Boundaries

London holds you in its heart,
It doesn't let you escape,
If you have ever tried to leave by your own means,
Be it by foot or by pedal,
You realise this trait.

As you try to break free into wider vistas,
Long labouring hills confront you,
Travel flat, along the river
And you are confronted by the blue,
Of the sea,
Or head westerly,
To confront the prevailing wind,
Trying it's hardest to dissuade
Even the most bold,
Of London's 8 million souls.

Some might be fooled into thinking,
That the city wants us to leave,
House prices higher than those hills,
That confront us on the boundaries,
Pushing us out of our comfort zones 1&2,
Into areas so devoid of character,
That people like the wind whistle through.

Those who claim to have escaped,
Show off their space,
And their gardens with pride,
Yet normalise
A thirty five minute walk to the nearest tube station.
Like that is a sensible trade off,
For everything on offer
Things that keep us,
Nuzzled warmly in the belly of the beast,
To our lives so vibrant,
In North, South and East.

But if I did make it out to pastures greener,
Where the views are wider,
The air is cleaner,
Into a land of open spaces,
Where the only race is,
White Caucasian with the odd Asian,
Restaurant,
Is that the life I want to lead?
Or instead would I rather accept defeat?
Stuck in this cradle of life,
Maybe not of humanity itself,
But of life,
As I know it.

I forgot the fucking words

Booze is flowing,
No need to worry nothing's prepared because I'm just putting a show in,
I did practise a little something though,
Just in case - would be rude.

Off the cocktails onto the wine,
Tap on the shoulder asking me if I'd like to perform some talking rhyme,
A little peer pressure applied,
I think you should.

Go on,

Go on,

Go OONN

....Ok

Next thing you know its my turn,
My turn,
for a turn,
Which in turn,
Will make my cheeks burn
Under the drunken concern of the room
Dubious and ready to spurn
The rap I failed to learn,
Time out please, let's adjourn.

But now the mic's in my hand,
Taken off the stand,
Make it look like I can MC, man.

And I can't
But in my head I can,
And it's all coming out of me now,
Rhyme after rhyme,
Coming out in time,
So slick! So confident!
And their feeling it!

But wait,
There it is off in the distance,
Coming closer with every word that rolls off my tongue,
The hole in the page,
The ghost carriage on the unstoppable train,
The inescapable blackness,
the...

shit.

I forgot the fucking words.

V-Day 2k14

Roses - crimson,
Colour of blood,
Violets - deep purple,
A midsummer's dusk,
When I lay eyes on you,
Passion's a must,
My heart fills with love,
My loins fill with lust.

#NationalPoetryDay

Let's write a poem,
For national poetry day,
Maybe a haiku?

Void Fillers

Inside doesn't quite cut it,
There's no stimulation to be found,
Tired limbs bring good memories,
But memories fade and blur,
Colour, light, noise, music, drugs,
Ingredients for a good time,
I need fun.

Restlessness is settling in,
The need 'to do' is constantly there.
Places, activities feel far away,
The past is of course unreachable,
The future uncertain,
I want to be around people,
I need company.

The touch of skin on skin,
Lips together, eyes closed,
Comfortable, beautiful silences,
Fingers entwined,
The sun breaking through,
Noises outside distant and muted,
I need love.

RIP

It was a year today that you were taken from me,
On that warm april night,
We were riding on a wave of freedom,
Our happiness shining bright,
Then that man came out the darkness,
With a face of anger and frowns,
He rammed us with his taxi,
But only you stayed down.

As i got up bruised and bloody,
You were motionless lying there mangled,
Passers by unsure how to help,
Your frame at awkward angles,
The ambulance came to no avail,
Your chances of survival minute,
The taxi driver drove me home,
Your corpse was in the boot.

My bella itilana I've left you now,
For a streamlined french madmoiselle,
I picture you in free-wheeled heaven,
While that Skoda rots in hell,
A greater companion I never did have,
Two days were never alike,
You'll live on in my memory and the parts I salvaged,
My beautiful racing bike.

A Sob to a Battle Cry

Our season is faltering,
Our title challenge fallen by the wayside,
No longer are we cock of the walk,
Feather's no longer puffed out.

Early season form has vanished,
My early season optimism has vanished,
Situations have been swapped,
With my Ars*nal supporting friends.

Five Fs
The five things most important to me,
Family,
Friends,
Females,
Finances,
Football is the only thing that affects the other 4,
Things need to turn around,
If only for my sake.

Suspicions start to sneak in:
Was it because I wore my Away shirt to a home game?
Have I been wearing my Spurs scarf enough?
Is it the two pairs of red shoes I bought?
Why do I own red socks?

Or I'm there looking for an excuse:
The national press tapping up our manager,
Van der Vaart's fitness,
Bale on the right,
Lennon's hamstring,
Kings's form.

But then I look at the table:
53 points from 28 games,
Third place in the Premier League,
Well clear of Liverpool and Chelsea.
One point is still a gap.

10 games left and 30 points available,
An easier run in than most,
Form is temporary,
Our class will shine through,
Come,
On,
You,
SPURS.