Of the most forgiving of us
it is to turn the other cheek,
Only be slapped anew.
Perhaps soon we’ll turn to Che
or those solemn folks from the IRA
learning lessons of fire and ice.
poetry
Untitled London Poem 18/1/17
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
Soon
Escape,
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.
26 – 27
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.
Today 2017
I wonder
do I see
more homeless,
more hopeless
and more clueless than ever before.
Or is this just the clarity
that adulthood offers?
Fetty Wonder
When did Fetty Wap
replace stevie Wonder,
with an infinitly more sight
but a sliver of insight.
Part of Something
I read somewhere that parents spend less time with their children than 40 years ago.
And this thought spins in my head as I see your daughter in silence,
Her hands plaited on her lap. Her mother the other end of the 312.
Partisan extremism seems to be on the rise these days.
We all want to be part of something.
Almost Funny
It’s almost funny
Again I wear my black coat,
And again
Discerning eyes linger
Scanning for signs of a threat.
J.C. FitzDerick 