Shadows silhouette
static t.v. screens electrifying
performance just before the curtain falls
An audience roars applauds to none of which
is truly heard, taking bow to resounding success

All at a level best, the author neither hears the end
of their own story—but quietly predicts it
Believes in it so much, it soon becomes disbelief
or as the fear of a fitting end has eliminated grief

Ssshh,
shuttle away to the quietest of dreams
transported to a land of only imagination
Passion, passions of all but passionate
Weaving through traffic of a rush hour mind
with no stop signs or any bright red light

Denying all of your pride
so choked up in a dream, coughing out aspiration,
ambition, or ideals
And only in a land void of fears, do we soon
find the bravery to grow our wings

The suffering rest
Too tired of themselves;
An attire of youthfulness
Clueless, individually in a single line
The good and the often bad
Ugly smiles of the richest people
And the expenses of a poverty lifestyle

Butchered words every time two lovers meet
Lost tongues in pointless over talk; kissing
A feeling is always missing, in between inhale
Exhale the distrust of knowing it won't last
The slowest rushes end off so fast

Fasten your heart around a sleeve
Arm your eyes to their usual war
Pleasures of sight will all **** a man
Tickles of speach blinders to woman's focus
Two of which know it's wrong, but want more and more

Drowning always in debt
Believing you owe the world something
An address to a particular subject,—we're all ode
Owed a reason to all our failures
Questions to all unanswered prayers
Heaven owes a lot in the cryptic lyrics of life

But for the moment, this is life in a nutshell
Trying all to bust a nut, sometimes nuts
And one day it will all crack open in the end

Burning,
yearning passionate love
tows, and tows of flame
sparks fly in the sky—I've been too
high to realise I'm still scared of heights
Being too sweetly subtle
and so good to waste time around a belt buckle

Oily hair, and ideas slipping off
a random thought before a thought
Mileage of the tongue speaking covered
and affectionate words
Going around tour on your morals,
floral arrangements in the scent of love
Could be sweet, but bitterly sour
not every pretty sight, is a nice smelling flower

            ...all voices of poetic prowess

The night is young
tis fair in the crickets silent song
alates that come after summer rain
rushing traffic splashing brown water
—my socks are soaked; wet toes,
and cold shiver's marathon in a running
nose

My head pounds like a child
beating a drum
Undisciplined, uncontrollable buzzing
like bees making a hive of my thoughts
choked words by the feelings above my throat

Clouded mind, to now be feeling grey
it's grave to me to dig up my past
Clearer skies, exposed skins, and parent
shoutings, about playing where ringworm
lie in grass

The scent is sour; heaven tears left
on the soil—bending a flower
the silence ends here, but it will
again rain another hour

Sorry on the terms of coming
to terms of long awaited words
We're only the sweet nothings
desirable thoughts, but not
so thoughtful in person—per se
we do this everyday, everyday is the
same decor with different shade

Such a shame; beautiful in my eyes
but a beauty only set of afar sights
Sightseeing on what could be,
still this is the fault of an awkward me
hopeless romantic, passive; inactive love
closed heart to all but open chances to love

Would of been fun to live as just boring people
entertaining ourselves on less than serious jokes
—you don't like spoken word, but you'd maybe
listen to my cheeky comments in a spoken word
of thoughts

Being a boring cliché
words of saying I love you more than yesterday
the answer to my prayers; anyways these
feelings hunt me down as it's prey
What more can I say...actually what haven't
I said if we're still stuck as attracting friends
Face to face our magnetic force pushes us away,
and the turn of the other, pulls the other walking
the other way. It's so magnetic...oh God, that's so
cliché

We're two bored people, too bored
to board the relationship status
Lovers at first sight—old fashioned
given a little chance to act on the obvious
thoughts, could mean we'd have a little action

      ...but now I'm just so bored of these thoughts

Social hang off
—hanging picture, capture
a moment forgot by morning's morrow
and the hopes of more time we'd hope
to borrow. A head hollow, is it not the
truth so hard to swallow, so is pride
an empty space inside, a pretty shadow's
smile

Surely you've searched yourself enough
to know the true self you need to find!

