Childhood (Remove filter)
Growing Up
A colouring book becomes Facebook.
A tweet isn’t the sound from a bird.
Mobile devices hold us hostage
to high definition
when ambitions are blurred.
Light up trainers become stilettos
that shush insecurities
and tightly crush toes
,flashing in the strobe lights
of newly found adventure,
that makes us drunk on
possibilities and hope.
But dazzled by choice,
dazed by possibility,
we be...
Monday 29th August 2016 2:45 pm
...but not so little boys...from my new collection MUMB
Shielded in a force field cacophony of Peter Griffin’s laughter and a baseline dirge
with LED’s set on level Epileptica
the giant slumbers; he does not open an eye.
Hidden amidst his landscape of tissues, Lynx and Lucozade;
this is where childhood comes to die.
There once was a hand held tightly to the shops,
there was once a cartoon hero and kite making,
then he was...
Thursday 25th August 2016 3:07 pm
Childhood
While we help the country of others,
We forgot our own sisters and Brothers.
Some turn to thugs,
While others turn to drugs.
On the corner is a woman,
With no other option or plan.
Working to feed her kids,
Sold to anyone who bids.
Everyday a young child travels with death,
15 year old overdose on meth,
17 year old shot dead,
8 year old abused in own bed.
This ...
Friday 19th August 2016 1:48 am
These Streets
I was born here, under Maggie's rule.
Living beneath her Spitting Image character
hanging from a telecom wire overhead.
The youth here knew hate before they knew love
and everybody hated the Iron Lady.
Everything here was grey; from the rows of well-worn
tenements and dirt-strewn streets to the sunken eyes
of every battered wife.
Violence was rife, accepted as normality.
A messed up reali...
Tuesday 12th April 2016 11:07 am
When a child asks about the cruelty in the world.
Switch off the TV’s
Cover their ears
Wrap them in cotton wool
Drink all their tears
Drown them in fairy tales
Sing them sweet songs
Take them to places
The bad don’t belong
Bathe them in sunshine
Shower them with love
Serve them their childhood
Wearing kid gloves.
Thursday 24th March 2016 3:07 pm
The Making Of A Worker
The Making Of A Worker.
The lorry tips its rubble
On the road outside our house,
the privet hedge engulfed
in a primordial cloud of dust,
it drives away in chugging glee
having spilled its heavy load
and we stand and watch it go
as the carbon mountain settles.
The sergeant-major father
barks his orders at the troops
and our little hands clasp tight
the...
Tuesday 2nd February 2016 8:01 pm
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