Do you haunt your yesterday like a living ghost?
I write to my ego, a black hole to validation
I could write books on behalf of this nation
And archive them to be discovered as truth
Such is the vanity of my youth
But what if we had to write in blood?
If we could no longer write out our own
Secret solitary hypothetical revolutions
If all words were inextricably linked to their maker
Would you stamp your own DNA on what you say?
Write in haemoglobin like hieroglyphics on a wall?
If red ink were all that we had
If we had to suffer for our voice
If to bleed were the only choice
I would bleed slowly and measured
My every word would be treasured
I would not write for my leisure or pleasure
I did not bleed for this poem
But I could not help but pour
My whole heart and my soul
Into these words
This world has seen enough
Blood shed
To leave every page soaked
Blood red
So maybe we could use our
Paper as bandages, instead.
I Am Red
I am tired eyes
Teenage highs
The evidence I’ve cried
Robin with no Batman
A sidekick with no hero
My own worst enemy
I am in love with my weakness
Charging towards the matador cape of my own downfall
I am red today
¡Olé!
Mad at myself
I am simmering
I am seething
Am I bleeding?
Innocence bludgeoned
Roses are . . . not for you
I am the thorn waiting for you to pick what I protect
I am The Passion: The Sequel
Second-hand stigmata
I am here in vein
A pound of flesh
I am a red letter
I am an unread letter
The debt and the debtor
I am red tape
I am a velvet rope with no admission
I am waiting for permission
Rehearsing on stage with no audition
I am red curtains with no one to lift them
I am a work of fiction
Red Riding Hood
With no hood, no woods, no basket full of goods
I am the axe that cut myself open
Both hunter and hunted
Heartbreaker and heartbroken
I am words unspoken
I am the fairy tale
And the harsh reality
We all make mistakes
Just look at me
Circled, crossed out, underlined
I am a stop sign
Next to a double red line
Undermined
Denied
Boarding the bus with no fare
Posting myself with no stamp
Phoning home with no change
Red nose day with no comedy
I am red in the face
Caught red-handed
I am doing the time
The digital display of an alarm clock
Facebook notifications on your phone
Flagged emails RE:
Important
Urgent
Reply ASAP
Drop everything
Deal with me
Stop what you’re doing
Help me
Look at me
Look at me now
Not in a minute
Not in an hour
Not tomorrow
Now
I am red right now
Bathing in blood
Drowning in wine
Smashing through every stop sign
But when you finally ask me how I am
I’ll tell you, ‘I’m fine.’
New Year
New ideas here
From which I awake
My body starts to shake
Sending a vibration
Through this nation
I seem cold
They seem old
Those resolutions, rehashed and reheated
Returned from last year, partially defeated
Hopefully committed to, hopefully, this time
Held aloft by you but exposed by this rhyme
You take the easy way out
You are so proud about
Your once-a-year success
Earth rotates in distress
A smoke signal ascends
To universal friends
For some sort of solution
To this state of revulsion
I feel repulsion yet I feel liable
If we’re not aiding we’re adding to it
That is undeniable
Once more you fake it like a whore
What you call charity has already been paid for
In blood, sweat and tears
Over hundreds of years
New year, new ideas here
Take a new stance, a new view
This is a new chance for a new you.
Ascension
I rise, I have risen, and yet I feel like
I’m falling
Falling from grace
Falling short of my potential
Falling out of favour with those who expected, predicted
Were counting on so much for me and my future
If this is the future, take me back to the past
When I had hopes, dreams and ambitions
And not just debts, regrets and not quite yets
When a blank page offered up infinite possibilities
Not just a potential paycheck
And an escape from a job where I get no respect
And yet, I rise to positions of responsibility
And accountability
I rise to capitalist desires
Not at school waiting for playtime
But at work waiting for payday
Daydreaming of a play date
Where butterflies would lift off from a pit of acid
Rise and make noise in the form of words
Strung together as a puppeteer connects to a puppet
I rise to the occasion
I have been cocooned too long
My flight is imminent
I boil over in a storm
And though torrential rain may descend upon me
The same water that sustains my being and form
I rise above and beyond
Standing on the wings of the butterflies
And treading the raindrops
Like a stairway to Heaven
And so although they fall – I rise
Like the towers that scrape the skies
Though oxygen is thin up here
I stand tall while others crawl and gasp for breath
I breathe the air of the gods
Filled with stardust and plane emissions
I don’t need an engine for my ascension
I rise from sleep and depression
And found all other psychological conditions remained
And within a system of liars the truth seems like insanity
So how do I defy gravity?