the taste of your smile
in this crowded room
hearts of ocean—I am blue
party next door, shut down by appearance
so real, resilience—I caught myself before
catching feelings. to have a seal on the upper
interior of my heart; high up to the ceiling

this crush is a mile
a crushing journey over you
unwisely along time—tragic fool
cleanse my teary eyes in a memory rinse
a con, convince me not to be sore
a press thumb to thump down a number
in love with the right person, but she hangs
with the worst of people dealing

monster affairs,
relations with the dark
a shadow cuts of my deepest
darkest thoughts; thwart on
the words of sheepish tongue
a flock of fears, tears, years and jeers

so unlikely, but unlike what they'd
say, we're not like them—unalike

And you'd ask me if I see
myself in that mirror

—no,
I see only what a world has done
has labelled me, called me, rated me
expected of me, thought less of me

...unfortunately for both,
                     it's not me!

In a previous dream
—envious of the confident figure
with the confidence I never had
The wise words of a stranger, that I
never got enough of from my dad
As if could be; we could be free in
all of our lost dreams

Angels with temporary wings
temporary importance
temporary imagination
temporary temperance
all only so temporary
—in these depressing dreams

To awkwardly smile,
being called handsome
Didn't have a lot of riches,
but at luckiest days I had some
Could you spare a little handy advice,
to a still growing child and hand some
To calculate the formula to success,
how best in it's beforehand sum

                        to be handsomely paid—perhaps

"But let me tune you the live about life's simulation,
that assimilates one's worth. Poetry's code isn't of ones
and zeroes, but of all lines and words"
Says the wit of a coloured oan wanting to chuff the girls

It's all about the honeys, and maybe some sweet
success of hustling for a little extra money

Taking a stand on every stanza, I grew up to different standards
Unlike the hood rapper clutching the 48 hammer,
I was taught in my hood how to hold a 48 spanner
I have my odds in odes; every heavy breath in each
coma—not so common
Given the stereotype of dealing and robbing
To steal your stereo if the right type,
and best to drive with caution

A dark skinned coloured
fitting in with the blacks by appearance
Accents do tend to change ears intently hearing
Whites think I'm that way out of a private school fashion
But I did at times hang out with the wrong crowd,
at times on weekends smoking **** and relaxing

And yes I'm actually coloured; to those of you asking
Hit you with a "hey what's up, what's happening"
Don't mind me asking questions with this sort of coloured accent
"Yoo what's the story," we start our conversations
in the morning. A different kind of breed Godsent

I don't force how I speak
But if it disturbs the peace
I'll change my tone of speech
And find solace in writing another poetry piece

                                            @the Coloured poet

I'm a psychopath, as I cycle in a path
On life's roller coaster tracks, I lost track of time,
An untimely demise to a Sir married to his prize—a surprise
To come to build a fort around a heart's comfort
Come forth to forgo your old ways; wayward thoughts to
ward my love from running away

Anyway I'm stuck on a dream of yesterday
Trying to make it revelant today
Two days later the latest trends become late
Fashioned state; fashionably late
it's a fashion state of late, when you try to deep fake

Spear your spirits; cuts deep being a Christian
Spearhead, someone with deep thoughts untold wisdom
A little devilish smile into making love,
All the feelings that awkawdly develop
Nothing lasts forever like sugar in a piece of gum
Chewing on your words, and biting your tongue
And if blood tastes like cinnamon; it would be few
to the looks of eyes to see no men. Feeling nearly
the same as a synonym

Another questionable phrase to the praise
of your own son asking you for a raise
We're all living to gain, doing it all again,
and again; in the end it's all a game

I am not impressed
I'm just depressed, I am but a mess
wondering what it is next, all the guns
out in the world—equals death

Divide and conquer
we are here to only **** ourselves
daily—a selfish death

Swimming in your depths
and thought ties around your neck
life chokes everyday—a slow death

Should be happy that I made it
but not made of success
A lot time left to just to second
guess—a career's death

Spitting on all my dreams
mouthful of ill talk sickening in my chest
never at my best—imagination's death

Harsh words are blazing fires
it stinks; ash on your breath
still alive at 23 screaming yes
despite missteps—walks of death

Death, death, death, all I've known is death

New flesh
nudist art next to a pretty dress
as a naked eye sees want it wants to see

A little of an unexplored world in between
—ironically a queen on her knees
A flowing river; centre tongue licking drips
of a honey cup
Tip toeing sounds, silently in their subtle
under the secret sheets towing the sky

A mist for night; a mister of the charges
—who leads who
Being lonely for two, been through a
misconception of missing you

