"belafonte" poems
Took a trip on the Belafonte,
Bound with Cuba to forgotten Sanz.
Dinning on tin canned Del Monte,
A glass of Suntory always in hands.
Lloyd Faversham gifted salacious devices by John Cleese.
Used as props in Mike’s next gin stained showpiece.
The drum-line seemed irksome to J. Jonah.
He’d heard Zach Hill before.
Given limited time, despite the persona.
Interstellar fault found in a **** metaphor.
A swift change to an even more marketable sound.
Sparks didn’t fly when trying to appear profound.
Tiny teen dreams tending to tiny skirts.
Fidgeting with the hem-line.
Their just unintelligible flirts.
Stripping to avoid the breadline.
Dystopian fiction led to dissolution of fact
Can’t seem to see their world isn’t intact.
Atwood to Collins, Collins to a stupid ******* maze.
Alternate choice being a criminal thrill.
Simplistic fantasy whose only benefit is praise.
Popular opinion seems to be well over the hill.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I make my way through neon fury
Into a dizzying blur of heads
I think i see mountains in the distance
The darkness hides the concrete mounds from sight
Child imagination
For this night make them those mountains
From the time that your gait was free and your feet tiny
O Immortal night
Turn the gravel
Into the wistful green that cushioned my soles
Turn the amber of my room into a bonfire
let me look upon the city lights from the shelter of my tent
O Immortal night
Let Wodehouse laugh from beside my bed
And turn midnight fury into a wisp of smoke
Douse the embers of the day with the silver juice of the moon
While i rest at the root of the hibiscus that bloomed when i was ten
O immortal night
let me dip my quill and rejoice in the ink of your innocence
for the chatter of voices past fills my cave
from shelves they read out their favourite lines
as Blyton speaks to Shakespeare
and Dahl courts Woolf
their spirits high and their voices low
O immortal night
Let the tooth fairy knock on my door once again
Its been ages since i met her
Let the mystery of the future
Stir my soul
With millions of questions
Blind me with the succour of my faith
O immortal night
Lend me belief
In the sunlight of rhythm
While Belafonte spreads his warmth
Let the oil paints make a marble on my ceiling
And beckon to the stars
I am
Because you are
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
O SWEET FREEDOM COME ON DOWN AND RESCUE ME MAKE THESE CHAINS FALL AWAY AND THE DARK CLOUDS OF SLAVERY FLEE THIS DAY LET THE SUNRISE OF YOUR PEACE REST WITHIN MY SOUL TO STAY O SWEET FREEDOM COME DOWN LIKE A HEAVENLY RAIN O SWEET FREEDOM UNTIL MY DYING DAY REMAIN O SWEET FREEDOM COME DOWN AND RESCUE ME
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Kaye and
Belafonte
doing things
their
way, back
in '65
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
Subtle rhymes
are my forte,
raised on Pound
& Belafonte,
succoured on Yates
& then Bukowski,
slept with earphones
tuned to Count Brodski,
the other kids
they loved me so,
for all the places
my rhymin'
dared to go,
taunting teachers,
mocking dads,
laughing at those
silly fads,
& in the playground
I would rap,
my friend Nigel
doing taps,
& as I stepped down
from the bus,
boys would cheer
& shout & fuss,
Rhyme us!
Hit us!
1, 2, 3 ...
Martin's here
all fancy free.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 7:38 PM UTC