(If music be the food of love
Then I must be Henry the VIII
Cause I’ve broken the hearts and necks of lovers,
While generously gorging my face.)
I like to allow myself to marinate,
Over nights of deprivation.
Starving myself of music to make the wait,
Worth waitin'.
Sucking barley sugar and jazz to make my temper patient
Dreaming of a musical banquet or just a break....
Beat.
Breath.
The guilt tastes like heaven with just a pinch of salt,
I help it rise to the festive occasion,
With just the twist of a nob.
Turn up the oven,
Add in the spice.
Without the music playing it'll never taste as nice.
Then its at this time of night,
I eat better than Hannibal Lector.
Feasting on lips, hands and headboards made of leather.
And if you can’t stand the heat,
You’ll never eat as well,
Cause if music be the food of love,
well it’s hot as fuck in hell!
Monday, 22 May 2017
OVER THAT WALL
Over that wall there are women,
Lasses, girls,
All in prison.
From the outside looking in,
You just see the criminal,
But through those blue doors,
There are women,
And they are singing.
Over that wall there are chosen families,
And dearest friends,
Love and laughter,
Squeezed onto grubby single beds.
There is poetry,
That cannot be held in by bars,
That cannot be silenced by biased news reports.
There are voices so loud,
That no wall will silence.
That no wall will hold the freedom that's inside them.
Over that wall are women, judged,
Locked inside, away from public view,
A Sisterhood.
Over that wall we ignore the bigger problem,
And the women will sing,
Over that wall,
Until you stop to hear them!
Lasses, girls,
All in prison.
From the outside looking in,
You just see the criminal,
But through those blue doors,
There are women,
And they are singing.
Over that wall there are chosen families,
And dearest friends,
Love and laughter,
Squeezed onto grubby single beds.
There is poetry,
That cannot be held in by bars,
That cannot be silenced by biased news reports.
There are voices so loud,
That no wall will silence.
That no wall will hold the freedom that's inside them.
Over that wall are women, judged,
Locked inside, away from public view,
A Sisterhood.
Over that wall we ignore the bigger problem,
And the women will sing,
Over that wall,
Until you stop to hear them!
Dedicated to the women in HMP Low Newton Prison
Untitled
The words have all but gone.
What's left is done and deeds,
Of actions in motion,
That leaves emotions in much need.
And these actions don't speak louder,
But sigh in silent griefs,
Of what cannot be said in words,
That these two dared not speak.
What's left is done and deeds,
Of actions in motion,
That leaves emotions in much need.
And these actions don't speak louder,
But sigh in silent griefs,
Of what cannot be said in words,
That these two dared not speak.
YOU ARE JUST YOU
They all think their lives will be different,
That life and its people will show more forgiveness,
They will NEVER fall into the same traps as you,
Because they wear Vans and you just wear shoes!
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They will never be Mams nursing sick children,
They will never be bald and mocked by the youthful,
No way, not them,
They are different to you,
You are like 44(?) and they are 22(?)
You have to understand,
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They know about life,
They're the first ones to live it,
They pretty much exist just to show you how to do it,
They can laugh at your dancing cause they do it better,
They can giggle, and point, and quip and snigger,
They can talk philosophically about all that they know,
And they know, what we know, that they know,
You know?
They invented fashion, and travel, and fun, and sex!!
And can't believe you were born before google and text.
They bemoan their lives away,
Whilst you only just made it,
One foot in the grave,
One still in the cradle....
Yes, I am old,
And they are new,
But they are just young,
So you can just be you!
They will NEVER fall into the same traps as you,
Because they wear Vans and you just wear shoes!
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They will never be Mams nursing sick children,
They will never be bald and mocked by the youthful,
No way, not them,
They are different to you,
You are like 44(?) and they are 22(?)
You have to understand,
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They know about life,
They're the first ones to live it,
They pretty much exist just to show you how to do it,
They can laugh at your dancing cause they do it better,
They can giggle, and point, and quip and snigger,
They can talk philosophically about all that they know,
And they know, what we know, that they know,
You know?
They invented fashion, and travel, and fun, and sex!!
And can't believe you were born before google and text.
They bemoan their lives away,
Whilst you only just made it,
One foot in the grave,
One still in the cradle....
Yes, I am old,
And they are new,
But they are just young,
So you can just be you!
Monday, 15 May 2017
Second Fiddle
I'm not your side salad,
Im the main course!
Im the wine and the gravy and the mint sauce.
Im the calories,
And the laughter,
Im the After 8 mint and
Im the banter.
Im the creme brûlée and Im the jus,
Im your Mamas homemade chicken stew,
Im not a taster,
Im the whole bull,
Im the noise that you make when you're stuffed full!
Im not your hand luggage,
Im the holiday,
Im the holiday,
Sand, sea, sun 'n' sex,
I'm the getaway!
I'm the getaway!
Im the take off and the landing,
Im the fine bikini body you've been oggling.
Im the ice cubes,
Im your new shades,
And Im all the spending money that you fucking saved!
Im the soft top,
Im the drive,
Im the wind in your hair, Im the blue skies.
Im your tan lines,
Im the cocktail,
Im the salt that you lick as we set sail.
Im the salt that you lick as we set sail.
I dont play second fiddle,
Im the bass line,
Im your good time,
Im a sick rhyme.
Im the beat of your heart,
Like LeAnn Rimes.
Im the daytime and the night-time,
An although you don't know it but you're all mine.
Im the bell chimes,
Im the Big Ben,
Im a skinny little fucker but I say when.
Im the drum beat,
Im the foot tap,
Im sweet, sticky honey,
Im the tree sap.
Im not the gambler,
Im the cards,
Im the Diamond, the Spades and the Hearts,
Im the Clubs,
At the races,
Im the bright lights the dice rolls in Vegas.
Im not the penny,
Im the pound,
Im the zeros you count,
Im the horse whip and hound.
Im the gun shot,
Im the booky
Im the odds in your favour, lady lucky.
Im the odds in your favour, lady lucky.
Im the double up and the double down,
Im the wad in your pocket when you hit town.
Im not a player,
Im the coach,
Im the assist that passes the goals!
Im the striker and the defender,
Not here when you're just on a bender.
Im a hat trick,
Im the game,
Im the crowd that is chanting your name.
Im the Captain,
Im the Boss,
Im a bitch as Ref - Im the coin toss.
Im a bitch as Ref - Im the coin toss.
Im not a sub mate and never will be,
And when I shoot I shoot hard cause youre easy.
Im the hand of God and the red card,
Im the trophy you lift when it's got hard.
I dont play second fiddle,
Im the bass line,
Im your good time,
Im a sick rhyme.
Im the beat of your heart,
Like LeAnn Rimes.
Im the daytime and the night-time,
An although you don't know it but you're all mine.
Im the bell chimes,
Im the Big Ben, Im a skinny little fucker but I say when.
Im the drum beat,
Im the foot tap,
Im sweet, sticky honey,
Im the tree sap.
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