ascension

 long about midnight      a certain time ago      someone spiked my tea      before they rifled through my drawers       may long standing repercussions     settle on their bones      he who laughs last…     well, let’s just wait and see…       I’m too cool to care    coz my head is full of stars      I’m only a poor boy with a bloody hammer      I get high       I get low     the symptoms are axiomatic    they’re no problem at all    it would take more than a lethal dose    to silence this fat mouth            

brother, you gave me a mountain     but I climbed it    what’s that the image of?       men heaving over mountains?   or drowning in their shadows?     a man needs a mountain      like a bullet needs a gun     a mountain’s a load for one back     but I’m drawn to the weight of it      simply coz it’s there     and it’s in my path    I’m just a poor boy with a bloody hammer     I survived the assassin’s cup      and occasional subsequent avalanches      but I’ve been to the top of the mountain      and I have seen the world        

 

bourgeois heroes

the swill of propaganda     and the opiate of aspiration   are pumped out 24/7     in the age of sexualisation     fetishized  commodities     and prostituted love     

the name of the game is power      and all power stems from oppression        our courageous captains of industry      spread the ideology of cancer      in a torrent of greed and lust     

way up on mount olympus       cadres of billionaire demigods       are forging tickets to heaven      from second-hand clichés    and promissory notes     we’re left counting pennies      while they organise a society     where hideous pagan idols     are feasting on our blood

bluebottles

I was my natural self     being in a particular groove    when I was accosted by bluebottles     they was low types     full of guile and craft    and tried to locate my stash     by rifling my pockets     they were due a disappointment   coz I’d already imbibed      and was well off my rocker    yeah   herb means life, or so jah say     everybody’s doing it nowadays      I was indignant and stood on my rights      they got suss      and fled through the night      but the war on drugs is never over      we’re bound to meet again      on another sorry day

easter sunday

 let’s drink to resurrection      and poor boys coming home      to triumph over life and death     the second time around     you’ll believe what you want to       there ain’t no sin in that     but words are what men live by      and words were meant to count       some things linger on      in the universal mind      they’re neither fact nor fiction      but something in-between    jesus was a poet      and he’s alright by me        

outside women

another outside woman     is borrowing my clothes        she’s got my name and number       that’s about all she knows         she doesn’t bother to feed me      and I don’t really care       coz we’re only buying time       while her man’s not there       it’s become the well-worn ritual       we don’t talk that much       we keep it nice and simple     and communicate by touch      it’s a temporary arrangement      we can always walk away     but she likes to keep me stashed nearby    for a rainy day