So I just sit, waiting in this empty room

So kept at odds
a life in a mirror; reflective ways
cracking, cracking smiles to see
a fragile side. To make love in front
of a mirror, yet she's the only one to see
herself cry

His breath is vile, heavy smoked
and coughs in between—spitting exhaust
Speaking pleasurable remarks,
but all but unpleasant words in her bones

She should of spent the night sleeping alone
shouldn't have answered his call
shouldn't allowed herself to be called a *****
shouldn't have forgotten about his wife at home
shouldn't allowed herself to be a side piece
a piece of guilt in her side; she has no peace
being chased by a dog, why they called her a *****

"No, no, you're just my side chick
a reason enough when my wife has had enough"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I'm serious about you, but we're just having fun"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I'll feed you and your family, and buy you a house"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
she's not around with the kids, but move in caution"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I won't pay for another child, here's a number for an abortion"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I can't always be there for you when you're lonely"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
wrinkles on clothes, ***** texts; don't air out my ***** laundry

"You're just my side chick, my side chick"
said an old man to a young naive girl.

The sound of love
how to explain: children in a playground
rhythmic play, heart skips a beat
screaming yay; nay to hopelessness of
breaking a heart again

Chase
chasing hands, gripping tag to touch
I've labelled myself a fool, only could
love sound so cliche as a fool in love

I am troubled by affections
that which you give, but I do not receive
Lost in your eyes; I see you've lost the love

Tragic!
a time you and I were magic
to read thoughts;
words on your mind I could spell
Havoc!
reaping what you sow; a pretty rose from
the garden—pierced hand of thorns

A taste of blandness
blah, blah blah, blah

I must sound like to your ears
my dreams hear you speak ill to peers
In perfect silence, can you hear the sound of a tear

                                        ...these are my tears

Canvas eyes; picture painting
—masterpiece
Ink kisses, imprints of love
on a cheek
Linen hair, sheets of bedding
thoughts resting on your head
Pick-up hugs, lifting power
and grips of the trunk
—bottom hug temptations, non pretend
beforehand, wrapped arms and touches of a love
                         it's all such a rush: favourite hug

falling shadows
howling holes—heart's chasm
gaps in teeth, bites of time
in the cavity of a mouthful successes

written in a journal of fears
not to fear death, but a death of dreams
not to fear easy give, but to easily give in
not to fear tomorrow, but a yesterday's repeat
to pen my thoughts, penning words at fault
                   ....my poetry is a journal of fears

They sodomise my eyes
Penetrating ill content
Sickening imagery—cauterise an African man’s pride
Categorize me in a dark corner of their globe

How so the world spins
But we are to turn our eyes the other way
If not forced to conform to their ways, their ways confirm
We’re shunned from their perfect world

They created diseases to charge their victims of a cure
Stole the wealth of our land, to sell an end product labelled new
If only we knew the threat we pose, as they’ve always known
Placing bonds of pricey chains of, “hey I’ve got the latest iPhone”
Leading us to scorn our own kind; a few softwares behind,
“eek, your version is so old”

****** virgins/versions;
Non experienced in their translation of purpose
If said the future is only possible if we all connect
I guess we’re the ones always out of service
To conform to your ways to guarantee your service
—Are we your servants
Carrying the destruction of your wars like surrogates

To the outer world
That believes I still live outside
Fascinated whenever I see a white
Those of my whites from Africa somewhat more relatable
To my struggles, than an African American
Supposedly my brother from another mother

No, no, my dearest brother, you have Africa in title
But not inside of you. We weren’t taught by the same mother
We didn’t go through the same hardships
We’re more like distant cousins
Who only seem to relate by our skin colours
Even though you’d see me as different,
Though being much darker

To the outer world; altering my nation to your outer works
                  I’m sorry, but I can’t live in your perfect world

skies are black—heavy;
a grey smile, fields of yesterday's tears
cries of drought and doubt of progression
not to mention we rely on nature for resources
but are unresourceful to treat our Mother back
in kind

she's dying, dying, dying
ice glaciers melting, forest trees drying
human nature is to show love, compassion and
respect to whom is their mother

show love, compassion and respect to whom is
your Mother earth

I know it hurts to be alive
At times you think of suicide
But here's my encourage to encore your life

Be happy of the fact you pushed on to survive
And please mind the appearance,
But I do care of the mental state of your mind

