I always wondered if rappers run out of lyrics and a painter water from their fountainous muse
Advice has always been the same, an unearthing of truth, a discovery of the preexisting, reforming it and presenting it anew
As a poet, artist or scientist we don’t discover but reflect our novel understanding of the All before us aloof to our existence …
and I see until the earth grows cold and dark no sooner will ink and paint
There seems to be a nouveau management style – a bullish approach
Destroying the hard fought scraps of legislation pieced together with the blood, tears and years of lost pay.
Our gaze no longer leaves our own vicinity our group our perspective our pay.
32 staff left my school last year. Natural Wastage.
Refuse considerately ridding themselves it would seem.
A narrative preferable to mismanagement and resignation.
Bullying is everyday
mundane as air in an exhale
I suppose the division lies with Black etc. not being seen to have a culture of them own.
But instead viewed as unruly, their misbehaviour na’ following the hosts wishes.
They’re all on strike today and the day before that too. The doctors, the teachers, postal workers and the late Southern workers.
the radio says they’re selfish, caring about them own, devil may care about the repercussions.
we’re all fractured, aspiring for a togetherness, in spiteful factions. Blind to other’s pleas.
Croydon doesn’t have any new council houses, but we’ve got a new council building
and someone built us all a lovely new Box Park.
When did I become a black writer?
Was it at birth with deviant skin
Or when I found my voice -mirroring my sight.
My poetry somewhere between Heaney & Rage (Against the Machine).
I hear the black only adjectives again today,
but I’m already well too aware
A dream I guess to be usual.
A tearing departure from the ties and debts
which all but depict the future
that’ll soon pass.
My dad said avoid being that guy
the old man in the corner of the club.
The guy nursing cherry wine or a more contemporary courvoisier and coke.
1Xtra keeps me musically on trend, though I question its taste more daily.
Future’s drawl’s too dank for my De La ears.
My playlist, it’s turned more club classic than new bangers.
Brandy, Jahiem and Tribe doing concerts to my demographic.
Didn’t they used be called SWV, Soul II Soul & Sade?
My classic playlist speckled with now cringey R&B…
… the odd Blink 182 I used to hide in my youth,
It’s overdue teenage angst now aloud.
It’s not contemporary
but it has the honest sound of a new old black man.
do I see
and more clueless than ever before.
Or is this just the clarity
that adulthood offers?