A Brother Wright

Boy, some day you'll be a man
Girl, one day you'll be a gran
unless you do not marry
so a spinster you will tarry
But in the long term we are all dead
so what if i have a price on my head?
I will just keep running
And you will just keep running after me
Wasting your life
Fullfiling mine
For what more did i ever need but attention?

Look at that bird flying high
I looked and i wondered
one day might i, oh might i?
So then i made an aeroplane
But its not the same
is it?
The thrill seems subdued so i'll dive off of it
I fell like a stone for a while
But still, i couldn't fly!
Sigh

The clouds on up high
And the stars beyond
Encased in metaphor too frippy to pen down
But take it from me
We must suppose they are beautiful
For it cannot be anything else; the unknown
Mystery mud deep in similie
They may show me the folly of my existence
If i listen
One day i may fly

Einstein

can't sleep.

the world is round and it keeps it's secrets, strongly away from those who cannot handle them
science will speak and describe what it knows but we humans
we best remain silent

can't sleep

the pizzaria spoke of a blessing; anchovies, they said. eat
they are good for you, for insomnia
they are good for patients who can't cope with their mind's own side effects
the side effects of thought
that beat your eyelids open, awake, alert and then run away before you can see who knocked on your door

can't sleep

a nightmare is welcome to knock me unconscious with it's deadly hooves
a nightmare is welcome to freeze me silly in fear and so that i shall lose sense and consciousness
a nightmare is welcome
anything is welcome but this

can't sleep

God is one. only one is God, he said
If reality is controlled then why do my eyes not see
my heart sees but then disbelieves
must i live in terror of this impending blackness
or in gladness of the light, the grey dawn that arrives

but i can't sleep

the night is both dreaded and loved
dreaded for its presence and loved lest it flies before i rest
i must rest
for has it not been said
'the night is for rest'?

this business
this not knowing
works only if you are patient
this business
this burrowing
into wrath and necromancy
serves only the purpose
of killing your instinct
of freezing your facts
in the cold ice of General Relativity

The Upraised Fist

A scab on a wound
false skin
false reality
underneath; blood flows
red and rich.

a scarred body
full of bullet holes
the rubber bullets
were coated with lead
activism was dead

a power hungry
monarch
an arch criminal;
the henchman
and you
the lone tree hugger
standing alone in front of the digger
arms outstretched

Faith

the truth is not as simple as it sounds.
simplistic rounds
shooting from a 9mm
ripping through flesh
how many babies dead?
how many retards completed the test?
how many fools repented their flesh?
how many intellectuals
let down their people?
how many leaders failed?
how many theories abounded?
how many houses burned?
how many heroes fell?
questions have no answers
questions just have more questions
and ultimately; faith
the truth is faith

Corporate Blues

waking up on a monday afternoon to the lull of the ocean,
inside my head.
A dream takes over as the music trips.
I am a corporate dreamer
dreaming of the demise of the corporation.

Im a sleepwalker
waking up on a hammock in the kitchen garden.
the grass meanders down
and mingles with the sand,
the sand meanders down
to the water, gentle, lapping, lazy.
Just like me.

Powerslave

These are the last words of Imhotep
half man half God but now on his death bed
it came for all of us and it came for him
Imhotep the half God but now he's dead

He bawled and he pleaded
his majestic eyes they bled
he screamed for their worship
as if, from it he could be saved

But his life had whittled
now his bone was brittle
and Imhotep
was on the way to death

The doorsteps
the face repelled
the eyes screwed shut
but nought helped

Imhotep
said nothing
in the end.

Instead his silent eyes
saw inside themselves
and he wept
as the tears fell down inside his head.

Analogy and Feathers

Green sparks! greaan sparks revolted in the red fire. they amulgamated and formed little flames of their own. They had been hiding in the tiny metal substrate the secret ingredient; the exotic dense substance that had missed the attention of the destroyer class disposal unit sent from the Establishment.

Kangaroos flew into the mind in billowing cloaks liened with regard into the flaming pew stickers in the renaissance of the decaprio saga. The giselle bunchens and other assorted lingerie models not withstanding the gossip of the amazonian pshycopaths, the egyptian druglords and american jailbirds.

but reclaiming land has always been a reconnoitering mission of serious psokage that has embittered the masses against the would be devils of the landlords. liberalist ideals have formulated the basis for the spawn of animated cartoons to disintergrate into remorseless interpretations of Sexual Man.

