Such a nice boy
Was he.
Until they chopped him down
They did.
Until he fell down bleeding
Yes he did.
Chipping away at his nice
they did.
Piece by piece he died
Sadly did he.
They made an example of his broken
They did.
Martyr for nice martyr for real
He was.
They destroyed hope, those people
They did.
POETRY
King
You don’t need a crown
to rule over people’s minds.
You don’t need a thrown
to have the respect of others.
All you need is:
voice
brain
cause
image
Look at him!
He beats his chest with his ways,
not his hands.
They all listen – and stare.
They follow because he had a voice.
He made them believe they needed a cause.
He was the cause.
You see – he has a brain.
His image was power because
from the beginning he was King.
No need to say you’re king
if you believe you’re king.
People follow if you believe.
Now he rules them;
quite simple really.
Don’t call me that
Did I give you permission?
I don’t believe I did…
They tormented me with that name;
The damage is done.
And my name is ruined…
It only holds the pain
That bursts at the sound of my name!
Do you know how much it hurts,
Hurts for your own name
To be your biggest tormentor?
So wait until you call me that,
Wait for eternity!
The scars will always be there;
The pain never goes away;
This is what it feels like to be dirt,
Dirt that they threw in my face.
Don’t call me that
Don’t call me that
Don’t call me that
DON’T!
Something not everything
Stand for something…
Not everything.
Don’t be a Jack-of-all-trades
spread too thin, too wide –
for what?
Everything else suffers…
Dig a hole – go deep in few things;
be a genius in a field
rather than a cleaner in all.
A friend to all is a friend to none.
Be bold.
Stop chasing everyone’s shadow.
Be the light.
Dimples
Your dimples
are simple
craters in
my lonely heart.
Fists
Did you hear about that boy?
I did – he’s so young!
I wonder what caused it…
I heard his mother didn’t love him.
But why do something so horrific?!
Maybe she did it to him when he was small…
He’s on steroids now.
I blame the father…
He left when he was little apparently…
I wonder why…
I heard it was because of the child.
So maybe it started then even!
The fists?
The fists.
But I just think of the poor mother.
I’ve seen the bruises.
This is too terrible.
Better not get involved.
It’ll go away.
It always does.
No it doesn’t
PUNCH
Bleed
Bruise
Broken
Manic Music-Making
stave-life fill in lines and spaced
dot on a page lines skyward downward
up down and around
sharp ways
flat tears
time my time
common time march
to the beat of the song
now dance!
swerve slide drop
and now bounce!
let the sounds engulf
swallow
transform
to another place!
music soul!
electronic beating
heart pounds
sing and belt
vibrato all over worry not!
repeat alter lyrical physical
and fade
fade fade
beat
silence!
Basketball Lesson
He scores his aspirations
like a dunk of the ball.
Train hard – think harder!
Burn until the ball goes in.
Sound of loss
Ta-ta-ta!
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Tick-tick-tick-tock!
Ploinks!
Drip drip drip drip…
I think my respect for you is leaking…
Mellifluous
When he first sang they stopped
as one would at sound so pure.
Gifted he was –
passionate too!
Such an angelic quality
(enough to cause rivers).
Touched hearts of all who heard –
gift was it so sure I am!
Quite powerful to stop a room,
let them listen,
silence the noise and give hope all over.
Travelling far not caring much
for passion is power:
he knew it as such.
Not for the money-fame,
that would be a shame.
Not a game:
his purpose.
Trained all along,
not taking for granted.
Practise until bleeding –
believing even when not believing.
A future filled with song:
Mellifluous Adventures!
Mr Individualist 