Yesterday's tears are today's laughter

i see my face
reflected in a dirty teaspoon
it laughs at me

yesterday is uncomplicated
time wipes tragedy clean
and yesterday glimmers
with a shine it never had

today is grimy and dirty
but tomorrow
it too shall find its sparkle

how do you live in the present
when it is in past glory
that we find the strength
to carry on

mountains collapsed
can rise once more
but today's meadows
hold no promise of volcanos

the face that looks at me
from the inside curve of the teaspoon
still laughs
it seems to know the answers
even before i ask the questions

i laugh back......

Medieval fantasy

He is the swordbearer
Keeper of charms
Protector of dreams
Lover of life
Yet at peace with destruction
Driven by compulsion
To do what needs to be done
He lives with an ancient charm
Honour holds his head high
And his heart strong
......

They

They do not know me
Though they pretend to
Easier that way
They can look through me
At least whichever part offends them
At that particular moment
I am indefinable to them
Invisibility keeps the peace
Though it leaves me tattered
In two pieces
Identity is mine to chose
Single pea in a pod for two
Identity is mine to chose
As long as my politically correctness
Strokes their prejudices
And lives up to their stereotype
Someone please define black for me
Can anyone define white for me
Like paint, can I declare myself grey
Can I pick whatever space is comfortable for me
Can I?
Can u breathe red angel dust
And cough out blue speckles
The 7 colours of a rainbow
Are rarely seen
The world beneath black & white
Is rarely what it seems
I speak the realest truths
When bolstered by drink
And hide my true realness
When sober
Catch 22

Birth chant

I was born with a black star
Suspended above my head
And imprinted on my heart

I was born with an eagle
Engraved on my skin
And embossed on my mind

I was born beyond race
I was born without nationality
I was born in beauty
I was born into colonial madness

I was born into a life
Tainted by a past we refuse to let go
And a future we are unable to see

I was born into duality
My wings carry the stripes of a zebra
The feathers flapping into the eternal wind of forever

I was born into an ideal
I was born into here & now
I was born
And now I live

for sale

i came
i saw
i sold my art
to the devil
for peanuts
on his terms

i am not sure
whether
it is the sale of my art
or the price at which I sold it
that hurts me most

curious

does that make me bad?

After dark

After the sun sets
I am reborn
Cleansed by darkness

Comfort resides in the silence
Of a sleeping world
Inhabited by stars and moths

The fridge hums a calming soundtrack
To the rattling of thoughts
Ideas are born
And die instantly
Swirling down the funnel
Of impossibility

'I can' is a mantra
I recycle endlessly
Because it sounds nice
Rhythmic manifestation of my thinking

Sip from the fountain
Drink from the lake
Submerge yourself
In the darkness

After dark
Anything is possible

control letdown

dreams are angels
that lift us on their wings
the enactment of distant fantasy
mutates our thoughts
which become the ground we walk on

vision is abstract
the taste of tomorrow
lingers on the tips
of our tongues
the aftertaste of yesterday
can be bitter or sweet
and sometimes neither

the words we speak
are like butterflies flapping
aimlessly in a dry breeze
colourful, pretty
and sometimes useful

my mind wanders
collecting random thoughts
to be spat out by my pen
or, in this case,
fingers gently tapping this keyboard

if i hoard enough ideas
will my future be guaranteed?

one day i shall tell my children
i could've been
or would've have been
had i spent a little less time in my head

my mind wanders ......

a box

within a small, black and white
cardboard box
tucked away in the back of my wardrobe
resides my spirit
hidden from the prying eyes
of those who crush dreams

within that box
seen by few
lies my optimism
my belief that the world can only get better

my eyes has seen too much
my heart has felt too much
languishing in puddles of pain
that cannot be changed
my fingers have trembled
as they held new life
knowing that tomorrow
no longer holds the charm
it once held

as so i protect my soul
from the tragedies of today
by hiding it in a small
black and white cardboard box
tucked away in the back of my wardrobe
beneath clothes i never wear

temporary psychology

We cruise life's highways
Catching glimpses of tomorrow
And watch them fade away
In the rearview mirror of time

We force normality
Down the throats of our children
And hope that their understanding
Shall be realised instantly

We dance between TV channels
Consuming shallow psychology
To fix issues that took centuries
To create

We sip on life
Never tasting its flavours
Never ingesting its substance
Only seeking temporary satisfaction
And wonder why it isn't permanent

The cliches speak of dreams
Carved over lifetimes
And still we expect everything
To happen tomorrow
When it is the day after
We should be looking to

When did the rewards of labour
Become the joys of luck?
When was success packaged
Put in aisle 3 of the supermarket
And sold for 19.99?
When did it become less about the challenge and satisfaction of accomplishment?

