The Last Call

The pain is not in regretting  
On missed opportunities had 
No good crying over spilt milk 

The pain is in reminiscing 
On old memories we had 
A sunny day, a better day, a funny day

I see all the young faces getting older
Singles becoming doubles 
With plus 1 or 2 on the family tree 

It is like the last sip from the glass 
Staring long before taken, for prosperity 
Bottoms up, just to get up and walk on by

Life is a series of films
With you as the main actor, character
Always constant in the script you live by

Let tomorrow
Hold us in good standing
As today did in memories we have

We made it this far
Butterflies with wings
In against the gale force

See you when we get there
If we are lucky to, in this life time
The winds blow down south

If not, then in another to come
Be the stranger I walked up to
By the road side in passing

And with just a smile
We became instant friends
A connection as old as time

#life #love
#friendship
#inlovingmemory

Your face is a picture
Tattooed on my frontal lobe
Like a projected hieroglyphics inscribed

I see you each and everyday
Whenever I think of you
A replayed scene on repeat play

The pain is a  joy of memories we sit on lament
T' we get high on to hallucinate seeing stars
And time lords over all, nothing else matter 

Urban life (easy now)

Rush chaotic sounds 

Polluted lights, speed walks walks 

Concrete jungle, stress

We use to live on 

Trees now we live on concrete 

Trees suited monkeys 

Civilization 
Who is laughing now I ask 
Ha ha ha ha ha

Gosh, I just dropped  
My dentures on the floor here, here
Help me look for it

The Numbers Game

                                                                                            Figure Eight, 1952, by Franz Kline
She will dance and be caught in motion instructed 
Franz's skeleton strokes painted to illustrate 


I will find a language so sophisticated  
And have letters made of painting like Chinese 


And numbers would be representative of figures 
What size are you to be my dear as object subject 


Models on cat walk with controversy 
But surely eight would stand as fair for decency  


Adelaide Damoah with brash strokes paints indifference 
Vivid in portraying w' image commentary what society ignores 


As strokes of each step taken on walk ways stand 
To measure elegance in fashion push for count down 


And eight becomes six, four, zero, skeleton letters 
Like faceless figures of Chinese writing on cat walk

http://damoaharts.com/gallery/supermodels/?pic=4

The VIP Gate Pass

What language is spoken after the river crossing? 

Where souls of no shells, descend to hang their coats 

What colour layer is given, as badges to be seen in? 

How is one determined to be of one or the other?  

For here on earth, eyes, skin, hair, height, size and sex 

Helps to seclude and class, segregate with pigeonholes  

Who comes with fortune established from birthright 

To inherit thrones as easy, pizzy there you go, have it 

For religion to cry out, a' say Heaven  and hell is t' afterlife 

 I promise you oh friend, many h' bared witness to  t' "wreck" of hell   

In this "bubble" of life, far worst t' any that revelation pronounce 

And many have witnessed heaven too, in forms of many 

Much so, so much that, the gap between posts of pillars 

Is vast in ways the Milkyway would have to add another 

And another for distance to be measured 

In galactic space of gauge in gaps between the two  

Me, I "lumber" in no man’s shoes, yet my eyes cannot fail to see

And surely in my own encasement, I have bared witness

To heaven and hell, on this here earth, very here earth

To know how it feels like to have joy or pain, happiness or sadness

But above all, what language is spoken after the river crossing 

Where souls of no shells descend to hang their coats 

What colour paten is given as badges to be seen in?  

I cannot tell, I do not know, I wish not to know oh, friend 

For as it is  here, sh'ld it be t' same on t' other side 

Of the river's crossing and be known 

Then the system class of segregation would be worse than it is

In any form to be seen at present, than we have ever known 

I do not know, if the KKK’s and the Hi Hitler's , the money men 

And t' what not a' t' what not, and the this and that, 

I do not know, what colour or creed, gender or affluence 

What language is spoken after the river crossing, 

To know who has got the VIP GATE PASS 

If any, if any 

Do you know, if any? 

Eyes That See

For the man crowned..
And rooted on cherry tops..
Silver cutlery and china plates..
Golden rails and chandeliers...


To show as grand, in gestures made...
Sat in palanquins, walked on carpet..
Ate from plates and saw no butcher..
Never saw sight of the crust of men..


This is in class regard, of status stand..
Like the haves and the have nots..
While culture comes to play a part..
In what it is, they do as tradition..


And even though they speak..
The same form in tongues..
Nonetheless such sentences formed..
Cast space gaps of cannons wide..


Until such time, when all men go back..
Between a wash and clothing wear..
When man is seen in birthing clothes..
Just then, just in that moment,..
Are all men the same in the eyes that see..


And vanity is not with value  
From what it is that one owns 
And life is not defined in that regard 
I just saw you naked  

My Trouser Positions

When I am with grey hair..
I shall wear my trousers, up high..
I shall always have my shirt, neatly tucked in..
I shall wear wool, wool lots of wool..

I shall have two glasses..
One to see and one to read..
I shall wake early, earlier than I ever did..
Because I fell asleep on the couch..
Earlier than I ever did before ..


I shall wake early, 
To greet the milk man..
When I am old ..
I shall walk slowly..
But always have time for the park..

For on the park..
I shall see the generations that wear..
Their trousers, well below their waist lines..
“street cred” they say, for the street cred, they say..


And those before them that..
Wear theirs on their waist line ..
And then for those, those of my age..
With theirs  well up high ..

Then it will occur to me,..
That those of my age, had shrunk, shrunk alot..
Yet wear the same size trousers, same tailor made..
For they carry sentiments, memory and joy 


It will all, then make sense to me, ..
Why I have my trousers so up high..
That is why I will never stop wearing my, " size 36 long".
My medals to hang on the chest pockets, with pride..

Now There Is Silence

Quiet the room stays, eerily 
No words spoken
Silence fills the air,


Yesterday there was liFe 
In this house a family
Three voices heard giggling 
Now there is silence


Arguments, Shouts, Shouts, Shouts
Doors banged, to shake the frames, structure  
The very foundations, of once called home
Over silly things ended by the silence


I have to have my say, to over burden you
Let me have my turn to talk, always I am right 
By default, it was your fault, always is 
Never good enough, is what you do


Now there is silence
Now you can have your say, in empty kingdoms
And perfect, all so wrong 
Save your arms and throat, from hard work


But the room feels empty, ghostly 
The emptiness and silence echoes, eerily 
In itself creating a burden of realisation  
Over thoughts of guilt 


Now you can have your way, your say
Perfect once so wrong 
But the silence feels,  fills 
Full the emptiness with misery 


Questions now being asked, on reflection
After the penny has dropped, was it all worth it
But the price has all so long been paid for
Now there is silence, ghostly silence