Long Hackney Poems

NOTE: Some of you seemed to enjoy my stories from the past. Of course, posting this in the story folder is tantamount to burying it six feet under, as you know, so I'm posting it...

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In Dickensian time 
Upon sunset hour
Overshadowing Thames
Is London Tower
Blackened cobble streets
Shimmer in the rain
Big Ben at Westminster
Chimes an eight bells refrain

At Euston Station
A passenger alights
On Platform 3
And enters the caff
for a nice cup of tea

At...

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Court hiss sea hove The Irish Times,
     this hum mere ruck can bloke
kin esse spy climb mitt till impact
     desiccation ravaging with choke

hold thee aim rilled isle,
...

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I gat no ing job
All I do is place a daring bet
Sometimes I hit the big stone with my toe
While if luck gat my back, it catapults me like a jet

Madness permits corncob 
Yet remain...

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Bun the feds dem coming str8 from the lava ground
A young brother moving mad cause I brown
I hate the police force their all full if pricks
They had the audacity to call the authorities
Bun that dough...

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No accent comes with an ace 
Or perfect words' tones at place
It doesn't assume a good act
Or speech determining lie or fact
Does it make one wise like ants?
Growing impact in their solemn chants

Within the sounds;...

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Ghetto people, where ghetto people
North, south, east and west, its ghetto
Ghetto’s and garrisons, we have to live with it
From the cold hearted streets, you got to deal with it
Born and raised in the east side...

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Sir where may I drive you 
With your finery and trappings
To the world renowned palace
So high in the rankings

And what do you do there 
For you plainly are princely
I order activity 
Of circuits and machinery

Now...

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Its been taken,lost, buried.
Non existent
The ashes crushed and grey gather in my palms
A faded pretty picture 
The sweetest ... Bitter
A wisp of memory brushes past 
Caught by my the strands of coil on my head
By the...

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You frowned at that fraudster called age, 
The fiend that lets no one sleep light, 
In book of life age is a page. 

A child lets life a free passage, 
Flying off in a fancy...

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Hey you!  You’re a mum
‘Bout time you talked to your son
Where was he last night?
Came home, what a sight
Lingering smoke
‘Bout time you sat down and spoke.

He ain’t got a job
Well dressed, not a slob
Cut...

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Once in a while my brainpan looks alike
a hackney carriage full of hackneyed clichés
and tired words. In times like this, my psych
advised the psycho to unharness wishes,
to burn the carriage down, to make love
to the...

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