If we are lucky, we grow old; if we are wise, we will remain forever young.

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She has fallen through the cracks,

of the system that just lacks,

that human touch and eyes that really see

While she suffered all the bruises
And the worst kind of abuses,

Those that could, and those that should,

Just let it be.

“Well, it’s not our fault you know”

“We’re understaffed and we must toe, the

system rules that we get from above”

...

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Well, there’s a light

At the end of the tunnel.

But it still looks so far off to me.

But we'll keep walkin’ on straight, and embracing our fate,

‘cos freedom’s where we thought it would be.

Some look at this state

With eyes of envy.

They shout and they curse and they scream.

Yet they want it so much

And say, it’s outta their touch

So from thei...

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There was a half open window
that half held back the night
and a half hearted fighter
who had given up the fight
and a half empty bottle
that held the remnants of his dreams
and a promise that tomorrow may never come.

On the corner stood a vendor
who would shout about the news
but he didn’t really give a damn
about which side would win or lose
for he’d seen it all ...

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The things that I do, I don’t do outta malice

I just take a few trinkets, and give them to Alice.

She stores them away for a dark rainy day

And gives me protection and a Place where I stay.

I look outta the window, there’s no pane of glass

Wont go out today, I’ll just sit on my ass,

‘cos Alice aint watchin’ she’s collapsed on the floor

She’s been like it ...

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Tattoo the toilet walls with prophetic wisdom

break the chains of your emotional restraint

treat with contempt the conventions of failure

disenthrall the disenfranchised heart.

Do not trust the echo of rebellion in hollow words

seek to find truth in actions

question yourself as you would question others

and judge yourself harshly as others undoubtedly wil...

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It’s the dogma of the righteous.

It’s the sceptre of the king.

It’s the poison in the chalice.

It’s the axe that madmen swing.

It’s the sorrow for no reason.

It’s the bitterness of tears.

It’s the act without redemption.

It’s the fear, of fear, of fears.

It’s the pain of never knowing.

It’s the wound that never heals.

It’s the pressure of the ...

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The tracks of tears on dusty cheeks that fell from the eyes that were dulled by a vision of tomorrow.
The head held high in defiance of a fate that could not be worse than what had gone before.
The blood soaked shirt that hung from the wire like a flag from a long forgotten cause. 
This is the price of your lie.

The distended belly the sunken eyes the silence in the midst of so much ...

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This is a poem that was written by an old friend of mine called Paul Nunn who I have a long music association with. He heard some of my performance poetry and asked if I would record this one. It is my pleasure to have done so.

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In the corner, darkly

Sat the man with one eye closed.

Could he really see me?

I guess he could, one would suppose.

Or maybe he was restin’

Only one eye at a time.

Or one eye he could see with

And in the other he be blind.

If this really was the case

Then which eye should I now trust?

And should I sit and play my cards

And hope that he’ll ...

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I have my own little piece of the world.
Sure, it has its problems, but nothin’ too much.
It has its pleasures and there’s more than enough.
And I’ll share them with you; I will share them with you.

So, put down that rifle, and put down that gun.
Let’s take back those words that hatred begun.
Let’s tear down those icons that make us ignore
The cries of our own, the cries of our ...

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