Rectangle Revolution.

The revolution won’t be televised,
It’s being broadcast on a smartphone,
Change can’t be put on hold
Regardless if the money
That changes hands
Doesn’t fold anymore
Because the events unfolding
Are raw as the footage
Follows in the footsteps
Of the marginalised
And the oppressed
As the camera keeps rolling
From iPhones
To stop us being treated like Androids
Or illegal aliens
To control the space that we’re shipped in from
To board us on another boat
How do we stay afloat
Whilst drowning in a sea of disillusion
When we discover the love
We have for each other
Is falser than the hope
That we expect through the clouds
Between the smoke
Lining up silver
To find the gold paved street
But getting 3rd degree-burned
by the reflections
Beyond bronze statues
Waiting to move to better places
Taking pictures and selfies
Snapshots into new plots
And stories of rebellion written
On the faces of modern-day
Revolutionaries holding intelligent rectangles
To untangle the false truths and half-lies
We see from false news being shared
That present events skewed
But a serial can be killed
When we can see the truth shared and spread
From a 6-inch view.

Point Blank. 

I’ve got a point to make
But my mind keeps drawing blanks
Why they keep killing
My people from
Point blank range
We keep talking about change
But what’s the point
When police keep
Killing my people
From point blank range
Shoot first
Accuse later
Ask questions last
But what’s going through
The cop’s mind
As he prepares to blast?
Is it fear?
Fear of a tone that’s darker than his?
So he darkens his tone
Of voice
And shouts out loud
To mask the hatred inside
That he’s afraid to address
Instead sending mixed messages
That suggests that he’s missed the point
Firing shots off
From close range
Acting on the irrational rage
Sweeping up through his torso
Moreso, because he sees black as a threat
He’s too busy making decisions
That he won’t live to regret
Because he hides behind the badge
Inside the forces
That serve and protect
Themselves from their ways
But when it’s pointed out
That they’re living in a maze
In the bubble of misplaced
They blank out the root problem
And keep killing minorities
On a whim
And nothing seems to heal
Not even time, prayers or protests
To show the pain, anguish and anger
On our faces
Everyday is the killing Olympics
And they keep running and gunning
On kaleidoscopic races
Most importantly
The black race
Because everyday
White supremacy
Want to raise the bar
To see how high we can jump
Because we’re getting pushed too far
To the edge
To the point where they draw blanks
From their privileged minds
So I’ll keep saying it with my chest
Speaking my mind
Until I see change
And the crooked authorities
Stop killing my people
From point blank range.

Little Britain

All these parties were out
Saying trust me
Because staying in
Was supposed to be so easy
So when I voted remain
I thought that we could well be in
But instead
Some of Middle England
Got blinded by the lights
Brexit left
Stage far right
Now everyone’s got stage fright
Has it come to this?
Because 48% are pranging out
At the prospect
That we could be going through hell
Because of how we voted
The EU has to tell us
to “get out my house”
So now we’re out
It’s now time to show
The unity
That makes the weak become heroes
And look beyond
The mentality of the Imperial
And politicians
cut from original pirate material
Because they’re gonna make it
The hardest way to make an easy living
But I intend to stay positive
In this place
Called little Britain.

(My poem inspired by “The Streets”)


When the old dies
The new tries
But fails at the first hurdle
Then tries and tries again
Until his spirit is broken
And he can’t see no light
At the end of the tunnel
Because old habits
Are not dying hard enough
Not lying for long enough
As the lies he tells himself
lie dormant in shell of his
Sin again and again and again
Until he’s seen a god
Or seen a spirit
He keeps sipping away
Pouring out his soul into spirits
Until it turns to dust
And he sniffs it up
Then injects the waste
And smokes the pain away
Until the clouds carry him home
But it’s too late
As we stand on the soil
Under the weather
Spitting down
Looking up
Looking down
Looking ahead
Thinking about what he left behind
Written on the head of his stone.

Lark in the park

Sun’s out, guns out,
Please put your arms away
All day sitting in parks
Swings and roundabouts until dark
Cracking jokes
Swilling gin and tonic
The sun is my engine
My tonic
Blazing ‘T-shirt weather in the manor’
Wearing white T’s
Blazing on the green
Sitting in the park
In the manor
Manners and morals loosen up
Taking more sips of green dot
On the rocks
Balls roll over to our patch
From wayward shots
Heating meat and chicken
Over hot coals and grills
On tin foil
Reaching for the oil
As bodies heat up
Lotion for the legs
Ladies run in slow motion
Eyes peep over through shades
Young minds going through the motions
What’s the motive afterwards?
Shall we hit up a bar?
Let’s take a locomotive
To the hill
To see the sun go down
As we look at the stars in the sky
Reminiscing on the day just gone
Ending a warm summer’s night
On a high.