We’ve simplified the signified
To make these deaths dignified.
We’ve got a nation hypnotized
Through stereotyped eyes.
Lies transmit through airwaves.
Media mogul; the people slaves,
Remember not to misbehave.
We sell them what they crave.
Breaking news, read all about it
Is any of it true? Well, I doubt it
I just take it as it is, how I found it -
Can’t explain it all, so we round it.
Beige skin and a tea towel,
Daily Mail is the Holy Grail.
Ink turned rotten and stale,
Set it up for another sale.
Terror tactic,
In fact it
Is post-climatic,
Racist bullshit.
It’s so plain to see,
That this isn’t how society
Is meant to be;
Communities scared
In their own community.
I’m not asking for a revolution,
I just expect some social evolution -
Where we can reject a media institution
And their bullshit view pollution.
Listen to me
And what I’m saying
I’m saying this for free
Or it wouldn’t be worth saying
I was born into a world
That doesn’t care for the spoken word
Take these syllables,
Take these words
Turn them into verse.
It doesn’t matter if they rhyme
It doesn’t matter if they’re out of time
Just say them with conviction
And they’ll pass this test of mine
Can you even pronounce diction?
I’m suffering a language addiction
But I’m without lawful restriction
So with these words I’ll create an accurate depiction
Of us acting outside my society’s jurisdiction
I don’t think we’re being particularly rebellious
we’re just not doing exactly what they’re telling us
You see, for me, these words written down mean nothing
You might think I am but I’m not even double-fucking-bluffing
It’s the way I verbally read
That makes these words lyrically bleed
Rhyming schemes don’t stand for fuck all
When these words can stand up by themselves
They don’t hide away and curl up into a ball
Instead they become a representation of ourselves
So here I am, before this microphone I’m stood
Clearly hoping that none of this goes misunderstood
We give power to words, like the air under the wing of a bird
A seed grows into a tree, and this passion continues to grow inside of me.
what’s it like to live a life
to live a life by the knife
well i don’t know
sun sheds light on this grimy street
and i’m walking along by myself
finding it hard to find a heartbeat
i’m finding it hard to find a heartbeat
and i’m walking along by myself
will the sun fucking set?
black shadow silhouette
walking in my direction
finding it hard to find a heartbeat
i’m finding it hard to find a heartbeat
as it beats below detection
sat on this wooden throne
dedicated to some unknown
they lived a life and then they died
and to this body my life is tied
and i’m finding it hard to find a heartbeat
i’m finding it hard to find a heartbeat
what’s it like to live a life
to live a life by the knife
well i don’t know
and if my time is borrowed
to whom do i owe this fucking loan?
well i don’t know
Through tired eyes I look up to the clouded skies
This is my foreword to my last word
I’d like to take a moment of your time to list my limited achievements
Before I go, uhm, die and let you get on with your bereavement
To the one that stole my heart,
Well we did say we’d stay together until death do us apart
To my darling daughter,
Thanks for not pulling the plug, it still counts as manslaughter
Unless you go somewhere a bit more liberal
Like the Netherlands, where they don’t seem to care at all
To you, grandson,
Be good to your mum when I’m gone
Like she has to me
Remember that though friends may come and go
You’ll always have family
*begin to choke*
Fuck
When you close your eyes what do you hope to achieve,
Perhaps sudden realisation that everything you’ve ever believed
Has been false for your entire life; you’ve been nurtured by religion
And other superstitions that built their foundations built upon mysticism.
It’s not that I don’t want to believe, it’s just the evidence is overwhelmin’
And now there’s nothing for a careless heart to fucking believe in.
Have a listen to my recording of John Cooper Clarke’s Evidently Chickentown, almost hurt to read it that fast! Don’t forget to check out my originals too :)
I have all of these thoughts rushing through my head
But I don’t know what to do with them,
So I’ll forget them instead.
I’ve often wondered if some of the poetry that we consider great today, something that was written, say a hundred years ago, was posted on tumblr, but the author an unknown, I can’t help but wonder, how many likes it would receive?
People write…
Well they’d have to create the platform, getting followers and such.. no one on here starts with 50k followers unfortunately, look at me - I have eight, though admittedly only joined yesterday. Some people will follow people because they look good, some people will follow people because of their music taste, some people will follow people because they reblog crappy photos of fields and some people will follow someone because they can inspiration from what someone has written.
They’ll be able to take their own insight from the poem, which is the most important thing about writing poetry in my eyes. The reader has to be able to take away their own reading of the poem, so they can relate to themselves which means it’ll mean something to them!
I’ve often wondered if some of the poetry that we consider great today, something that was written, say a hundred years ago, was posted on tumblr, but the author an unknown, I can’t but wonder, how many likes it would receive?
People write amazing poetry every day, some it is probably good enough to be put up there with the others but if you’re unknown then you have a smaller platform than the bigger people regardless of your talent. It’s unfortunate but true.
