Friday, 28 August 2009

upon a kiss.

a williamsburg evening
a poetry reading
and those words that
did delcare
my dispair, she,
left them for the air
the parisian
the hardness of her
the softness within
rolling warmth
nothing to do,
but fall in

(Really though
she was pretty i mean.. really really truly.
so much so i don't think i've ever
had a girl like her.
those jeans. that hair. even the jumper!
a night where life gets, better
you feel, stronger
to the point that
those lonely nights before
where worth it
like i had to take that road
in order to deserve it)

starts, a joke, a dare
wondering how far one would go
and then laughter died
upon a kiss,
and the smile remained
yet changed
moved from polite laughter boulevard
to satisfied hunger drive for
another, she wrapped
unfolded to her
entrances. passes. hands
on riding chests- some -
screaming mess as hair
swooshed(!) in a sweaty manner, wrangled n' pushed
upon I
while the lay-laying
on my words of despair
though true, (well it was true once-
every lie has been
(upon I. ) once
upon her. )
shaking greenpoint Y
Manhattan outside
the skyline was
upon I was
upon she
was upon my words
the words

Thursday, 27 August 2009

the last subject. the last emotion.

I know it's not love
but, i promised myself i would stop feeling a certain way
no it couldn't be because if it was we'd be
in deeper shit than i thought
but it isn't because I don't even like you.
no, that's not true, but i promised myself
(i promise myself a lot of things)
I promised to stop writing about that subject
yet neglect has not shown a rusted feel
like love was ever REAL. it's not. really.
there is no such thing, its a veil, a mask, a thing that refuses to last. then again it's hard to believe if you're a child of today where your parents where never IN love, or fell out if it.
yes if you're a teenager/ young adult of today it's hard to believe in it.
Me? I've seen it. felt it. but all i ever did was be in love. what happened to your goals, again?
have you seen these people?
it's so gross. have you ever talked to one of your friends in love? when all he ever says is "man, this is it. this is it. wow" and when you tell him how you fucking snuck around the prison level in splinter cell: double agent WITHOUT USING ONE BULLET he just says something along the lines of "yeah, i don't play video games anymore, I'm too busy having sex with the woman i love"
and how do i feel right now: angry. yes. because i fell into that spell i guess. I digressed. When time could have been better spent bettering myself i was too busy wondering how she felt.
check the poems. there are about a million of them.
don't fall deep in people. Love is a harsh thing and most people aren't ready for it. Get a job. Make some money. Love yourself and don't ever think you're below anyone else.

i don't know if this is a poem. i guess it is. for those who are wondering, obviously no the text has not been edited.

I'm me.
Yeah, I'm me.
Baby I'm me.
So who you?
Fuck you!
and i know that ain't fare
but i don't care
I'm a motherfuckin' cash money millionare.
I know that ain't fare but i don't care
I'm still a motherfuckin' cash money millionare biiitch!!!

ah weezy you make life so easy.

I remember when it WAS easy. I miss the days when my life was planned out easy. go boxing. go comedy clubs. go school. If i was still following that pattern today, i, man. i miss the comedy clubs. i miss the trainers of the times. school is different.

I'm in america and I miss my friends. Eve, Jade, Aimee, Dempsey. Hell, sometimes even Jim and Zia. I'm happy luka is around. i guess i've been hounding joey to hang out with me as soon as we get back to nyc (ahh rhymes are back) but none are a sister and none are a brother/Uwarrior.\\
Jokes in the kitchen eating the leftovers.
Jokes on the pitch shooting(and sometimes missing) hoops
Jokes that don't seem to get made anymore, laughing at fools on facebook, on youtube.
Jokes. I AM enjoying myself.
i should have brought a camera. so you could see what i see.

louise and simon are fantastic. especially louise. she is worried about me because she can tell when i feel sad. she knows im missing home but it's not her fault, i mean, being with them, waching tv, having supper, it just makes me miss my family.

I need to get to new york. everything will get better once i hit the nyc. i can...i just can there. the power of 'can'. ha! ahhh

the subject at hand was- fuck it. im not publishing this. here luka, from me to you.

