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.
Standing on the edge of reason
Being that this cold season
Has got me edgy about a lot of things
Bringing up the revolving doors
Of stresses
Checking in and out
Of the fraught hotel
So who do I tell at home
That I’m living in the penthouse suite
All alone
Pent up with a sour look on my face
Working through the bitter sweet
Nature forces, sweeping me through the seasons
Trying to keep my balance
Standing on the edge of reason.
It’s been a little while
Since I’ve written something witty
Or gritty or funny
To put a smile on faces
Like I’ve misplaced my pen
And defenestrated my mind
Looking out the window as it falls
Through the blind side
Of my mind’s eye
Poetry
First and foremost,
Before I boast about who has
The most awesome foursome,
Divided by two,
Some look up to go forth
And ponder,
At the peak of some
blonde or brunette wonder,
With their golden glow,
With all their glory on show,
But none of them look at the bottom
Of the caption,
To see their forthright thoughts
On the latest political action,
Or whether the economic contractions,
That affect the four lands
That unite this kingdom,
Or whether the election in America
Is forbearing on the UK’s chances
To move out of recession,
Other pressing issues,
Such as
Whether the living wage
Going forward
Is healthy for community progression,
Or whether JSA should move up to four score
Rather than 71 quid
On a weekly basis
To be enough to cover me for 4 weeks?
But what is first and foremost on the reader’s mind
Is not to get cover from the Sun
But to be visually blinded
By the page known as 3,
Struggling to move forward to number four,
There’s only so far a four to five star body can take you my friend,
Because our minds, bodies and souls
Yearn for more….
What’s the deal with
Drunk friends calling some person
on the street for an opinion?
Some advice like they’re nice
at being a 10 minute philosopher
Not stoned, or,
Distracted by the verbal barrage
by the attack of the clones,
Or blinded by the shimmering, flashing lights of the star wars
and intellectual debates of who’s got
the greatest amounts of plastic surgery on TOWIE,
Or how we should boycott the voting process on the X Factor
and strictly dance along to the intellectually stimulating,
Emotionally resonating tones
of Justin Bieber’s number one hit single.
But no,
Our dial-a-sage
Who gets paid in attention
To the words of profound intention,
To send us on our way home…
To the nearest cab station,
Clearly stating and gesticulating directions
On how to get there,
Whilst our friend with an
Inebriated disposition,
And a drunken glare,
Continues the exchange,
Whilst I thank our
Rented Socrates for
Their directions.
Anyhow, my stomach has an
Overpowering emotional affection
for a kebab from boss man,
Forget that,
I’ll exchange currency and thoughts
with the wise man from Sam’s.
