Archives: Poetry

People get butterflies in thier stomach.

I get moths in mine.

There is a bird that can fly with broken wings
Loneliness so hard that it hurts and stings
But it gives lift to other birds as it sits and sings
Such sweet melody, the sadness brings

In that cage, round and round in complete rings
It walks with such poise that is fit for kings
Wisdom so divine with the slang it slings
It brings dance to even those most sad and grim

There is a whisper in the wind
Listen gently, hear it sing
Have you ever heard the song from the bird with broken wings?

If words are all a man has to make his world known

Then my life’s endeavour must be to find the greatest utterances of sound and tone

And then maybe one day before the end becomes nigh

You’ll catch a small glimpse of that which
I spy with my little eye

We have a tendency to tend to others’ gardens in neglect of our own.

If, when, we open the door to our garden we are faced with such huge overgrowth of the most seemingly ugliest of weeds with such thorny, prickly and uninviting features that sting, cut and stab us. No wonder we tend to others gardens, in a state of delusion seemingly feeling a sense of reward, as if it was our own garden.

The thing is, we see their pretty flora, which is only on the periphery, and we pluck out the odd weed or two there in plain sight, feeling huge sense of accomplishment.

What we don’t see is the huge, jungle-like overgrowth of weeds hidden far behind the flora, which they’re clearly neglecting too.

All that time spent tending to others’ gardens and not discovering the great gardener within yourself.

You see, a great gardener would open those doors and see such a vast, open space of beauty, where the weeds are not actually viewed as intrusive, unwanted nor ugly. They too have their beauty, value and purpose. With such great skill and care the great gardener is able to remove those weeds, one by one, without getting stung or cut.

For, the great gardener might find that the weeds have actually highly enriched the soil with such valuable nutrients and minerals for a new potential garden to be able to flourish, getting off to a firm, solid and steady start.

Some people take an extraordinarily long amount of time to establish their roots.

But that day, when they blossom,

Allah Hu Akbar!

You’d better get your hay fever tablets out.

The thorned rose is a thing of remarkable beauty, for those who know how to handle it.

For those who do not, it looks pleasant, but they daren’t get close because if they touch; they’ll bleed and revolt.

So far removed from reality; cut away the thorns to enjoy a false and abstracted image of beauty.

A sad endeavour is that.

Live life in such odd ways and by nonsensical rules,
Adore the thornless rose, do a world of senseless fools

In the presence of one who has mastered the art of gardening, that rose no longer feels ugly nor any sense of abandonment.

On the contrary it feels accomplished and fully realised.

One day, a mouse found one grain of salt and considered himself to be a grocer.

It was there, beside half a glass of water, which you could say was half full.

His optimism was unsurpassed.

For in that one grain, he saw a mountainous rock of salt.

And though others laughed and warned against,

“Carpe diem!”, he exclaimed, and proceeded to build a shop.

On his first day of opening, he sold that one grain and went completey out of business.

Upon his return home that evening, he was killed and eaten by the local alley cat. 

The wise fool.

I’m not a great singer. There are many great singers that I could name ten dozen.

I’m not a great rapper. I have heard many, many great rappers before.

I’m no great instrumentalist, there are virtuosos surrounding me, in all four corners of the globe.

I’m not great poet, there are bards and orators before me and all around me, wordsmiths astute with the utmost articulation.

In light of all these, I am an ant that lurks hidden amongst the shadows of giants.

I certainly am not an entertainer, there are many great clowns all around.

What I am is someone who has the balls to stand behind this mic, drop my bars, sing my choruses and pluck them strings.

Because I’ve got something to say. I’m burning at the lips and I can no longer keep my silence

When the world becomes 100% corrupt, Zero is born.