B ol cols trembling old a controlled attempt a ontrolled shally wally bang bang bang of dispropotionate. A metaphor released into a vacuum that was the test. an analogy released into a singular universe it ceased to exist but what is an analogy but something dependent on something else?

I am an analogy an analogy of you him them. You are an analogy an analogy of me her him. We are analogies floating on each others whim, we will not survive in vacuums.

we will not survive we are dependent i am dependent on  you ? on you? it pisses me off but i am forced to admit i am dependent on you are dependent on me? it may piss you off but force to admit that you are are are depended on me. convolution be damned this is a scenario a problem of perception we must solve this.

Self Censorship

Here i come into the next phase

Propelled by hope and an expectant look

on my face

Here i come running a different race

one in which only winners run

oh what fun

Here i am self censored

here i am mentored

by fearful people

Yet i am grateful

and my sacrifice is powerful

but not as powerful as their love

For their sake, i must fold?

Sway

A reek of sweat
it may or may not be the doom
of impending death

The waves have met
and ricocheted
the boat didn't collapse
but it swayed.

And my heart swayed with it
on the blue waves
and it almost jerked free of its moorings.

A monstrosity then
rose up and bled
turned my insides on a whim
like the roiling shore bed

But the patience of encounter
by then long practiced
saved me from a flounder
and another night
I sleep free

A SERIES OF TWEETS

I sometimes tweet a poem or two when im in the mood. The verses flow out one by one as i walk down the street or sit in a bus or before i sleep. Here are two recent ones.

THE SWEETNESS

The only complaint men have when they are free is that there is nothing to tie them down;
So into the realm of vice he frowned looking for reasons to stay on the ground.
Into the eyes of gollum; green bubbling fear and angry intent; so solemn,
On to the back of a renegade beast he leapt; to feast upon madness too morbid to mention.
Off down his street looking for danger; to the corner shop to buy him a Benson.
'Its just u and me my little white friend, i'll burn with you until you see the end,
Then i will stamp you upon the ground; my face no longer darkened with a frown,
and go home.'; the sweetness of friendship lies in its parting...


AT SLUMBER'S DOOR

Waiting for the last queen to fall,
Waiting for that siren call;
That tells the end of battle

Waiting for the rush to ebb away,
Waiting for the calmness to take away,
The seething musth inside;
Denying me paradise

Oh fair temptress please deny me,
Please turn away my silent plea,
For heartbreak is a trifle;
To the pain of possessing thee

We are but figures in a big paradigm,
We are but diggers in a grave of time,
We are certainly not complete;
But we loath to become free

We are paupers, ourselves, on mountains of gold,
We are but beggars but we have no bowl,
We expect the impossible;
And delude ourselves..

Now as my mind takes yet another leap,
And silence calls me to the solitude of sleep,
My escape route is here;
Slumber makes things clear

But before i go let me silently weep,
For a great love lost; beauty i won't get to keep,
But some things are bigger;
And beauty sometimes is a perilous trigger

In the future

In the future kids will be traumatized by illegal chartrooms. don’t chat with anyone you don’t know! will be the most common advice given to kids by their parents.

Sleeping pills will have massive demand and people will rely on them to get some rest after staying up bleary eyed in front of PCs chatting idly away.

Zombies will be commonplace as people wave their hands about in front of their face in a 'touch screen delusion' where they try to move the real world around like they move objects around on a pc.

A few generations later...

Aliens will land on earth and find an empty planet. All the people will be in sealed compartments that they will be put into as soon as they are old enough to leave the family pod. Which is a temporary social institution formed to honor a genetic obligation.

Goods will be transported via holographic molecular displacement. Atomization will require only commands from individuals in pods who will operate Earth’s complex infrastructure.

The more progressive thinkers would have already outsourced their thoughts and brains to twitter.

Sexual stimulation will exclusively happen through the art of cyberdildonomics.

The aliens will destroy the planet, thinking it’s empty, to make way for an intergallactic superhighway and yes they will be known as Vulcans, if you like.

the love-lust connundrum

lust - i want to bang you

love - i want to bang you forever

there. see? simple.

