My gruff and indistinct words
bare the mark of resentful lungs
that hate me evermore as I take another drag
on what’s left of my cigarette.
I’m lost to a familiar bliss
and am momentarily out of mind,
vacant to social taboos
that would have otherwise prevented me
from blowing smoke into a child’s face.
She was crying now
I’d need another cigarette.
Kanye has spawned a child giving her literal direction in name – carved an image and hatched to a vision of fame.
Manifesting as an extension of her father’s ego, so wherever they point the cameras that’s where we’ll go
we push our noses to the window and tweet from on the grapevine – the culture of celebrity has dispensed with the divine.
we offer them praise but scrutinise them for their flaws, we concede that we will never be them and yet ache for something more
we are empty. we are void.
Our conception of contentment has been distorted and destroyed.
so as long as there’s a stage and the little girl sings
we’ll watch her come apart with her waxy wings
like Will Smith’s kids who stand tall on family wealth,
the wind in Willow’s hair as she whips it back and forth,
we are promised a life in the spotlight of baby girl North.
Likewise
we can think it likely that she will take to music
surrounded by connections, a captive audience and those hungry to capitalise..
The cracks can be painted over now that music is digitised
an auto-tuned lullaby lamenting the day the music died.
Rappers have a tendency to talk about their names
a customised title that speaks to character
both a badge and a facade that divides the person from persona.
A disguise known better than the person inside.
A broken mask and a blurred line.
she is a product, a brand and an opportunity.
she is stock, venture capital,
grabbing attention, gaining interest
nevertheless expect the debut solo: North by North West
jump for joy
jump for me
(I like to watch people jump
just as much as joy)
jump to hell and back
jump helen of troy
jump helen mirren
beside helena bonham carter
jump queen to jump jack after
jump helen keller
she won’t know
plus no-one could tell her
jump cinderblocks
jump cinderella
jump with one shoe to lost property
jump the queue to the vip
jump jack flash
dance jump style
jump ship
jump around
jump up jump out
and get drowned
I’ll jump out and find somewhere to park
don’t jump the gun or
jump the shark
the waters not cold
just jump in
white men can’t jump
black men can’t swim
jump out of your chair
jump out of your skin
jumping in at number one
is jump by van halen
the chicken gets off the bus and crosses the road
rosa parks on a double yellow and gets her car towed
mario’s peachy by the smell of his clothes
after sitting on a pin mary rose declared she was off to rome
all roads lead there but there’s no place like home
so if you get homesick and want to get home quick
follow the road made of yellow brick
mind the little monkeys with wings
you’re best off with the munchkins
in case you didn’t know though
they’re getting paid less than toto
so a tip would go far
god bless you sir
and the rain that falls in africa
I found Jesus.
or should I say
I caught him.
red handed
red footed
red headed
red backed.
red all over
hanging from a crucifix
having just been lashed.
he looked tired
but still wore his little hat.
bless him
forgive him
hail him
like a cab.
he’ll give you a lift
and carry you across.
he’ll die for your sins
and so will always be on top.
we will have no choice
but simply begin in his debt
so best you sin
to make the deal worth it.
I don’t celebrate holy days, bar easter
I’m strictly a coffee drinker
and chocolate bar eater.
not one for eating from a calendar
with time dictating when I have my provisions
I bought the fucking thing
so I’ll make the decisions.
you can keep your cakes
with loose change in
make way for new ideas
the times they are a-best on sunday
like roast dinner and church.
the masses are in
so they can off some merch
necklaces and bracelets
to serve as a reminder
of our one lord and saviour
and to always be kinder;
a silver ring above your ring finger knuckle
or a faggot being stoned on a golden belt buckle
just in case you’re running out of space
I’ll sit at the table but I won’t say grace
because I don’t prey where I eat
I do love a nun’s company
but two’s a crowd
and three’s unlucky if you’re superstitious
write that on the wall stevie
and while you’re there
pin the tail on the donkey and hit the piñata
nan’s left the room cas she’s afraid you’ll cut her
not cas your blind, mind
it’s cas you’re one of those blacks
no it’s christmas
we tolerate intolerance
it reminds us of jesus and turkeys and that.
fuckin crackers.
I get hot-headed sometimes
usually when I’m wearing hats
I heat the roof to stave away the cats
apparently they’re not too fond of hot tin
I got some glaswegians to stop them coming in
but I can’t be sure they’ve clocked in
cas after all who watches the scotchmen?
kenny rogers just dropped in
says his lodgers are starting to cost him
I told him that before he calls the cops in
he should call michael myers first
voice of shrek and face of kirk
he might be a killer
but he married an axe murderer
I can’t say I know her
cas I’ve never even heard of her
but she must get lonely at the end of october
Behind dilated pupils tides roll back and forth:
a heavy weight sits atop a broken body.
I’d ask for directions so I could stay lost
but the faces don’t seem too friendly.
I sit,
somewhere,
and watch myself from above.
And as the girl approaches
I fight to rush back.
A knowing smile glimpsed beneath the austere,
either that or I’m starting to lose track.
She holds out a hand
which closes to fist
while watching me
witnessing
a world losing colour.
I can see us both there cast adrift
no longer needing
nor wanting the others.
She assures me that everything is fine
but I can not be sure.
Her blue eyes read as a sign around her neck:
“Nothing will be as before”
samcooney 