Half has never been told

Luna light was shining at crescent mask

Hiding half the truth of nights intent

Stars feed the sky with ferocious force

As did his thrusts into her womb embed

She complied to his pleasure bent

With legs astride and soul in shards

And as Luna gave way to Ray to lend

Him sky, he too shone with strength at half

Instead precipitous clouds brought forth

The means to fertilise the seed now sown

Although her heart was closed while he forked

Her soil (and soiled her thoughts with his own)

She was open now to bear the fruit when grown

And as the day evolved and rain and tears 

Stopped their flow, then rude awakenings

Forced flower buds to shoot and appear,

The blossom scent was missing, taken

By the many curses whispered into heaven’s ear

When day and night eclipsed and brought another him back

To her with the same half truth of wholesome love

She knew her fate was sealed and steeled her lack

Of trust for him’s against her magnitude of sheer bad luck

Again the nightly whispers of one sided lust

Filled half the air, whilst the remaining half was divided

Into stifled tears and silent prayers of “God please stop

This nightly torture, stop breath, stop spirits colliding

Bring this writhing of unholy union to an end. God please stop –“

And on and on went prayer, silence, moaning, whispers

Until eventually the sky was immersed in stars

And fruit of the womb too bruised to cope these half pleasures

Was returned to earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Half her life was over, or so it seemed.  Not from a want of

Half measures and nightly pleasures to him, half moons

And precipitous skies.  No child will bless the caverns

Of a barren woman who sold her soul to pay for a room

A bed and rocks to fill her head and veins with a star filled night of lies.

Sniper Pen

I’ve been in dormant await

My pen posed in a permanent state

Of readiness

Like the finesse of a sniper

Under heavy overgrowth

Of words.  The longest

Silent sentence I ever wrote. You never heard

Me watching you.  Reading you.

Listening to

Your moody blues

Reinterpreting your moves.

Got you in the crosshair

Of my viewfinder

Target on lock

Single blue dot

On the chest of your page

Waiting to engage in

Literary battle.

Hear your pen rattle

Out scant thoughts

Sssshhhhhh.  I don’t want to 

Compromise my hiding position

Be on alert.  Listen.

Heard you whispering my name

Thought I’d lost my game

Laughing at me from the shadows

Hoping I wouldn’t step back into the jungle.

Well the jokes on you Jack!

Cos I’m BACK! You ain’t seen nothing yet

Better protect your similies

And metaphors

Before my scatter gun approach

Leaves you breathless. Choked.

Flaying arms like a semaphore 

Flag. Count to 10 while you grab

Your wordproof coat and your inferred pen.

Got a perfect aim

So run now.  Don’t make me maim

Or kill you

Want to just stun

With my wordplay gun

Set you pelting through

The poetry jungle

Panting.  Blinded. Humbled.

Constantly looking over shoulders

See if I’m catching up some how

You’re numb now.

Make you question your identity

Wondering who sent me

Wasn’t a Prime Ministers call

To this word-army

I came of my volition 

Following my own mission

Bringing a coupe

Knock you down in one fell swoop -

Freeze…

Camouflaged behind trees.

I breath.

Sniper pen on grid lock

Ink trigger on cock.

New vocabulary loaded to inspire.

Ready. Aim. More FYRE!

Data Footprint

Every time I sign

Or uncheck to decline

Register completely free

Subscribe to an RSS-feed

Download an iTune

Or hit the back button too soon

Select an IM theme pack

Opt-in for free call back

Click on a search result

Hit Red on the Sky remote

Go abroad with my mobile phone

Switch the Bluetooth on

Vote online for my favourite celebrity

I leave a trail of data activity

How can I offset

This data footprint?

Eroding my privacy

Compromising my identity

What if I switched off the opt-out box

After each and every ‘secure’ sign-up?

Would that be enough to stop

Big Bruvva from catching up.

Can I ever reverse the damaging effects

Of carrying out online price checks

That build up a history

Of my shopping infidelities.

Maybe I should choose

To buy a ticket and not use

The TFL conveniency

Of the Oyster card registered to me

Then would it be enough

To decoy the digital age double bluff

Or am I already

Sneered in the World Wide Web conspiracy?

 And damn the lure of user generated

Content I voluntarily created

Which seductively whispered in my ear

“It’s OK! You’re friends are all here”

I feel like Eve

So naïve

As I bite on the apple 

Of the data capture tree 

 

So I Facebook hypnotically

Uploading my life’s chronology

Like they ain’t already got enough on me

Polluting my own personal security

With pictures and pokes

And networks and notes

Divulging data in my real name

Things that should never be in the public domain

Can I recycle data detection?

Offset with data protection?

Perhaps.

In fact

I am the one who breached

The Act 

I thought would keep

Sacred my data identity

I am the emitter 

A Global data warming player hater

All the same

Don’t hate the data player

Hate the capture game.

Urban Poet © 21/07/07

Reality TV

Who sees

When another

Wannabe

Parades their

Arse

On Reality TV?

The World Sees.

And is ready

To please

The arse

Who needs

This ravenous

Validity

And will make

Themselves broke

To vote

And prolong the

Joke

Of this perpetual

Fallacy

Of 30 second

Celebrity.

But does

Reality TV Vote

Stop young hands

Slitting another

Young throat?

Can’t fix

What ain’t broke

As this

Chain of command

Has been doing

The route

For centuries.

The World knows

The truth

But is side blinded

To the root

The cause

And effect

Of Systematic

Neglect

Of school reports

That project

Young black boys

As a threat

Then fail to

Protect

Their needs

And good intent

The family structure

Too

Is black and blue

From generations

Who bore the

Scars of

Emasculation

Only had mummy

To do

What some daddies

Never learnt to.

Thus leaving her to

Guide her sons thru

The minefield

Of manhood

When she herself

Stood

Still, recovering from

A minefield

Detonation

Wounded, she

Leans on

The State

As a husband.

Out of the minefield

Into a Nuclear Station.

Yet she Sojourns on

‘Cause the Truth

Is she has

Ambition

And Sheer

Determination

To get her

Young son

And his brother

Safely to the

Adult border

Around Trident,

Court Orders,

Stop and Search

Micky D drive-thru orders

Bling cultures

A myriad of

Freeloaders and

Other people’s lustful

Daughters

And sons

The ones with guns

The misogynistic ones

Who only see

Arse and tits

On a hoe

And a bitch

And slow motioned

Hunnies, licking

Parted lips

With breasts that

Shimmer

With body glitter;

In a pum-pum printa

That wines

On hot-housed hips

Portrayed in many a

Music video

Shit.

Where MTV is

God

And the Devil is

The Apprentice

Discovery

A National Geographic

Documentary

In this negated

Tragedy

Where the only

Escape from insanity

Is to be

A wannabe

On RealityTV

Where the World

Will then see

Their seemingly ravenous

Need

For Validity.

Vote please.