Angry

I'm so tired of being angry

Angry at this and that and them.

I'm so tired of being the annoying voice

Whose screams become the wind.

I'm tired of telling you about inequality

How we leapt backwards since man (yes men) stepped on the moon.

I'm tired of telling you about real incomes

How they haven't moved since five prime ministers ago.

I'm tired of telling you about climate change

How we can't fool the atmosphere like you fool the news.

I'm tired of telling you about superbugs

How they will kill more than are in London each spin round the sun.

I'm tired of your Babels

Your idols and vain contempt

Your belief that history will change as you sit on your arse.

I'm tired by you who think Gen Z will save it all

Hoping their passion will excuse your inaction.

I'm tired of you who fear imaginary postmodern Marxists

Hoping to crucify those with a dream as 'woke'.

I'm so tired of being angry

Angry at this and that and them.

Yet a sin it is to keep calm and carry on

To pretend like Newcastle FC it's all okay.

So yes I'll flip those tables

And this next one I'll flip for you x

Class War

I stand inside a palace

Guarded by prison walls.

With barbed wire and electronic fences

We keep the commoners out.

Class War they call this building 

As we demolish away their housing.

The students must have it all

The divine right of kings is theirs.

A commoner lives in this palace

A crack in an airtight system.

A commoner lives in this palace

An appeasement to end the revolutions.

But a commoner is he still?

Now he eats his fancy dinners

And is paid enough to drink each night

While he lives inside these palace walls.

The system wants to buy him

To steal him from those to whom he came.

But if the system buys him now

What hope will others have?

The Bonfire

Around this fire,
I have seen and I have heard
All the dreams and all the fears.
A thousand stories told and gone.
Friends from far and friends from near
They have all been with me here.

But how this fire has aged me now,
For now, I sit in smoke and flames
As the world, I loved, burns all around.

For the first of times, I cannot speak
As smoke burns and chokes my heavy lungs
Yet now the smoke comes not from fire
But all the things I've done instead
And stopped me being here by the fire...
With you.

I still remember days of old,
When still innocent and sweet,
The fire was a simple place
Around which we would live as Kings
The days in which I read your words before you'd even speak.

But now as I have aged, and we have too,
As me and you became them and they
Our loss of innocence left me lost for words
Till the pressures of life have starved my air
So the fire remains the only place where I can breathe
But even here the airs now too thick to speak...
For today.

The Spring of Slavery

Peace in our time they promised us.
They pretended half our world was not alive,
So the illusion of peace could still survive.

In the world... where boy like man lives,
Those who spoke truth did choose to die.
The names of villains they taught as saints
For safety and prosperity,
Our freedom they bartered away.

Then across the globe, the people rose
Demanding the slaves be made free.
Under tanks and gas their bodies fell,
Until Kings (only kings),
Demanded to them our bodies we sell.

To the demons of hell our bodies we gave.
For why be free if to 'peace' man can still be enslaved?

America: The Journey to 2016

God Bless America,

The land of the brave and the free.

For here a quarter of the world’s criminals lay,

Waiting behind bars like flies.

In this land, we created you equal,

So long as God did not bless you with colour,

Then shorter and poorer your life may be,

Until the day we decide you can’t breathe.

Give me your tired, your poor, you claim.

Your huddled masses who yearn to breathe free.

So long as you not be Syrian,

Or trust in Ishmael’s God.

Innocent lambs you send overseas,

To die on behalf of your sins.

Like cattle, we trample and graze on whole nations,

Till nothing but oil can bleed.

This is the land of the American dream.

Where mice and men live in prosperity.

We will burn so much, to become so rich

We don’t mind if we get flooded in our sin.

Unalienable your liberty forever remains

So long as you not be Mexican,

For then we will smite your children’s children.

So like convicts in hiding you will remain.

So God, would you bless America?

For this land needs to love once again.

So God, would you bless America?

But if not… Canada remains free.

The Ship by the Shore

I am the ship by the shore,

For, I cannot see beyond the ocean beneath my feet.

I am the ship anchored to the beach,

That was built, painted and loved…

Yet is still anchored to the beach.

I am the ship by the shore,

Watching as the other boats sail by,

Each one bigger and better than I could ever imagine to be.

I am the ship by the shore,

Which sometimes wishes my builders had made me bigger,

Yet is powerless to change the designs by which I was made.

But I am the ship by the shore,

That can do what the bigger ships cannot do.

For I am the ship that brings a smile to the child,

As he cruises on the waves by the beach.

The other boats you see…

May always catch more fish,

Always travel further,

And always win more awards.

But I was the boat made to bring joy and life to others.

You see,

The only way those children will ever smile,

Is if I remain… the ship by the shore.

Fools Gold?

A boy stands on a beach,

A beach no different than any other he has seen.

Yet by the toil of his hands and passion of his heart,

On this beach he digs for pirate gold.

His hands become scarred like the cliffs,

His arms heavy like the waves.

The young men would rather laugh and play,

The old men amuse in this juvenile fool.

While the seasons change, the boy never ceases.

His hair grows as long as the drifting weeds,

His wrinkles become as deep as the runnels on the beach.

The young men now are too tired to play,

The old men have become the sand of the beach.

Yet still the boy digs for pirate gold.

One day the sun breaks where sea meets sky,

The men rise from their slumber as they did each day.

But on this day the boy is no longer to be found.

Was he made rich or swept out by the sea?

The men of the village they never will know,

For only the fool who never ceases to dig,

Knows if the cost makes him richer than sand.