  with the money men 


I got sent the cheque in the post 
Looked at it and dropped it somewhere 
Amnesia of it essence  
Artistic integrity to find  to define meaning 


But then a strangers knocked on my door 
When I came out they were gone   
They left a note, 
A comment, in my letter box 


A comment on the house of words I built  on notion
And I stood there over joyed, filled with emotion 
Knowing I have touched a soul , two and some


There is no buck in writing  
Not for all but a handful, in first name basis  
If money is to define reasons, not mine  


But there is value, the greatest of its kind 
When a stranger relates, to announce one's essence  
I am still not sure where my fiver went 

The Starkey Syndrome

Rotten tooth, sugar rush, false melons standing 
The dangerous mind of an educated prof
Lured in, as people sit and listen, to be brainwashed  


Mayhem is one step away from cause of curse    
In a glass house of illusion, fish tank bubble babbling burst 
Anarchy's day in court and when situations hit the fan, well 


Many men talk on baseless opinion, blaspheming   
Silly you, silly them, silly I, with nodding heads 

Who done it, I heard it; allowed to stand on stages    

Did I hear right, replay, on commentary, no apologies  
Riding on waves of misinformation, buying in   
He is talking turkey, and now turkey feels insulted


Names with labels, as him, as her  
Said to be educated, with added letters of  CBE, FSA Phd 
To his name, graduated on fairy dust  


Like a false prophet, with more wealth seeking more  
Legitimising bullshit on air time disguised commercial venture 
Educated on expired intellectual overdose of dossier 


Took the pill of nonsensical  
And went crazy in straight suits to present 
Barmy, chit chatting loony on air time  


What's that, were you never told of the norm 
In this day and age, delirious qualifies as affirmation  
Now I feel insulted, bottling rage to explode in replies 


Its go wash your mouth time, as take back, time out  
To have opened his eyes to the sight of reality 
Last pill, what is he going on about

David Starkey on UK riots: 'The whites have become black'

Wallet Of Religion

My wallet holds my religion 
Like a Christian with crucifix  

With chain hanging on necks for symbols

Holding on for comfort stay 
A tap for assurance it is still there  
A kiss to appreciate its value of content     


Pictures hang on its walls 
My love, my addiction  
In pockets of hall way, filled with hall of fame 


Sat on altars, side by side 
Hallelujah to names 
Of my worship, my love my heart 


I make way for the cards 
Like congregations gather 
Each one, linked to my resource 


To the holy grail of  deliverance 
It makes my bills of demons go away  
It buys me access to my piece of mind 


My wallet sits in my back pocket 
Like crucifix on neck chains to a Christian  
It brings me comfort in  my days