Nilkamal Philosophy

the clock ticked in space. surrounded by the obsolete white bull that was now in for it because it disobeyed its master and went into that china shop. and destroyed the chinese economy.
this prehistoric rampage of the chinese economy left its worker base completely unable to cope with modern day requirements from workers. so they went to live inside the wall.
there disguised as statues of skeletons they lived through the dynasties that folowed that went from history to prehistory against the drift of time because even though the clock ticked forward, the world ticked back.
then the Mings and the Chins and the ChinChings and the Kochins all passed through decadence into primeval caveman like dwellings of amber mountains within diamond spyglasses like they were seen from afar, but amounted to nothing much save dwellings in their minds eye. all value gone. no materialism existed then.
no peace in their minds because animals do not desire peace they desire they desire they desire they desire they desire....
what do they desire?
what do they desire if not peace if not to be left alone when the hyena cries and that lonely lion walks the night during the great periods of migration east when the weather thaws and they are going back home?
when will the candle burn and finish but then, when will the darkness end afterwards? especially since we have now run out of candles and the last one now burns. and all we can do is wonder when it will finish.
will it finish will it end? and what will come of us later?
when philosophy becomes a trend, then the human race is on a rafter
floating on to land that doesn't exist and never did
not since the clock ticked

The messed up cases

She didnt tell me that she liked her little boys. I wasn't angry cos i didn't hav a choice. Had i had a choice; it was too armorous, her voice.

She seduced me with a tiny little gleam; deep inside her dark brown eyes, but to me it passed unseen. Had i had a choice; i would have saved myself, had i wondered; wondered...

Never before had the waterfall stopped falling, never in history was the cliff top so unseen. And as the sea went on from horizon to horizon; i passed by in my black ship with sails torn and mast destroyed.

Disguised, protected beneath a veneer of broken flesh; Lest the siren see me once again and tempt me to her warm cold lonely breasts.

Crude Awakening

Neophytes in black
threatening murder for treason
we always knew you'd be back
claiming for the sides of reason

Now, this may be the wrong season
but desire still dictates
and in the deeper reaches of my soul
a slow monster awakes

He wants to get you out of his head
he wants to lustily tear you apart
but he also wants, he also needs
to love you with all his heart

He wants to bathe you in tenderness,
while inside he's aflush
he wants to live the life of an ease:
a lust in which, he wants to trust

But he must not be freed!
for he may do harm with this, indeed;
He may feed upon himself
before he plants this seed.

(...)

renephobe
whats that word mean?
i don't know
but then again
what does anything?

xenophobe
ah now that word means something
but then again
why should you fear me?

confusionoscope
thats what my eyes are
the word presents itself
like that kaleidoscope
that broke

i spoke
there, i said what was on my mind
now forgive me my bated breath
as i try to figure out
if the truths i spoke
were sufficiently described as artistic lies

tricks of the mind
i play and im played blind
until stumbling, a blind man
i turned back to the same door
from where i came in

there is a way back in (i think)
if i try hard again
if i was to be a different man
if i were to
re-wire my brain

but the room im trying to get into
is a bit untidyt
im not proud of it
but a lot of effort
if i want to live in it

or take my chances
in the dark
hearing geckos fart
and listening to shadows creak
as stumbling, another door
i seek.

Defense report

May as well try an excercise to pull off a bit of a mental thread of meaning from my teeming head
As people die we wax lyrical on blogs but do we even try to stop the killing?
People are DYING and all we do is wax lyrical
lyrics so spherical you cant find an edge to grasp a bit of meaning

why write about things when you writing about it is not going to stop it
why not just ignore the deranged war of blood and flesh flying around faster than shrapnel
for writing about it devoids you of reason and accuses you of treason
woe be tide anyone who is against it

the dead are piling and no one who is on either side can stop it
we are in a place where people dying is a natural phenomenon of the ending of a conflict
they are bombed and they are ripped to shreds as propaganda attempts to weakly restore order
we over here are so eager for peace we don't really give a shit, if there is some 'mild' blood loss and disorder

The UN screams but they dont really seem to want to step in, lest they bury the sovereignity of this island
the EELAMIST bastards they just want a ceasefire to regroup, rethink and restore their battling order
the GOVERNMENT of tricksters, they are money twisters and yes im a critic
the morality we lived by is dead and in this carnage we are losing our soul to the devil, the devil, the devil.

the devil.

Nobody cares about the dead
not us not them not the UN, not really.
they are shelled and lost and struck a terrible revenge
for being at the wrong where, during the wrong when

Nobody really cares about stopping the dying
we are all utopians looking for a future of peace and loving
lets cast a grimace upon our healthy face
so that we can eventually have a hope of peace

Lets all go blogging and lets all write about politicking
the paining the gaining of winning
lets all take the topic and lets grind it and and wind it
now i dont mean to be a cynic but in this blood covered landscape, can we find it?

can we find it in a widow's dream?
can we find it in a mothers scream?
can we find it in the eyes of an orphan boy?
can we find it in the mournful songs of the days gone by?

where can we find it?
how can we find it?
what is peace?
where is it?