You're battling things inside
Battered from showing it outside
As with a cheery hie; behind a smile is a lot to hide
I just want you to know—in appearances not seen,
I appreciate your life

Memos to a poet's unheard speech
Could sound like a preach
Great ideas of course to promote peace
Listen intently; there's reason to pain
Expressive lyrics of love, then also shame
All is fair game in wordplay—wouldn't you know
a peaceful night after a chaotic day

Their song is unsung, written in chorus blue
A writer who is broken; fixation on their expression
                                  ....the writer you never knew

i feel ashamed, i feel ashamed, i ashamed
i'm on a prayer to prevail
taking shots of successes inside of a small gun range

russian roulette; cussing out in an attest
testifying those sins—i need to repent,
i need to repent, i need to repent
i've got a bad rep representing my ill intent

so sick of life, seeking meaning on people
pleasing. so was it a miss for me—misleading peers
to co-sign my fears
it's a signature significant, in a miniature magnificent
but strangely the one to always feel so insignificant

among the rules of what it means to be men
as non momentary cowardice, to the pre end
lying constant, lying on a deathbed to admit to
my pretend

the imaginary calamity of believing you're a
hope for humanity. your goal is only to provide
for your family; sadly on the madly in love undertone
keeping well the colours of a lover's rose
treat them well as yours. let sinking kisses rest under
pores

pouring out your heart; poor are those buying
out to pay for love

you should feel ashamed, you should feel ashamed,
you should feel ashamed—as I once was ashamed

The taste of tears
love=flavour’s joy
tasted dreams of another
And as a crying shoulder to a lover
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
anger=boiling wrath
cast in the tone of doom
As we’d cry over anger to keep cool
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
saddens=weather’s blue
we’d cry together to wash away pain
Tears of tomorrow are drizzles of yesterday’s rain
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
death=last drops
it will be hard for one to say their goodbyes
Still we know that we’ll meet on the other side
                         ....our tears till the end

~profits of prophets
lining riches; a queue to fill
their pockets

spear head spirit
not so sharp as a liars tongue
words a knife, and the loudest
cocky tones just a blaring empty gun

you shoot for fun,
fun to shoot shots if the target hit
the blowback becomes being denied
                        ~he'd call her *****

that's rich,
not to hold onto the fact of a reach
but of which you regret a miss
to have not gained a miss, and *****
wet kiss. Wet are the eyes of calling it quits
freeing mind from criminal advances—acquit

but I could sound a little preachy
on fruits of the spirit; quite peachy
joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness,
faithfulness, self-control

to say you know, or no to the subject matter
of my poem. must of been on the nose; you smelt
the suppose in this prose

and I suppose that makes this the end of my
random poem

Rooibos
—late night thoughts
in a cupful, to the tee caught in the awe,
or in the ways the hot beverage tickles the
tongue floor

     ....one sip leads to more and more

....all time is a slow pace to death
as love is a muscle memory,
till the heart soon forgets it

Ziplock tie,
a piece of skin caught in a jean
fabric stained, sticky sweat
under a cool breeze. A little wind in
between; hanging cause
Shaving necessary for release from
pores

Bumps and scrapes
awkward looking, and ingrown hairs
blades of grass—pasture flesh land
Sprints of watered perfume, and
the only time man has a tender hand
Cleanliness; cleanse of appearance
to look and feel good in the end

             ...do play ball in taking care of your *****

take recognition of your life
recognise a world pushing us to strife
all hoping to strive, but the t.v. screens
weaponize our eyes

i only see death—vision red
lower case responses, from short ideas
in my head

i sing an empty prayer into hymn
synonymous; to my wits on whim
a shadow of a dream, royally *******
without king

forms of standards and practices
place children into idealistic formation
enclosed imagination; modern day camp
of concentration

none see, a sort of ****—fascism
destruction of a natural world—cataclysm
being destroyed by public opinion—vandalism
only knowing watched picture loves—romanticism
in a world that took a whizz on wisdom

              ...take recognition, to the strings of puppets
                            the world is broken; quite obvious

living to defend an idiot always
makes them less of an idiot
and for you to become the idiot
in all ways

to love one who only loves
the idea of being in love
is as good as both being unloved

