The factories long disappeared,
Silent structures still stay;
And more drugs than dreams have appeared,
In Kensington today.
The north of the Ave has its shine,
Less fine, southerly way;
Best Philly, and worst, intertwine,
In Kensington today.
Six miles, in a small corner curled,
“What matter?” you may say;
Well, the world is here, here’s the world,
In Kensington today.
It’s sad when poverty
leads to the proliferation
of gangs and sales of drugs
which leads in turn to addiction.
No bigger open market for drugs exists
than one where great homelessness grew.
Gangs are thriving even to this day
there on Kensington Avenue.
Gangs of many ethnicities,
prostitutes and miserable folk
hang out there hooked on
heroin, fentanyl and coke.
A billion dollar market where I’m sure
drugs are bought as easily as soda pop.
Don’t worry that you even will get caught.
Over there one rarely sees a cop!
“When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached,
don't adjust the goals, adjust the action steps.”
- Quote by Confucius
-------------------------------------------------------------
Human errors
beyond measure
K and A avenue
intersection
smoking hurt
needling pain
losing love of live
living addicted
people mistreating
people mistreated
unconscious youth
forgetful leaders
ruptured vein
dying humanity
homeless theories
weighed hopes
failed lot
lots failed
The wheels of the chaotic times churn for them
the sands of crushed dreams in the desert of desiccated life,
settling frenzied on the unstratified fragile structure
of the disorganized dunes of desolate existence.
The sequestered moments of distressed awareness,
drift the dust of disarray to the foyer of failed being.
The truth of trustful conviction sinks under suffering
made with mirage on the ruffled ripples of disorder.
In homeless languished life’s impoverished landscape,
sorrow-paved avenue contours convoluted uncertainty,
winds to nowhere at the fading fringe of the time future,
beyond the befuddled perception of toiling time present.
With the faceless faces smeared by the shadows of scorn
they walk on slimy Kensington Avenue of cardinal crime.
Life trampled by insolent wavering footsteps in journey
under the stupor of opoids that never ends their pain.
They seek the benevolence of the society to help them
in their search for the lighted path away from squalid environs
for their suffering souls to discern the abode of empathy,
as they strive to find the way out of the dead end avenue.
Here they come with
an iPhone
Go Pro Zv Max
buddies in their ears
bopping to old tracks
dead cat on a mic
push it in yer face
what are you doing, girl?
Tryin’ to turn a trick
earn your Rhino tranq?
Sneakers burning
keeping warm
sleeping standing
got no dorm
Here they come in
their pink puffy
glittering long fat coats
frothy coffee, milk of oats.
Come see the zoo;
we got dead cats, dead rats,
xylazine zombies too
shootings, drive by’s
OD’s, all you need.
It’s killadelphia man
Sleeping in grime
in this here hood
that ain’t no crime
ain’t no good
Here they come with
Their TikTok
YouTube Instagram smirk
Here’s a Dixie buddy
tell me where to shoot.
My girls lost a foot
you wanna see that?
See him lie, see him die
what you gotta film
to get your likes?
influence me
influencer
nothing to see
make a stir
Sit down, and let me tell you, son,
about the historic district, Kensington,
in the year eighteen-forty-four,
when the streets broke out in war.
The Irish-Catholic were new arrivals,
impoverished, fighting for survival.
The existing population was disquieted,
and so, Philadelphia nativists rioted.
It was then that false rumors were passed.
In a bad light, the Irish were cast,
Propaganda and lies, the devil's tools,
"They want to remove the Bible from schools".
But son, these things wouldn't happen today.
We are enlightened, though let me just say,
if there is an unpleasant circumstance,
just blame it on the immigrants.
Where is this? Are we on Mars?
America – just count the stores,
capitalist carnivores.
That so-familiar movie score,
the swish of passing cars.
The city built on Brotherly Love
(Wells Fargo, Fitch and Abercrombie)
at the mercy of Pam Bondi
- was that a person, or a zombie? –
What was Madison thinking of?
Car’s no use: no place to park it.
Arrested at a funeral home.
No gravel pits, no air, no loam
- eat your heart out, Kristi Noem
(Checks Cashed Here, Medina Market)
Can this be noon? It feels like night.
What are these groupings? Hangouts? Dives?
They’re ganglions? They’re human hives?
Squandered talent, wasted lives.
Subway line blocks out the light.
Sidewalk garbage. Mostly men.
That hokey old verbal agility,
“insure domestic tranquillity”
correctional facility
for the heirs of William Penn.
Human beings are detritus
(Lifetime Nails, Olympic Sports):
To clean it up, we use the courts
Perhaps we ought to build more forts
- and thus our id comes back to bite us.
Kensington
Children of frustration
when dreams rose from the heap
the darkest of locations
tell white lies as they speak
open to persuasion
when abilities are weak
waves of degradation
disturbs all those asleep
awake the dispensation
to turn the other cheek
the house that they were raised in
and company they keep
a blur of segregation
when summers burn with heat
sit back for meditation
and sow all that is reaped
peer deep into what’s stationed
the lost or stolen sheep
a core that rocks a nation
only on occasion weeps
passed down from generations
too scared to take a peak
the truth is out there somewhere
you can find it in the street.
Years of silence I can't recall
Tears I pant on the scrawled wall
Clothes worn in an open cell
Souls torn, drowning in smitten well
Costumes worn by zombies
Moving as mannequins, not gnomes
Legumes not grown as beans or chickpeas
Roving pass skull watchers of spumes
My heart beating slow, recurring
My voice bleating low, murmuring...
Your soothing eyes I can't forget
Looking into my eyes of regret
Your hands you stretch I can't reach
To cleanse my body and bleach
Creeds of lore I can comprehend, not detest
Breeds and condescend at my weakest
Your soft hair I wanted to smell and comb
Your touch I can sense, I goad that aplomb
I will always remember you as always
On this avenue you watch over me sideways
Each day I walk barefooted without wellington
Your footprints you leave on Kensington...
what a potpourri
mopery and dopery
in Kensington town
One percent of people are the king Of Kensington.
The rest think that it's easy but they live in Leamington.
How could all be happy there for all they have to live
and think about the one percent who make it and who give?
I'm the King Of Kensington.
A man who lives as civil.
I'll ask you how your day was
and assure you nothing frivol.
I know the walk around the town
and carry you around.
And if I know your troubles
I'll listen more profound.
I walk this world with others
and keep my head held high.
There'll never be another
and you can count on I.
Seattle to Kensington a short journey indeed
He became experienced through his guitar amp feed
He lived his life like a machine gun
Hey Joe plays little wing, on the third stone from the sun