Saturday, 15 February 2014

Poems from my old blog

Streets (21/2/13)

There are crocodiles
That walk the streets
Round here
Jaws snapping
Coming for me
There are lions
And angry creatures
And they catch at me
And snatch at me
And furiously try
To drag me down
Into the swamps
Of the streets
Round here
There are shadows
That whisper
And creep and claw
And swallow me whole
There is death
With his hood
And his scythe
And they try
Their very hardest
To make me one them
And make me part
Of the streets
Round here

Perfect (21/2/13)

I am made up
Of the things
That make you up
I am bound up
With you
And your bones and
Your flesh and your sinews
And I think sometimes
I made you up
Because you make
So much sense with me
And I don't know how
Or why or where
You came from
But I am glad
Very glad you did
And I want to go
Back to that place
And see
Whether there are more
Like you
More perfect men
I've never known

I wannabe (16/1/2013)

I am 26
Or nearly 27
I must admit
But at any rate
The point I'm
Trying to make
Is that
I'm too old
For this shit
I look at you
Hear you
Shoot a rhyme
Straight from the chest
And I guess
What I wonder is
Do I wannabe like you
All that pain
All that glory
All that terrible energy
Ripping you
At the seams
That desperation
To be heard
To tell your story
I don't know
You're all of 19
With these great ideas
And great big plans
And dreams
Dreams of being
The artist
The tortured soul
And maybe you are
I don't know
Because after all
your rhythm
And flow
Have that certain something
That ring of truth
And I wonder
If I'm too old
Or maybe just too
Plain vanilla
I mean I do have
The requisite
Drug habit
Prescribed of course
And I do have
Issues with depression
And repression
And regression
To dark
Places filled
With dark memories
But I wonder
Do I really wannabe
Like you
With your heart on your sleeve
The star of the show
The one with
All the
Places to go
I bet you think this song
Is about you
Don't you
But I'm not like you
I think maybe
I was once
At the very least
to some extent
But then again
I'm not from
London town
I can't spit riffs
On smoking spliffs
Or watching my friends die
I'm from bonny Blaydon
On the banks of the coaly Tyne
And I tell ya
What it is
I'd get the shit
Kicked out of us
For talkin' like this
Back there
And I wonder
If what I've got
Is worth the paper
It's written on
Maybe not
But the point
I'm trying to make
I think
Just to reiterate is
I don't think
I wannabe like you
Because at the end of it
I'm too old for this shit

Your face (30/9/2012)

I look
At your face
And it says
Your face
And I wonder
We got here

Trap (24/6/2011)

I am caught
In a body trap
With two minds
One to govern
My outward self
The other
And convinced
I do not belong

Loved (29/5/2011)

The drugs make her sick
They quiver
In her stomach
And your face
Heaves into view
Across her weary
Dank and dreary
And music sounds
Plaintive and slow
And she wonders
Whether you
Hero, sinner, child
Man, maybe
Ever really loved
As she did you 

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