poem/rap: green fields

Written on a train from London to somewhere greener…

These green fields are rollin’ by,

I’ve got Ed Sheeran playing on YouTube – oh my,

This guy can make a dude cry,

But he’s a good guy.

Went to see one of his concerts last night.

It started in the sunlight,

And ended in the moonlight,

People using their phone lights as torch nights,

Making it a starry night,

It was an incredible sight.

90,000 people connected in one moment,

No matter what their plight.

It felt so right.

With my family on Father’s Day,

I feel the future’s lookin’ bright.

A few things are falling into place now,

I reckon it’ll all work out somehow.

There are times I’ve worried that I’ll never settle down,

Constant state of uncertainty letting life pass me by,

Being known as the guy with unfulfilled potential,

But never reached his potential.

Stumbled through his life, didn’t feel that moving out his parents’ home was essential.

But he’s falling asleep as he writes these words,

Last night at Wembley was a late one you know,

Standing up for hours waiting for the show,

We kept edging forward ’till there was nowhere else to go,

How just a regular guy from Suffolk could have so much presence,

I’ll never know.

Self-confidence and laidbackness,

Uniting folks young and old,

No matter their whiteness or blackness.

I was in a trance.

Singing and swaying and nearly doing a dance.

Deep down I know I got a chance,

to have rock-solid self-belief,

Not caring what people think of me.

Not staring back at people looking at me,

Staying in my own bubble,

Just me, me, me.

Maybe that sounds egotistical,

I don’t mean to get statistical.

But those who seem more fulfilled with their lives,

Seem to live true to themselves,

And when it comes to others they don’t give a sh*t about them at all.

And that’s where I’m headin’,

Lord only knows where I’m headin’,

But I’ve got faith it’s somewhere good,

Either way I won’t let it do my head in.

– – – – –



✏ 18th June, 2018

poem/rap-song: why i write

I like writing poetry,

It’s not just me,

And there are other things –

I like to sing,

Which some say is the same thing,

A song is just a poem that you sing.

When I write, I feel warm like a light,

Shining on me real bright,

But not too bright ‘cos that hurts my eyes,

A light only I can see and feel,

Hidden in disguise,

A part of me that no one can prise,

Away from me.

Pouring warmth on me all over me,

Helping me process my thoughts and feelings mentally,

Evidently it’s not the answer to everything,

But I realise certain things,

That bulb in my head goes ding,

When I write down words I can sing.

I’ve got a mouth but I don’t always speak,

Thought expressing my feelings would make me weak,

Especially tears and anger and other emotions bleak.

So for a long time I held it all in,

Let nothing leak.

Like a bathtub filling up,

With the plug sealed in,

Everything overflowing again,

Mind spilling over like a dustbin,

Wishing I wasn’t so weak, so shy and so thin.

I’d be able to talk to girls and invite them in,

Not asked by my mum where I’ve ‘bin.

This wounded child,

He’s been hurtin’ for a while,

Hearing the grownups argue saying words that were vile,

But still having to open up his school file,

And file his own emotions away,

Hoping they stayed away,

Whilst his parents argued away,

Distracting himself to keep those feelings at bay.

Getting up to sh*t he shouldn’t do,

Instead of going out to play.

He still feels like a kid inside,

Young and innocent and child-like you’ll find,

Yet mature in certain ways and ever so kind,

But behind those eyes lies this hidden mind,

Full of all sorts of stuff you don’t wanna find.

But opening up he started dealing with it,

Working through it and leaving it all behind,

I think you’ll find you need to be kind to that mind,

That’s why I write.

It’s why I fight myself on the days I don’t wanna write,

Putting pen to paper,

Whether it’s now or later,

Lets me open up some craters,

No space for the haters,

For all I care they can go to the equator,

Burn up and die like Darth Vader.

No room for those invaders,

As bad as those thoughts that stayed here,

Set up camp and played here,

Like a band on stage held a rave here,

Tryna instil me with anxiety and fear.

But the end is near,

In a good way I hear,

I’m being sincere.

Because I write and I fight,

By my bedside I see the light,

Though now it’s night and it’s gettin’ dark,

I’m losing sight, of these words I write.

But I don’t need to see them or read them,

I just need to free them and feel them.

Which is why I’m putting this pen down,

and counting to ten.

– – – – –

Written by,


✏ Written: Saturday 14th April, 2018

poem: i’m on the train

I’m on the train,

On my phone playin,

Trying not to make eye contact,

Unspoken rules.

You know what I’m saying.

No one can blame a guy,

For wishing things on here were different.

Where we didn’t have to pretend to be so distant,

And were allowed to strike up a conversation in an instant.

Instead we’re like infants,

Glued to our screens & toys,

No talking to the other girls or boys.

To think these journeys could bring more joy.

So I continue to be a passenger,

On the train and in this carriage.

Not allowed to talk to the girl in this carriage,

No wonder we need apps like Tinder for marriage.

Not that I’d say hi to her anyway,

I’d just like to act on impulse if I may,

And say something or not,

Either way.

– – – – –

Written by,


✏ Written: Thursday, April 26th 2018

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