Life all around us

Welcome to Urban poems. Real life. Real words. Poetic flow.

11 September, 2009

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 -
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?


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


Parades their


On Reality TV?

The World Sees.

And is ready

To please

The arse

Who needs

This ravenous


And will make

Themselves broke

To vote

And prolong the


Of this perpetual


Of 30 second


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


Of school reports

That project

Young black boys

As a threat

Then fail to


Their needs

And good intent

The family structure


Is black and blue

From generations

Who bore the

Scars of


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


Still, recovering from

A minefield


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


And Sheer


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


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


With body glitter;

In a pum-pum printa

That wines

On hot-housed hips

Portrayed in many a

Music video


Where MTV is


And the Devil is

The Apprentice


A National Geographic


In this negated


Where the only

Escape from insanity

Is to be

A wannabe

On RealityTV

Where the World

Will then see

Their seemingly ravenous


For Validity.

Vote please.