            ....idiots defence, and fools to love

you deserve all that you have given
—in a world that takes, takes kindness
lightly. we live in a dark world
tossing their weight of heavy sin by
the stones building their walls
oh mr kindness,

             ....you deserve so much more

my sweetest sanctuary
of wishful thinking, and
only to fulfil them, as without
my fears, insecurities and undesirable
lust under hidden eyelids

i can create worlds in materials
of imagination. destroyed by
the wakes of time

i am free, though a slave to
mind pictures not often in my control

i rehearse my life before the act
of playing into this reality

i find healing in the abstract pictures
fixed into the brokenness of life
experiences

i am lost in a comfort; the converting
characters i create from reality's former

for the day only allows me
a moment's daydream
—but the night has so much more
to offer

                               ...i am a dreamer

growing pains
—these deep roots of hurt
cut off the past, water the present
and let the future grow

              ...life is all about growth

he tried to be a loner—his demons
wouldn't leave him alone
caught in the action of girl's bodies
moving slow. swimming depths of
chlorine; and drowning himself in
alcohol

                           ...it's all so brief

faded kiss
—nostalgic; an old picture
perfect dreams in their colour
all the memories of a former lover

                ....i used to be in love

Cuts of grass
leaves in the wind
   a moment to be free

Breathe, heavy sigh
a corpse of time
   death but long slept eyes

Oversharing life on feeds
overshadow foreshadowing needs
    it will all end in the usual tears

A love for I—selfish
a love undeserving—relish
   loving honestly, what is a blemish

Feast your eyes on food for thought
and with sweet nothings sought
   afterwards do keep their word

Life is a written poem
a river of those words flowing
  to know where we are, to keep on going

Pink sky; a blushing moon
by the compliments of dusk

By the sun—shown to be overbearing
shadows, chasing behind a tall stranger

The clouds have covered the sightseeing
tour of the journey to a questionable life

A bearing chest of emotions,
bare hairs, and without pride to speak

I feel the crawling sensation of a love sicken
child, under my skin.

You have given me peace from a piece of mind,
a piece of story we're yet to experience

Set opinions on my back, are the setbacks I have
on this love and its resilience

Wishy washy—soaked ideas of a love
I've written about on a Christmas wishlist

A letter in pink, a type of hoping for
good weather for the next day

                         .....perhaps whether I'll find the right love one day

A date out with the stars
my romance is a bit outdated
leisurely play, too relaxed to find love
Soundly calm moon whispers
tickle the ears of someone feeling blue
a sea of ten thousand tears over you

I've cried, and cried, weeping the whipping
of lashing out feelings. Not many take me serious,
not being a lover's hero

                ....for you, I am your pain's anti-villain

"Empty plates
loads of food for thought"
~said the overthinker
"Empty pockets
of a penny for a thought"
~now isn't that rich to the poor

"Empty trees
killing two birds with a stone"
~so said myself with terrible aim
"Empty marathon
I should cut to the chase"
~apologies for the blunt knife

"Empty battleground
always up in arms"
~a man of war only knows a gun
"Empty ears
we're left out in the cold
~no intention to hear my pain

"Empty flame
how to avoid burning bridges
~a man with enlightened wisdom
"Empty dreams
then after I hit the sack
~kept all of my dreams in a bag

                               ....Goodnight

Green eyes
looks of the envious
On the greener side, of tired
eyes—the young and the restless
To be labelled careless for caring
less of the attention we have for love
Sorry I wasn't taught enough about love
on how to love enough, I wasn't loved enough
                    but enough of the subject on love
                          my eyes are too envious upon
                                        seeing others in love

behind dark humour
behind a confident fake smile
behind a humble demeanour
behind growls and random sighs

behind seemingly a character's eager
behind lonely quick responses to one you like
behind oversized clothes over scars on your figure
behind acting like you can walk on a thin wire

behind jokes of saying you're much bigger
behind pretending you're not waking up tired
behind thoughts of shooting shots on a tiny trigger
behind explaining dreams of burning passion—fired

behind a simping hero, playing self villain's vigor
behind seasonal seasoning of a season to cry
behind truthful scripture, and thoughts of a sinner
                                  suicide lurks behind a mind

I love you in good taste
why good morning kisses
Pain of experience, acquired taste
waking tomorrow on yesterday's creases

Late debates, on a pillowcase
pillow talk with smothered words
To prefer—things said in vein crawling
under the skins ~it was a long night