Thursday, 30 August 2012


The scars on your face spoke to me
Your hands, the most distressed leather, still steely strong
The weight of age has never broken and rarely even bowed you
A mother of light
Shuffling your dominion,
One pace this way creating a feasting table
One brushed gesture this, shaping a worshipping place
The honeycomb sacrament sucked dry
Coats every surface
A vehicle for that sweet sentiment
That we don’t share the words for
And I’d never finish it all but I carried it as far I could
Worker corpses and all, in a powdered milk tin
To a hotel bed where fever took me
And my departure began,
A parting meeting with a boy called Smoke
And a thousand things that I’ll never know
The structure of stories etched into your skin
A parchment legacy, a living lineage
Matching the radiant youth,
Hope for Hope, Smile for Smile
Balanced in equal beauty whilst I float between
And slowly drift away
A thin line connected to your fates barely holding
Growing colder, more strictly defined
And somehow brighter, I outline designs
To make it shine, embellished
But that which connects also separates
And touch can’t always match taste
So I hold a honeycomb memory underneath my tongue
Growing sweeter as every line marks my face,

Thursday, 2 August 2012

Mountain Top

They’re talking about you placing blame
But they don’t even know your name
That was written in the ink of a scholar
At the bottom of a declaration saying never shall I follow
Asking sometimes don’t you think you’re seeing things that aren’t there?
It’s them not seeing what is, wandering blind scared
In the kingdom where the one eyed five hunt the self-aware
And those with nothing left to lose thrive without fear
Watching the house of cards wobbling, overbalanced at the top tier
From a clear mountain top breathing clean air
And cultivating together
Respect for ourselves and each other
Struggling with hatred
We internalized the lessons
No matter how hard we fought
So it’s a daily mission
To undo all the damage taught
To accept all the damage done
Recognise we’re not the perfect ones
Forgive ourselves enough to push on
Never paralyzed by indecision
No longer anesthetized at their discretion
Free to feel again
Hurt again breathe again
Bleed again
Stand tall against the next collision
With false patriarchs and their illusions
There’s no such thing as a benevolent murderer
So we take blows and spit blood
Expect nothing less
Than to bleed for this
Grind for respect
We build and reflect
Take time to connect
Establish foundations and mode of address
Question privilege
Responses found wanting we reject
Spread wings and flourish unencumbered
For our days may be but we shall never be numbered