I rise free from my former inhibitions to realise
The only opinions that matter to me
Are that of God and my mother
See a clear destination and a strong foundation
Won’t stop precipitation
But when you understand the cycle
You don’t fear it any more than a river fears evaporation
The sea has been in the sky so why can’t I?
I rise, I fall, and through it all
I learn to linger a little higher.
Freedom of Love
after Andr
é Breton
My mother who spoils me
My mother who let me stay rent-free
My mother who texts me on her lunch break
To see if I’ll be home for dinner
My mother is a giver
My mother has given her life to my sister and I
My mother couldn’t be selfish even if she tried
My mother has been a mother from the age of eighteen
My mother is searching for her own identity
My mother remains optimistic in the face of redundancy
My mother cares not for money
If the mortgage is covered and our basic needs are met
My mother isn’t used to luxury
Maybe a manicure but not much more
My mother used to sing in our church choir
My mother loves to sing around the house
My mother sings the wrong lyrics
Even after you tell her the right ones
My mother makes big meals in a small kitchen
My mother does more than make do
She makes miracles look effortless
My mother is single and successful
My mother is not alone, but lonely sometimes
My mother is loved and respected and admired
My mother is tired
My mother is more than poetry
She is the breath before we speak
My mother is not impressed by words alone.
Mother Tongue
Our mother has swallowed her tongue
Though selfish is never a word I could call Mum
I feel she has been so by swallowing her tongue
To make it worse
Our family holidays
Are always to her motherland
She forgets to translate
Even though she knows
We don’t understand
My sister and I
Make do and get by
On the meaning we can infer
From gestures and inflection
Can never look to Mum for direction
Mother has swallowed her tongue
Shows no regrets on reflection
Stubborn. She refuses to see
That she has wronged us not to teach
To give us the option, the basic right
Of freedom of speech
With our grandparents
Our aunts, uncles and our cousins
There are few shortcuts to understanding
Common language is a good paving stone
So when you can’t speak the language of love
You realise you may be walking this path alone
Made in England, we’re half this and half that
But they could more easily overlook that fact
If we could speak with our mother’s tongue
Not let our skin speak for us
But join in the family chorus
I can’t tell you why
She would wilfully deny
Her daughter and her son
But she has swallowed it
And we are struck dumb
Our mother has swallowed her tongue.
The Flamingo
As I fled the midday
Sun, that only tourists
Would venture out in
I found a cool shelter
In the municipal gallery
On the seafront
There I saw the sculpture
Of that flamingo
With large wings
In the shape of the island
Bound horizontally, north of centre, with a red string
What instantly
Became apparent to me
Was the need for art
To explain feelings
Where words would fail
In this common
Visual, visceral, language
This work of art
Would need no translation
Either side of the divide
I wasn’t there for the war
But in that moment I saw
And, in my way, understood
What this border meant
For Cyprus – the flamingo
Who could no longer fly.
