Power.

Power
At the top
Looking down at the bottom
Tripping over the wires and strands
That makes a man
Overstand
Over another man’s plan
To be the man
The boss
The general
El jefe
Hungry for each little morsel
Like a meze
Says the young upstart who
Overthrows the leader
To shift the scales of power
Walking a tight rope
Gripping tightly the feet
To defeat the power brokers
Chop them down on the knees
So they bow at his feet
But power’s not gender specific
Everyone wants a piece of the action
To be specific
Your genes don’t determine the means
To gain the ends
Nor the way to gain more enemies
Amongst your circle of friends
Power corrupts
But a little too much?
Yes, absolutely
So before you knock me off my throne
Before the power hits my dome
Bullets will load in the barrel
For my underlings to shoot me.
Power.

The Letter M.

Everyone talks about us reclaiming the ‘n’ word. Quite frankly, I would like to kill all associations with the word that begins with the letter ‘m’.

So sad that Roy Hodgson can’t tell a simple story without the media creating a furore.

Let’s not play like the mammal that doesn’t hear, talk nor see, but instead educate ignorant minds so that they hear it right, speak sense and see the idiocy that doesn’t make one colour-blind, but blind to see the effect and affect of a word that blights one colour.

By the way Roy, you meant no harm or malice, don’t let the media twist our minds by drinking from their poisoned chalice.

#30.

30 years,

29 was full of ups and downs,

Mixed emotions,

The tears of a clown,

But I clown upon my misery,

And climb upon my successes,

Like graduating in my masters,

And my brother’s wedding,

Being the best man,

With God’s blessing,

I keep going till I crack the code,

Like JavaScript,

But stuck in debug mode,

Working through the fuzzy logic,

Without going psycho,

To get back on the right path,

Of my mental map,

Try to stay on track,

And not lose control,

Of my train of thought

As I train my thoughts

To sort out my priorities

For the third decade

To not defer my dreams

Instead turn them into scenes

To form the screen reel

Of a successful reality

Lord,

I’m counting on you

For you to set me free

And be the real C-H-U-D

That everyone and I

Want to see,

Thirty.

Like.

I like being liked,

Like,

The way you like my facebook posts,

That look on your face

When you like the toasts I make

And when you wake up in the morning,

Coming downstairs to the kitchen,

To like the way my beans on toast taste,

Because I add that squirt of ketchup,

A bit of paprika and making sure

That last half piece of onion

Doesn’t go to waste,

You like the way I laugh,

Cracking up until my lungs are empty

and I gasp for that sharp intake of breath,

Because me and you are rather alike,

Like, because…

You like to be liked,

And I liked to be liked,

But is there more to a

Blue square with a thumbs up,

Or a gold star like Mario,

Collecting enough coins for a 1-UP,

But this game of one-upmanship,

Is like a push without a shove,

Because it’s not enough to be liked,

When you yearn for the love.

Ends – A short poem.

Council estate of mind
Thinking of experiments
To turn the hood into a project
To document the flat experience
Of being hemmed in and
Sown in the fabric of the life
Until you’re dyed in the wool
Somebody’s everything but
Nobody’s fool.
Is Art imitating life,
Or life imitating art?
We don’t know the genesis
Of when things fall apart.

26 Letters, Infinite Ideas. Spread The Word.

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