Long Neighbourhoods Poems
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Each holy man there is, is convinced he's better than the next,
as his right hand tightly clasps prayer beads, whilst he judges others with his left.
Piety the reason that he wakes up every day,
just to forget that only God can judge, even if someone is gay.
Whether devoted to the gospel or in submission to the Muslim holy book,
many of these zealots cannot be told apart from crooks.
Their lies are so often inspired by an agenda that remains hidden
amongst claims they will be forgiven for each slip, no matter how forbidden.
Living in the future, they are consumed with the afterlife,
but it is so convenient to forget the rules every time they take another wife.
These hypocrites misinterpret ancient words however they see fit,
when the truth holds no advantage from which they could somehow profit.
Wars have been fought over less than a few acres of land,
both sides convinced the blood was spilled as part of their God's plan.
Self-righteousness surrounds us, humanity has ceased to exist,
replaced by laws made by hateful pastors and religious nuts like Kim Davis or ISIS.
Who can say that religion has done less harm than good,
when it can be held responsible for divided neighbourhoods?
When practiced with humility, it can be a beautiful thing;
praised for the prosperity it brings, and turned to for guidance in times of suffering.
But more often than not, Ten Commandments are ignored whenever we commit seven deadly sins,
we are so conscious of all our imperfections but ignorant of our blessings.
False prophets preaching in the streets take advantage of our desperation for something to believe in;
the confidence with which they spread their ignorance is rarely seen as deceiving.
Mankind will only survive this state of emergency if we unlearn all that we know,
once we accept that religion hinders us more than it helps us grow.
There is nothing wrong with having a little faith,
if it inspires love and does not advocate messages filled with hate.
God has no religion. There is no more need for these unholy wars,
let us not be so insecure that any offense is one worth fighting for.
Muslim, Christian, Hindu, or Jew; there will always be power in numbers,
lest we forget that before our dogma divided us, we lived together as sisters and brothers.
"NEMESIS"
“Where do Angels go in their dreams?
They go where wolves go to catch foxes,
venturing forth out of small caged boxes
to the Between-Hours of Lost Love Woods”
NEMESIS
is watching her
from his dreams
prowling soft Silver fur
hear his soft-wolf tread,
Nemesis has left his comfortable bed
he is onto her, he is tracking her Heavenly scent
She is Light Angel
spreading luminous wings
shining it all around,
she thinks of escaping
barefoot from this sullied ground;
her skin is cold to the touch,
no longer standing sentry
she's lost in the murky
Between-Hours of Lost Love Woods,
Black Tulips abound
Wolf is stalking her,
her scent makes him wild;
lurking, nearer, ever nearer
invading her dreams of better
neighbourhoods and childish things
simple and clearer, she is
spreading brand new wings to freedom,
away from Black Dogs in their prisons
those kicked out of Heaven,
barking their ignored plea bargains
of rushed stolen innocence, begging -
all of their pardons are lost, 'tis a given,
her hot angel tears turn to frost
Nemesis soft-footed paw,
back arching, he snarls, bares his fangs
then he grins, he's closer much closer
he can feel her in the skin under his fur,
he’s hunting Her down,
breathes his turgid breath
all over "The Lost",
the hidden creatures running quietly wild,
in the Between-Hours of Lost Love Woods;
beckoning her, his low growl ever nearer,
ever never, his hot breath on the prowl
reaching out for her
he’s raging to roar -
in her sees his mirror
There are stories, she hears,
of a Wolf on the loose from his cage in
the Between-Hours of Lost Love Woods -
she forgets the real reason she came,
calmly brings her wings down by her side,
she continues to shine her light all around,
she can feel him
Burning hot breath on her neck,
he growls ever so softly, so clear in her ear,
“Don’t Run Sweet Thing, Don’t Run,
You are found, I am here.”
Black Tulips abound
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
For those absent.
1. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKiI4RvEyDk
I was born at the tail end of the Goldhawk Road
Which runs through Shepherds Bush
Like an artery,
And in the mid 1960s,
Served as one of the great centres
Of the London Mod movement,
But I was raised in relative gentility
In a ward of nearby South Acton
Whose vast council estate
Is surely the most formidable
Of the whole of West London.
Although my little suburb
Has since become
One of its most exclusive neighbourhoods.
My first school was a kind of nursery
Held locally on a daily basis
At the private residence
Of one Miss Henrietta Pearson,
And then aged 4 years old,
I joined the exclusive
Lycee Francais du Kensington du Sud,
Where I was soon to become bilingual
And almost every race and nationality
Under the sun was to be found
At the Lycee in those days...
And among those who went on to be good pals mine
Were kids of English, French, Jewish, American,
Yugoslavian and Middle Eastern origin.