Sunday, 16 August 2009

The last poem

I know you said once, and thought about it
And if you did,
If you where to tattoo your wrists
Of all the things, you should tattoo this:
The loved one is.
Because Aimee, you are
If not by a, north Londoner
Then your mother and father
If not them, you got the princess
And if not Leah, then
Whoever has the honour
To call themselves
Your lover
Because the loved one is
And the loved one you are:
The lone wolf howling at the moon
Guided by the northern star
Showing up all those who regretted
Never taking it this far
Don’t keep that truth hid
And speak it to those
Who never knew or did, (Dig?)
If a world one wanted
Seemed too vast to start
Remember their expedition
Will keep such places apart
Removing home from the heart
Helps make your past only a part;
Giving your future useful tips
Like counting the ways
In which you are rich
(Light beneath the eyes, soft hands
Strong mind, true grit)
“And, like, man” if ever in doubt
Put these words to your lips:
The loved one I am,
(the loved one you are)
The loved one is-
Do you really need a tattoo
To remember this?

Friday, 14 August 2009

the last letter


your last may just be your best.

A typical Sean poem about a not so typical girl constantly in a love/hate relationship with the world and, it’s never for any good reason… because there never is one. It transcends success and failure. It’s poetry in motion. Even when it feels like it’s not- it is. A life that if was a graph would look like a rollercoaster but, at least you’re not still in neverwhere engaged to a guy who you KNOW when he gets older is going to pull his white socks up as high as he’ll wear those cream shorts you know? (With that dark brown leather belt? And the cheap sneakers?)

At times one lives not a life accepted, but know we never accepted, the life expected

so do do do do what you want to forsake these feelings just gives your past an excuse to haunt.


Tuesday, 4 August 2009

cloud runner.

Run across clouds
to the end of sky
wont even chat skype
no need for hype: they're
lighter than me without you
a destination of complete blue
no excuse of a shadow to run to
it's meaningless empitness to thee
yet the sun blesses all that i see
while looking back on this jet
thinking about what i have left;
when jess said my life my best
walking her to the station
no doubt there was a picture
of a man feeling blessed
(but let us not dwell on the effect)
undress all worries for,,, floatability,
for security, no doubts: for flyability
release the ground-level stress
-if all i ever do
is run to endless blue
keep lightfeet fast past
even a broken sinew-
one final breath, one final rest
Now it's time to start running
now the weight loss is finally
going to be put to the test

box clever.

Jab (hiss) jab (hiss)
right cross jab hook
(ish! ish! ish!)
slip to the left, slip to the right
one, two three four knock him out of sight!
Tie your boots, wrap your wrists
insert your gum-shield, glove your fists
the pressure from your opponent
you will not yield!
skip skip skip- across the ground it goes:
whip, whip, whip
punch punch punch on the bags it goes:
boom boom boom
real life fire comes from within
boxing with your mate now
keep it in the gym!

Monday, 3 August 2009

artists are so cool

I'm so not mainstream

not a part of any team
lets listen to patrick wolf as
Led Zeppelin are so passe
I'd pick wes anderson over scorsese any day
such tastes above such stature
nnrapture polaroid picture a christmas sweater
naked legs beneath riding an inclusive
(elusive? obtrusive?__) lecture
such style lends to others that waste
so originally cheesy
duran duran on my sony walkman- that's a tape player by the way? yeah?
home artists filled: crackpots diversity
without having to be-fortunately-diverse
fun. dance. love. the mantra that i speak
though i do not preach in reason, reasonable
seeing as i know nothing at all. an artist
a clay-maker. poet, writer and drug smuggler
my flat is like no other )(sd arliar)( but it's true)
university a wonder my day job is great
because it's... non-existent. nnnn tristan
and isolade or iso-sol wahtever it is
it inspires me to rock and roll like the skull on my back
the rose on my shoulder the dragon that crawls
up my leg. nnnn soooo unique
nnnnndo i have to leach off messages of peace?
annnnn if my life is just a squeak in a fabric
torn apart by fascists who know no art
let my veins bleed once more to gesture how
i will take no more, I'll twitter these views
until i die making up plays about robot slaves
foribelievethatiswhatweare (besides it sounds cool)
a-(and that's what I'm about really)-n life makes mean-(being cool)-ing full
for you let this be an education, i lay in misdirection
a permanent tennant to the house of creative masturbation.