*yeah a little angst there.. call it a part of that license you're supposed to have when you write, and no offence to anyone writing about the war btw, writing about it is important, you should keep it up. This is mainly about the desperation of the IDPs. When it comes down to it, the situation right now is such that most parties/interest groups involved want it all to somehow finish. The plight of the dying seems to be a secondary concern. These are my sentiments, and i admit to feeling the same myself, which is sort of despicable isnt it?

Gangsta Rippin'

Many people have called me a 'poet'. And by many i mean about five. Many others have dismissed my 'poetry' as meaningless and many have meaninglessly referred to it as 'deep'. Still, many have speculated on the origins of my lyrical brilliance. Truth is it could be any one of the following.

1. Aliens implanting test chip in brain.
2. Accident involving Milton's Paradise Lost and a slippery floor. book ending up embedding itself in brain as a pshychological snapshot that morphed into a life of its own.

But i actually started off my 'career' writing gangsta rap when i was fourteen. And probably owe most of my poetic brilliance slash lameness to Eminem. That boisterous white boy who showed me how to be black and proud of it biatch! I wrote:

yo!
yo yo yo!
my words are like a death toll
i make the nay saying bastards' heads roll
an apostrophy lost
my grammer is like pus
seeping through the wounds of my broken english
but i dont let it stop me i get stronger with it
yeah im a wordsmith, with a mcahine gun
i scare your pants off and i make you run
i make you scream and want to find your mum
i'll make your m**** F***in bleed from your ears son

Im a gangsta rapper
with the shock treatment unit
its me agianst the world baby

I ain got no regrets
this is a battlefield
and i slip and slide like James Bond on speed

Yeah..Uh huh..

Or Something similar..

Pretty soon, my gangsta walk and gangsta talk garnered me a lot of attention. And nick names. And there was that unfortunate incident where i was adding a bit of color to the national anthem during assembly and this guy laughed his head off and gave me away to a prefect, who then proceeded to yell at me very loudly. for a long time afterwards.

never liked them, prefects.

But not everybody was a playa hater. I had a few fellow artistes in my crew see. Although only one of them was a fellow rapper (most of the others used to sing Westlife) and him and me eventually formed this band called the Shock Treatment Unit.

A few performances on stage are also to my credit, as are a few audiences of bemused people. Although i never got a chance to actually really get down to some cold hard gangsta rap on stage. A pity.

Anyways, my gangsta rappin days are behind me, i hear you breath a sigh of relief, and an era of rhymes simply followed. Followed by a few kind people who felt my work was worthy a compliment or two. I kept writing more because of them and have found that a lot of interesting things that mostly take place in my head and would be inexplicable in plain everyday descriptive language can be expressed quite accurately in the throes of a few jumbled words.

And when i write stuff like;

A dead poem breathed new life into a vacuum with its last breaths
it created pulses in the air with its dying heartbeats
the pulses became butterflies and created storms in far off places
changing many landscapes and changing many faces
the dying cries of the poem lost itself in the screaming wind
for now the storm of his heartbeats had come back to him
and he passed in peace within the matters of his own doing.
What more can a poem ask but immortality in the act of dying?

Sometimes even i can't figure out exactly what i mean.

Elephant Apocalypse

wake up and smell the coffee it turned into garbage in the night

wake up and look at your children they are zombies instilled with fright

school taught them to be robots and you encouraged their plight.

slavery is the norm, and you let your brains be mined

by the greedy and the power-blind.

you laze and muck about, your universe is small

it circles around inside the radius of your skull.

so wake up! and smell the garbage,

it is seething under your window

its is festering and mustering a truly terrible blow.

wake up and feel the heat

as the earth prepares you a complete defeat.

wake up and hear the distant boom

as the war drums are beat.

You hold the candle to the elephant's butt

and you are idling around not knowing

that when it farts it will send you, your kith and kin

blowing.

Remember the Black Tigers

better than you
i am. i will be
seeing black
screaming in this silence
of a world gone quiet
quiet to me.

nothing but revenge
of an ancestral creed
an outlet of hate
an outlet of righteousness
to me. you will be.

the pain i unleash
the same. pain you suffer.
you will do no honour
in dying for the sins
of you and your kind

die my darlings
die. as i.
your torture is an instant
in return for an eternity
of mine.

pain, retribution
washing away in an instant
nothingness awaits
with its warm embrace
i am righteous.