While my first closest pals were Esther,
The vivacious daughter
Of a Norwegian character actor
And a beautiful Israeli dancer,
And Craig, an English kid like myself,
With whom I remain in contact to this day.
For a time, we formed an unlikely trio:
"Hi kiddy," was Esther's sacred greeting
To her blood brother, who'd respond in kind.
But at some stage, I became a problem child,
A disruptive influence in the class,
And a trouble maker in the streets,
An eccentric loon full of madcap fun
And half-deranged imaginativeness.
("Born on the Goldhawk Road" is a versified version of one much reproduced in various forms throughout my writings, although it bears little resemblance to its original, which first glimpsed the light of day in around 2002. It's undergone much modification since then, including the alteration of all names of people and places for the solemn purpose of privacy.)
This world of ours is not always a good place
behind closed doors so many terrible things occur.
Hidden from plain sight some suffer endless torture
by the very ones who should love them the most.
Terrible things done sometimes in loves name
horrific beatings handed out, just for the sake of control.
Murders committed simply because one person will not share
killing so no-one else can take their supposed loved one away.
Children living in fear beaten and starved flinching at loud voices
creeping round like little mice hoping praying they are not noticed.
Gangs that bully and terrorise neighbourhoods while selling drugs
slashing up rival gangs purely for more territory to increase their strangle hold
to continue their evil crimes. Young girls and boys sold into sexual slavery,
victims each and everyone and all for profit. War torn countries
full of horrendous abuse, dead and injured cast aside like trash.
Yet for each who deals out these horrible crimes once they were
different, once they were loved. Can all be explained away by the fact
that they were taught by those that reared them in these horrific circumstances?
Or is it true that some were born monsters who enjoy other's pain and grief?
Practicing their craft on helpless victims as they grow up pulling wings of birds
slicing and dicing up beloved pets. Always attacking the weak and helpless.
Plain bullies that carry out their crimes in secret afraid to face those of strength.
One never really knows what goes on behind those closed doors. Yet when a
victim finally snaps and turns the tables oft times they are the ones our systems
punish and lock away behind bars while their tormentor is left free to continue
their rampage. Who I ask is the beast? Mankind surely deserves this name not animals.
Hey, all you governments
Who sit on your ass
Do as your told
And do as we ask
Make this planet
The way it should
Follow my stanza's
Please intrude
People prepared to take a life
Should stay inside, out of sight
Never to shadow, our neighbourhoods again
Don't put them down, let our pains stain them
Paedophiles preying on our innocent kids
This is a parasite, that needs to be rid
How its done, we vote in people to say
For never again on our kids should they prey
The driver who's drunk, vehicle out of control
Never drive again, jail then parole
All cases taken, for their premeditated crime
Which will indicate their incarcerated time
Corporate America, conglomerate feed
The want for the dollar, seed of greed
Countryside plundered for ore and wood
What was picturesque scenes, now raped and crude
The culture of guns from the Wild West
Has impregnated the thought, of a gun by the bed
Constitution allows the keep of a gun
Decades of mentality, blood run
The one to me that beggars belief
To invade others for out and out greed
The Invasion of Iraq, on the intelligence told
Weapons of Mass, the public sold
Saddam a tyrant like many others
Sit round the table, as their power smothers
There has to be ways to take them down
Without invading their cities and towns
So all you politicians, who work for us
Get out of your office, get on that bus
Campaign out there for what you know to be right
For we'll vote you in, and applaud your sight
Its not just for today, its for tomorrow and beyond
So come on governments, please respond
Pass the laws, with the White-house pen
If not for us
Our Children's, Children
" This just came to me as i was reading a comment by Kristin Reynolds,thank you "
Hidden within the deep recesses of the dark green forest.
Hidden from the world, cocooned within the tall green grass.
Hidden in the yellow summer sun amongst the moss.
Hidden from humanity.
Immersed deep within the sea of my soul.
Within my dark shadowy existence.
In this forlorn time of skyscrapers, celestial apartments
And bricky neighbourhoods.
Images of their inhumanity and indifference festers.
Scratching a hole in the thick walls of my existence.
Searching to see without in that narrow tunnel.
Hidden within the sanctuary of my resistance.
Less no one will see me, but I will see their hell.
Hidden as I am from their power in their bloated world.
I will see these mortal creatures in their daily dance of routine,
As they become weak in the eyes of God with their sin,
In their power struggles within their empty hollowness.
Of their vain power and nothingness.
While I stand, wait and observe their mortal combat,
In the field of useless commercial life and gabbled debate.
While I revel in the misfortunes of their lot in the lotto reel of life.
While I smile at their idiotic attempts to break their own wall of damnation.
As they burn in the fire of their own hell.
Created by them from the fiery passion of their own lust and greed
In their violence and godless self-rule.
