These Genes.

Yes.
They fit quite well.
Give us a spin in them,
I can tell
You walk the walk like her-
the talk of him as well.
Wear them-
styled right-
not the noose that strangled tight,
Those consumed before you.
Around you-
know the weight of them may drown you-
but this profound you?
You treaded waters where they floundered.
Gulping shit, sewage seas
-of waves ripping through the scheme
whispering-
shame, death, pain.
I’ll get you next time.
Whispering-
don’t you dare dream-
beyond the fit of these sad genes.
Whispering-
one day I’ll have you.

Wear them as they did-
you will hear them.
Echo traumas of their being,
without thinking or seeing.
You vomit their words,
do as they do,
spinning in the cycle too.
Fraying at the seams,
spawns of broken dreams-
Playparks,
shattered glass, tangled swings,
Patched with prescription drugs, drink-
and the stink
that clings.
But kid,
that shit’s not yours.

Yes.
I wear them too,-
glad you noticed.
Embellished, upcycled in protest.
Patches on concrete grey
mask the colour of my pain
-and disdain
for the broken down place-
I hailed from.

And here-
tidemarks at the bottom-
The shitty waters haven’t forgotten.
Spilling up from drains
whispering-
shame,
grief, loss, pain-
yet why can’t we have you?
Whispering-
how dare you have dreamed
Beyond the fit of those sad genes?
Whispering-
one day I’ll have you.

 

Journey of the Son

If we could see-
the love as he came.
Tears, joy- a new mother,
the delight of a father- the surprise
of kicks when he grew strong,
Safer moments cherished.

Their own before he knew it,
Stumbling words, scaling trees-
human, perfectly imperfect.
deaf to notions of nation.

Real in soul, heart and mind,
No defines of man’s borders
-place of birth, sounds of tongue.

Real is the danger he flees-
cries of a mother.
Fear of a father praying for life.

Real is humanity-
baby girls crying for home,
the old worn and broken, with-
young men adrift cold sea,
whispering songs for the dying.
Fear burning the strongest.

Replay for the safe,
this man calling.
for a safe place to start again-

See the pain. Shame.

The eyes to the heart of “the other”,
man, son, father, brother-
suffering. Suffered. Scarred.

Lost dignity and pride.
Face of a stranger.
This doesn’t define him-
open your heart,

before your eyes.

Mine Will Be The Last Cry

They feel me-
I break, shake, take back what’s mine.
For they claimed me-
Flagged, mapped, staked border lines.

Yet I gave land-
They conquer, kill, drill sky to sea.
Broken connections, I ache-
They trade my blood for my trees.

I lost them-
They war, hate, segregate sister and brother.
Material difference-
Seeking, exploiting unique traits of the other.

Citing advancement-
Using, abusing, poisoning air and water.
They’ll hear me;
I weep, rise, swallow sons and daughters.

The Matter

At the edge of everything
Lies reality of the matter.
Gently circling baby’s crown
A silken swirl whirls at light force.
She believes it makes him smarter-
What do I know anyway?

But a black hole,
Abuses of discovery
On a tiny, conflicted speck of life.
Hanging delicate position,
Advancement gifting light-speed
To destruction.

Darkness becomes,
Stars hide
and I
Watch leafy silhouettes stir brume.
Evanescent street light into night,
Dissolving immortal distance.
I wonder if she’s right.

Playwrights Of The Pawns

Absent are the Fathers
of masterful twitching hands.

The paper cup claspers,
fallen horses of capital race.

Nursing lost innocents,
abandoned ornaments of-

a crooked cabinet.
Symbolic sickness,
jeering circus chambers.

Birthed beneath the crust of-
fables of the free world.
Ammunition and full-up fools.
Actors to acquiescence.
Playwrights of the pawns.

Isla Mágica

I’m there-

You leading the way,
As fragrant forest opens to blue.
Inhaling deep,
The tune of whispering Med

-hushing us to sunset.

I can feel your eyes
Watching my smile,
Your skin casting glow of sea to sky.
Sun dancing  lazy waves-
To you.

Just for you.

I rest my head on you,
Tracing your thumb with mines
And together we sigh,
Dreading an inch of distance

-from here. From now.

Sailing the glittering path
I see you out there.
Everywhere,
In this moment

-longing to be back again.

Everyday Miracle

As drums harmonise
A soft snare compliments the strong bass-
Of the unconscious creator, the artist.
As flowers the pattern blooms,
Perfect timing, sacred ratio,
An every second miracle.
Precious and magical yet rarely considered.

Life rests in her waters as she’d float in a warm sea,
Cradled by nature.
Where nothing matters but that which is.
Weightless existence, universal connection
A beautiful knowledge forgotten-
Recollected throughout the earthly journey.

Between The Lines

Seek- you may discover,
Hidden between the lines.
Visibly concealed with doubt,
But to the closed, unthinking mind.

Emotive verse, loaded words,
Dark portraits of what’s to come.
Fear prevails our free thoughts,
At the cost of true freedom.

For how do we define a free man-
If not one without a master?
Of an independent, thinking mind-
From a narrative much darker.

Books, we’ve read and truth they’ve told-
To our young, enquiring minds,
Now the grown man trusts the written word-
Without thinking between the lines.

Tales Of Destruction

The outside wall on the living room floor,
She sits on a rock where once was a door.
Where he called her name; smiling, alive,
Now only his last cries will echo inside.

Through the holes in the room the sun still shines,
As though it doesn’t bear witness to humanities decline.
“Are we deserving of your warmth, your nurture and light?”
She falls to her knees, no tears left to cry.

Below in the street, a baby wanders alone,
Mounting rubble to find something left of his home.
Crying out for his Father or just anyone he knows,
Yet lost he is not, home crumbles at his toes.

Shattered glass rips his feet, he treads through the wreck,
In shock, deafened and sore, he rubs at his neck.
When broken shadows creep and whisper, then blanket the town,
He hides under a mattress, weeping into the ground.

A bloodied woman awakes in a foreign aid bed,
Crying out for her baby before news that he’s dead.
She lost her Husband last week to a missile in the night,
She screams vows of vengeance, to continue the fight.

A young Nurse consoles her, heartbroken and sad,
Thinking of her own child, safe at home with his Dad.
What’s happening here? Why are humans so bad?
They’re killing these children. Has the world gone mad?

Near her feet rows of white sheets conceal death on the floor,
Yet in her world this doesn’t make the news anymore.
Her Government reluctant to condemn, even take note.
With blind eyes they turn, war keeps them in coats.

But for the lost boys in the streets, the thousands broken hearted,
The widows, the orphans, the hurt and departed,
What justice is there for this suffering and loss?
In a world plagued with greed, where money is boss?

Strawberry Chocolate

Life like love is unpredictable,

A violent storm on a sunny day, 

Life is chocolate, you’re the strawberry,

The calmest, bluest, hottest day. 

 

I’m missing you, 

Really missing you, 

If I could sing the blues I’d do that too, 

Close my eyes and tap my shoes, 

Dream of kissing you… 

 

I can’t think about tomorrow, 

I’m busy drowning in my mind, 

A pool of strawberry chocolate sorrow,

The world is gone, I’m too far behind-

Unless I can be with you.

 

I’m missing you, 

Really missing you, 

So I’ll try singing the blues, 

Tapping my shoes, 

There’s nothing else that I can do- 

While I’m missing you, 

I can’t wait to be with you.