Wednesday, 24 February 2010


Lights out.
I study the stillness of the dark
My eyes roam everywhere,
My only company: the baby-like cries
Of rampant foxes outside
And my sister's heavy breathing.
She sleeps in a fetal position.
I am filled with envy
Eyes green, glowing in the dark.
I wish I could sleep right now.
Maybe in another realm
My brain wouldn't be in overdrive
And I would be able to survive
The sick feeling in my gut
That shoots up to my throat
Forming a huge lump of emotion.
I have to snatch breaths
To stop yourself from crying.
The type you know once it melts
It will melt, flow everywhere
Soak you up.
It will wet the bed and wake
Your little sister
When she asks what's happening
You would just sheepishly
Tell her to go back to bed
As if it's easy to fall asleep
In a soaked bed.
So I just hold the lump.
Let it choke me
Inbetween shallow breaths.

Schemes swirl in my head.
I plan how I'll confront him
Pretend not to be hurt.
If I act upset he might
Actually think I care.
I convince myself,
It's not me who is hurt.
Just my pride that's all.
A few bruises here and there.
Deep down knows the truth
Of the full battering of my feelings.
The choking my ego received
But to admit, would be to
Say yes I care.
The clock by the bed blinks 0432.
Such an awkward time.
Or laughing at his jokes
When all you really wish for
Is long nails to scratch the
Fuck out of his eyes.

I try to count sheep
Hoping that would bring me sleep
Instead I wonder why he can't
Be mine alone.
Mine to keep.
She would just have to be
The one to fuck off.
I hate her. Hate him,
Myself and the fact that even
With this evidence before me
I will not let him go.
She's cute. Nothing on me though.

I think to myself,
If love were easy,
I would have fucked her by now
Just so I could brag like
Been there, done that.

Group work- Walk.

The laughs we had were great
staying up so late
walking, killing some time
no ones in central london at this hour
but they left the lights on
listening to bob dylan and free
and walks till he's tired
a bus stop
a man that thinks he's homeless
drunken couple
memories of our moments alone
he's passed out she's pissed off
passes on peoples radar when they're begging.
i felt you had love for me
you think about chatting her up
fingers crossed her boyfriend doesn't wake up

Tuesday, 16 February 2010

Cool Blue (Jazz)

I'm addicted to the Cool Blue
Cool Blue, she takes me high
Makes me high till I grow
Feathers and fly.
Addicted to the Cool Blue
Follow her wherever she takes me
I ask no questions
But listen to how she
Makes the saxophone sing
Like a lover's deep slow moan
Feel how she makes the trumpet
Burble tales of pain
I watch how she digs, digs
Searching inside me
Just so she can see me weak
Vulnerable, tears flushing my eyes.
Cool Blue makes me feel content
She uses Coltrane as her interpreter
To translate music notes to colours
She speaks. I listen.
I take her all in, absorbing her
Till my heart swells. Explodes.
I'm slave to the Cool Blue
For she makes me feel free
Addicted to the Cool Blue
Dark as the rain
Loud and insane
Her rhythm rests in my head
Making me feel like making love
The way she injects jelly in my knees.
Chills climb up my spine
Till my ears burn like a nut allergy
Goosebumps planted all over my skin
Whenever I take a hit of Cool Blue.


She spoke English to alienate us
We spoke back in Shona
Voices laced in adniration. Fascination.
How could one as black us.
Young as us. Speak so white?
Pearls spilling out of her mouth.
She wanted nothing to do with us
We wanted all to do with her father's money.
Eat lunch after school in fancy restaurants
Have ice cream after each meal & Barbies to behead
Knowing Mama would but new ones anyway,
Birthday presents from the President
Because were best friends with his kids.
She never joined in our streetgames
But sat by the portholed roadside
Watching. Pretty face marred with disdain.
We almost broke legs in competition
For her friendship and attention
Just so we could impress her.

She frowned at our barefeet,
Dry skinned heels adorned with deep cracks.
She wore American clothes.
Our mothers made ours.
We would marvel at her All Stars.
After all we could only afford North Stars.
Before she came we hardly ever noticed
Our homemade garments, ashy knees & nappy hair.
She breezed in on her high horse: Daddy's Benz
Lotioned skin, store bought clothes
Chemically boiled hair & an English accent.
She made us look poor. Feel poor.
Us children of whote collar professionals.
We didn't realise that private school
Didn't crown her more intelligent.
It just opened her to a wider world
One we only experienced on black & white TV screens.

The grass is always greener.
So blinded were we with envy
We failed to see hers.

Sunday, 7 February 2010



For approximately 1 minute
I was king

The feeling as the ball rolled from my hand,
arrowing straight down the centre of the lane,
mantaining a position of perfection,
as it travelled at the speed of delight,
equal distance between the two gully's.

My own projectile missile,
Target locked on.
Upon Impact,
producing a harmonic sound of an organised crescendo of chaos,
as the ball struck the centre pin.
The catalyst for the chain reaction,
collapsiong all 10 pins.
Nothing left

That was my moment

I'd long ago accepted my position,
as issued by God.
My rank being verbal punchbag,
in the great order of things.

I'm the one you wonna play pool against,
after you've just taken a whipping.

Talk to me for an instant ego boost

My social scene is like a fruit machine
My mates are like the cherries,
always in pairs.
I'm the lemon.

I turned back round,
and saw my 3 friends,
and their girlfriends,
with their mouths open wide,
as if they were about to engage in speech,
but nothing was coming out.

I never knew silence could make a sound so beautiful

Another Monday afternoon
Sitting at my desk
Biting the spoon that feeds me
It's my teams shift to answer the phone

I'm pretendning to help the girl on the desk next to me
When really,
were both just making excuses,
to not answer the phone

Were currently in a very deep conversation,
about what jobs we used to have.
She tells me,
she used to work part-time in Mark One
I tell her,
I worked as a groundsman for an old school freind,
he was a tree surgeon.

"Becuase your a dick"

"Mate I've changed"

"na, I'm not having it. I don't wonna hang about with you no more"

12 or more years of freindship
No more.
Slammed the phone down like I,
cut the power from,
life support.
Sending 100,000 volts down the telephone chord

Standing in the hallway at Mum and Dad's.
but still consious of other people in the house,
over hearing my conversation.
12 or more years,
no more.

I stare at my computer screen,
my screen stares back at me.
I'm not intrested in the information it has to offer.
I'm too busy,
going over the same of train of thought,
I go through at least once a week.
Sick of the commute.
In my head,
I'm still trying to justify,
the reasons why,
I ended the freindship.

Was I right?

Course I was.
I had too.
The lies.
I sometimes wonder if he even saw me as a mate,
or just a trusty sidekick,
who's powers were not as strong,
makeing him feel better about himself.
The lies.

The phone rings.
I answer it.
The person at the otherr end is angry.
I'm angry.
I've made myself angry.
I'm sending letters,
threatening to reposess this persons car.

I could hear his girlfreind in the back ground.
One of the many wrong-un's,
that used to occuppy,
the passenger side,
of his badly modified,
ragged to shit,
Fiat Punto.

Big key scratch down the driver sider.
The latest episode,
in some tit for tat spat,
he had,
with some other prick.
Dick swinging.
I told him he was gonna get kickin if he carried on.
And no matter how much he reved that car,
it was never gonna compensate,
for that part of his life,
where he felt small.
Pity the fool.

I take a payment from the person.
Holding off repossesion,
for another month.
My thought train contiunes,
doing loop the loops.
His train,
was off the rails.
Should I have stuck around,
till he was at least back on track?
Or was he always destined for that path?

I wonder if his family hold a grudge against me