In solitary dreams
i wake
the crest of understanding
waves
never reach
me
so small and unable
to reach
the stop
of their poking and prodding
hands
within my very breeches
they breach
my innards
every single time
just like they did before
when I wasn’t but a teen
only seven
and the blood
is intertwined
with every single tear
that I have intent to cry
just a pathetic little boy
that tried to become a man
smoking H and drinking cans
He could have been a man
Could have been a man.
They never tell you
what it’s like when
your body gets older
but you still feel inside
the way you did at
eighteen. Impromptu
is that feeling once again
of the receding smoulder.
A fire in the belly denied
by smothered tit for tat.
You ask those questions
that cause blisters within
your mind. As the heat
steams your twisted tongue
you pour out confusion.
Their answers cause indigestion,
their falsehoods crawl your skin.
A melting of your mind meets
with a recurrence of unbelong-
ing – the age of electrocution.
Caustic cynicism is all that remains
now that the beastly brawn outwits
the worm ate brains.
The stinging scorned proudly splits
a bill with hedonism – that explains
the firmed terrain.
A drought of thinking critically, rationale and morality
created global tyrants; ruling in totality.
You have no reason to fear being sent
to hell because you live there every waking moment.
Feeling blue
the gloaming dusk
envelops
me
cloaking my every attempt
to twist and turn
and every intent to learn; opaquely.
Feeling red
sky at night – Shepherd’s delight?
Or a rage deep inside – unevening.
Incandescent
but ever present and waiting,
waiting for the time to strike;
a clock
with fiery hands that yearn
to make this whole system
burn
eternally to the ground.
Feeling green
mentally bilious
cognitively all at-sea
desensitised
to the obscene
filled with so many
thoughts, feelings and disinformation
but alas unable to scream
unable to tell what is real.
The propaganda machine vomits more lies…
“You’re ill. Do as you’re told and stop asking questions.”
With a punch, a jab
it puts to bed freedom’s dream.
You snooze, you lose.
Sickening to the extreme.
Felt yellow
once upon a
sun beam
that cushioned joy of unmarshalled
mellow;
sun shining sweetly
summer breeze
vanilla ice cream
a happy, smiling, unbridled fellow until
The Neo Nightmare
becomes a novel series
out of
what was once
a magazine.
And as that outward blowing breath
scatters floating seeds of dandelions
my thoughts of birth and life and death
coalesce among the scattered scions.
For what is now has always been
and will return from future passing –
the sight of what remains, unseen;
your loss – not lost – but everlasting.
This life has now come to a close
and we reminisce on all your giving
a beacon bright bursts through morose
your shining light that lifts our living.
As we send you on your next new journey
we cherish those fond memories
we take a clutch and grasp them firmly
where you live on; in our reveries.
“If you are the big tree, let me tell you that
We are the small axe, sharp and ready
Ready to cut you down (well sharp)
To cut you down” – Bob Marley
Maybe we wouldn’t have to worry
about this dystopia or Thought Police
if we’d paid attention and weren’t in a hurry
protected our rights and thought of peace
made sure that every little boy and girl
had their freedoms unequivocally ingrained
in an uncodified constitution of the world
that wouldn’t commodify their names,
their games, their chats, their brains
wouldn’t commodify their friendships
wouldn’t commodify in exchange
for our chance to ever end;
this.
This; globalist
end of days.
This; oval disk
of human waste.
This; cashless
new society.
This; ask less
pay more, die early.
This; ‘how much
more can you take?’
This; smiling punch
you in the face.
This; ‘whatever’
disillusionment.
This; forever
can’t afford the rent.
This; take a pill
to ease the pain.
This; makes you ill
over again.
This; wants your life
to be a mess.
This; gives more strife,
more bills, more stress.
This; is worse in every single way.
This; works you til your dying day.
This; takes much
more
than pounds of flesh.
This; doesn’t need
your
excuse for less.
This; what happened
to our fledgling crop?
This happened…
We ‘the many’
never forced
‘the few’ powerful to
STOP.
Claustrophobia;
casting spells, anxiety obeah
feeling trapped in a shell
a gleaming pearl
trapped in a cell
of another’s designer
hell
waiting for the pool to whirl
me down
again.
The heat and the wet
make a vitriolic garnish
causing what once gleamed – jet
to now become tarnished.
Agoraphobia;
crowded house – residential dystopia
all the faces look the same
painting misery – drawing blanks
always strange and often insane
that’s what happens to your brain
when you’re trodden on like wooden planks
and spoken to just the same
you become a broken, wooden frame
a shell without a pearl
a face without a name
and when you push the system yanks
until there’s nothing left to say.
Until there’s nothing.
Nothing.
..
You are a pathway strait
unlike your last mistake
and mistakes are learning curves;
they aren’t your overall fate.
You have your being
but their eyes aren’t seeing
what goes on inside
of your mind as it’s fleeing.
Steady your ship
sail yourself to equip
yourself with a set
of masts they cannot rip
or strip.
Rescue yourself from the doldrums
breath fresh air into your lungs
leave the noxious and nasty
to suffocate on their own tongues.
Cause they never will know
what you have lived and do know;
they don’t deserve to encounter
what you can be
what you will be
what you will become
when you thrive and you grow.
Set your sights and show
that beauty bright
and innermost light
of your selfless glow.
Smile like the crest of a wave
and remain deep
leave those naysayers to weep
in their shallow dug graves.
Feeling hopeless and helpless
Left alone feeling selfless
Aren’t reasons to feel
That your life doesn’t help us.
‘Cause you matter so much
And your matter is such
That nobody can take it
In their own selfish clutch.
When the time comes you’ll know
Just like arrow and bow
That you were meant to shoot
To the stars – ever glow,
You may live to suffer
And if it gets all the tougher
Then please just remember
Together we grow.
Don’t let go.
Death and taxes
are for certain –
you spend your life
for the final curtain.
So, what does it matter –
what is the point?
Tiny feet?
The pitter patter?
Success? Career?
Trophy wife?
Or, is there more
than meets the eye?
Burnt candle wax is
time passed by.
And passers by
you learn their faces
on commutes
littered with
sojourned strangers.
Just like the streets
you learn to tread,
learn to steer clear
of some instead.
A forever question
of take and give
of peace and war
of love and hate
of is there more?
Wipe the slate.
Clean the floor.
Swallow a hard pill
for indigestion.
Make your mind
up what you want!
They cannot find
the knowledge fount.
When all is said
and all is done,
when blue is red
and cruel is kind,
you’ll search the times
⁃ a memorial quest
and smile sublime
(once taxed to death)
at not need or want
fulfilled at behest.
But, of those you loved
and those who loved
loving you the best.
It just might
be undercover;
human dust-mites.
Disapproving mother
makes
forbidden lovers
play more like animals
in the heat
under their collars.
Our symbiotic
shapes
feeling – just right.
The feeling smothers
you uptight
– breathing in –
water fountains and lakes
within bed covers.
Horizontally upright.
No bearing grudges
or bearing down upon
the breaks
when the love’s right.
There’s no trust like
it with anyone
else or any others;
this is our
glorious mistake
and this is what
love
really looks like.
We are always
shining bright together,
shining love’s light.
Even into old age,
our last chapter
and our
intertwined fates
remain forever…
We were right
to be undercover;
even after…
human dust-bites.
poorman'sdreams 