Smash and Grab
It was a blazing hot night in London
I wasn’t there. I was in Larnaca, Cyprus
At my second home with my family
Mum, sister and my yiayia and bapou
(That means grandparents in Greek
A language that I can barely speak)
I try to understand the news in Greek
Most words beyond my comprehension
But those images spoke for themselves
A death. A protest. Rioting. Looting. Fires
A few long-distance phone calls and texts
To check my nearest and dearest at home
And to get a clearer understanding
Of how this all started and how it might end
From a distance it looked quite exciting
Masked youths and riot police fighting
From a distance I didn’t think about houses
Family businesses and innocent passersby
Having turned off our international roaming
We knew nothing of plans on BB Messenger
To replicate these riots, to copycat this chaos
To duplicate the destruction, to loot high streets
Across capital and country . . . From a distance
It just looked like a hot night in London
Hot tempers flared by unanswered
Questions. Violent cries to police silence
Arson and greed. Protest impersonators walking
Home with flat screen TVs, to be mounted
On their walls like trophies or sold instead
What a way to disrespect the dead
At that point I felt so sorry for Mark’s family
Whose personal protest had been hijacked
Then further news stories of Syria and Somalia
Make Londoners look like spoilt children
‘What do we want?’ ‘Everything!’
‘When do we want it?’ ‘Now!’
We have raised these children. We can’t just blame
The parents, social media, the police or politicians
In a way, I was glad to see our young people realised
Their power that hot night, even if only in destruction
With such inflation on an education what can you expect
But ignorant behaviour from those who cannot afford it?
But my university degree gives me
No better understanding right now
It’s no wonder no one looted the libraries
They wanted trainers so they could run
From you and your bullets, made of metal
Rubber and discriminatory legislation
Forget about future aspirations; not waiting
For 2012 to go for gold but a smash and grab
Relay. Jack the jewellery shop then down
To Dixons so they could watch their own
Instant replay on HD widescreen plasma TV
But why do these children hate a country
That so many would literally die to get to?
Seeking asylum and refuge, running
From war and persecution to us
Where we ignore and we pretend
Are politically correct and politically inept
Do nothing about anything we can possibly
Avoid or sweep under the rug
As a carpet of crime covers this country
What’s truly criminal is the neglect
With which we have raised these children.
Mr Invincible
What you looking at?
Don’t you know who I am?
Well you best get to know fools
Because I am the man
Mr Invincible, Mr Unstoppable
I’m above that, below that
(Whatever yeah, I’m just not with
that)
Don’t tell me where to go
Don’t tell me what to do
Don’t tell me what I know
I may know nothing of value to you
But I know what I need
To survive in this world, this world of greed
That’s what I’m doing, surviving; you can’t call this living
I have tried to change but of my past you are unforgiving
I’m what you all call delinquent, disaffected
All your norms and values I’ve rejected
Where are these doors of opportunity?
Opportunity? For you, maybe, not for me
I see all them doors are held shut from behind
But I don’t mind, nah, I don’t mind
Because I’m Mr Invincible, Mr Unstoppable
Mr Dead before my time but at least I died beautiful
I want to live a good life but this world won’t let me
I only big myself up because I’m scared you’ll forget me
Or hurt me or leave me or cheat and deceive me
You can’t count on anyone in this world, believe me
All I want is some love but here I am, loveless
No one holds out a hand because they think I’m hopeless
If people are commodities consider me surplus
Not wanted because of what they see on the surface
I may look thugged-out but really I’m full of doubt
I go on all gangsterfied but inside I’m petrified
I thought I was invincible. One bullet. I died.
Key to the City
Your minds are the lock
And my words are the key
Fitting to open you up
With a little story
About this boy named John
He’s on the streets of your ends
It don’t matter where he came from
He ain’t got the key to the city
He ain’t even got the key to a front door
He thought London would be pretty
But he soon found out it was raw
He’s run away from a broken home
And the care system.
He’s been gone six months
And still no one has missed him
The only friend he ever had
Was this girl named Melissa
Everywhere he goes
He carries her picture
She was like his sister
His mother, his lover
And when he kissed her
She was his world
But then she got fostered
And left the children’s home
The staff told him to forget her
Let her go, leave her alone
They told him that her location
Was confidential information
He wrote letters to be passed on
But they never reached their destination