Why do I still seek the dignity of toil
When it seems those who do not
Fly close to the sun
Never to come down?

ramblings

wanton melody drives me to the verge of insanity
dreams of the perfect thought are my vanity
I have never been to cantebury
but I wish to write tales that honour the memory of chaucer
my culture is my own
a merger of kingdoms of humanity
and deformity
a tragedic burden I carry in my soul
they sold jesus' cross for mankind's penance
the spanish inquisition exported across centuries
& planted on the shores of this world
better late than never

a saturday afternoon

One day I shall leave home with nothing but a notebook and a pen
I shall find an irrelevant backward dive
And occupy a seat in the darkest of corners
Where my presence is forgotten

I shall order cup after cup of hideous, re-heated coffee
I shall smoke cigarette after cigarette
And watch the world happen from this, safest of corners

And when the caffeine has ignited my inspiration
The nicotine has charged my blood
And the muse has me within his grip
I shall write, and write, and write
I shall write about everything, anything and nothing
No-one and no thing shall be left untouched by my pen

I shall sit and write beats
And melodies
And broken lives
And distorted souls
I shall write it all

One day I shall do this but today
On this dreary saturday afternoon
All I have is intention
I am driving without purpose
Afraid to stop and pick up a pen
Because I know that I am still lost
And shall only be found
When I find that nook in the wall
Where my greatness shall finally be realised
Where I shall write enough to last me a lifetime
Where I shall end these days with words
And a few drops of arsenic
Where they shall find me
In pinero's image
Collapsed in a cold, dank, dirty corner

A corner where I finally found myself
And realised my reason for dying
I had written it all
There was nothing worth living for

foolishness

flaccid flakes float faintly onto my upward turned face
false fantasy flays in the face of foundations
raindrops are the metaphoric randomness of my life
each drop a word spoken without thought
lightening comes before the thunder
slices through my chaos
and breaths light into my order
my deepness lies in my undecipherable thoughts
profound language does not imply profound thinking
but that doesn't mean i won't try

most days i think about sex
but not as much as they say i should
i am human tho i've forgotten what that means
the day i come apart at the seams
please re-stich my dreams
and send me on my merry way
i came here not to play
rather to teeter on the edge of reality

nonsense is the chaos i crave

as a child i never misbehaved
now I am making up for it
by following the rules of insanity
or perhaps my vanity
has finally found its voice

i could keep writing
but the voices are speaking loudly
i can't hear myself speak
and so i sleep

how

How do you write about the stars
Without repeating what's been said
How do you capture the essence of a picture
Without getting lost in words
How do you embrace love
And speak without cliche

How do paint a lyrical picture
Without dated inflection
How do you find your place in a rich history
When infinite word has already been spoken
How do you speak of colour
When they have already painted

How do live lifetimes
When they have already been lived
How do find the questions
When the answers have already been given
How do you build dreams
When they are manifested daily

These are questions
That have been answered

How?

Instant poetry

The inside of my notebook
Is a tepid mug of dirty water
Slightly blackened by a spoon of coffee

An attempt to add colour and flavour with sour milk has failed
Curd flakes dance around the edge
Jostling for position

I put the lukewarm liquid to my lips
I have nothing else to quench my infinite thirst
The tastelessness traces the inside of my mouth
And I gag on its nothingness

The regurgitated aftertaste is all that I have left
And I remember once more
How I hate weak coffee
And instant poetry

in the beginning

For those of you who are aware of my blog (The Imperfect Poet), you will know that, in discovering that I can post by email, I have started this space to truly take advantage of this avenue.

As a poet, I try to exercise my writing muscle every day by maintaining a poetry journal. One of the exercises available to me as a writer is to make sure that I approach this writing from an open, non-judgemental, creative space. While I haven't always maintained my journal writing, I generally type some words into my beloved BlackBerry just before I go to sleep every night.

Imperfect Poetry is the space in which I will share these 'raw & uncut' scribblings. Hope you enjoy.

Easy