In these days of wrath, fire and hell, I bury myself deep
Within the salvation of my own soul, at peace as I weep.
Amidst the chaos of their struggles,
Within the wheel of their own explosive release,
As I am released into the depth of the green forest,
So my soul can revel in the blue sea of peaceful caress.
I have flashbacks of you, from when I was so young
i thought you left me, to explore this vast galaxy, for mankind
You taught us how to survive on this big banged up, revolving planet
Leaving your footprint for us to use and making us all very bemused
Is that you our founding fathers, in the bright night sky?
Are you coming home, just to check on us or for a final goodbye?
Show us your calling card, but don't let us all lose our mind
Tell us where you went and why you left us all behind
You made structures out of large stones and pointed bricks
Black and white men from all over, have drawn images on their wall
We study lost language that we can't truly understand, at all
Heavy hauling and perfect angles, were they done using a bag of tricks?
Is that you our founding fathers, in the bright night sky?
Are you coming home, just to check on us or for a final goodbye?
Show us your calling card, but don't let us all lose our mind
Tell us where you went and why you left us all behind
Moe's lambs and Chris's hens always fighting over their goods
While those wandering dews, slip through to form geometric cracks
The worlds weak, struggle for food and carry their beds on scorched backs
as the Earls and Dukes, live behind security gates, in phoney neighbourhoods
Is that you our founding fathers, in the bright night sky?
Are you coming home, just to check on us or for a final goodbye?
Show us your calling card, but don't let us all lose our mind
Tell us where you went and why you left us all behind
Moving from the short century to the dead century,
dead of passions and hopes,
of nerve-wracking expectations for a future of fiery suns
and of well-being, a palpable sign of progress.
A sign of history traversing obligatory passages
trampling over defenceless bodies and arousing pride
and faith in heroes, who unique in the world
ignore selfishness and contempt for truth.
They are great men whose mission is
the brightening of the gloomy horizon
and the support of curved backs
and the calloused, greasy hands of the workers.
They gather in smoky rooms,
with the air impregnated with carnal passions
distracting from the black soot
of factories and neighbourhoods.
A mission without a messiah,
of faith close to the soul purified
of every animal instinct. A warm embrace
of comrades, friends, queens with bare breasts
and weapons hidden under their skirts, ready for battle.
Is God dead and the heroes dead with them?
Narrative, storytelling, are the soul of the world.
They are mazes of thoughts
and feelings that create the outer world.
Narrative dictates meaning,
the heartfelt feeling of others' pain
and human stories.
Without narration there is neither pity nor illusion,
only an empty chase of banality
and self-pity.
Would this be the meaning of human evolution?
Raw life without a prism of light to deceive perception
and give meaning to the woody slag,
to the concrete shores,
and the dreams of those who dream of the future?
You sun the blanket of the orphans, so early in the morning melting down the snow to breastfeed the ground to humans you bring back consciousness, purpose of living and hope that tomorrow so much will happen in a bright way for the up coming days.
You are the only light which was seen in the beginning, seen by our forefathers to get healing from. The only medication which was good in vitamin -D,where by it works were done, missions accomplished,brains active because of you till today.
Those with no homes to live in, with you they bask for comfort. Their hopes never die because they know you will always come back for them so they can finish what they have started. You bring forth warmth like a wool in need of women to innovate something with their hands which can give aid in the neighbourhoods.
Their homes are cardboards, plastics, some they use bridges for refuge. They have no walls, that's their only walls to call their homes. When you set down on the hills around 17H30pm their tears starts to come out,cause they know that a night to them is a torture, a song they have always hated to dance for. A ghost they have seen once but always a nightmare to their dreams. There is no peace, no silence, all they hear is a sound of teeth, shivering, for only coldness is their everynight disease.
But they always live with hope because of you, sun.
Power equals currency
In a world that actively yearns for it
The more you have the more you are worshiped
And with worship becomes freedom
Where inequality is something they abuse
And power is the excuse they use as a campaign
To bully the people that they blame
To start an agenda of hate for the only personal gain
The same people that made us their slaves
But we are the ones who are inhumane
Those politicians sitting on their thrones
Built of our labour
Curated from the bones of our ancestors
Claiming they care about our community
Whilst cleaning the streets with our blood
Then lying about how violence lives in our neighbourhoods
In our faces they smile
And everytime there is a tragedy
They post a black screen
Their apologies are as empty as their fake sympathy
Then behind our backs
They sit and laugh
Signing of policies
For the autonomy of our bodies
Creating laws
To storm our homes by force
Without any just cause
To them this is a game
One we never asked to play
The rules ever changing
Due to their ever growing shame
Of how we handle the pain
You placed on our names
Every setback we overcame
The hurricane of hate that is thrown our way
Expecting us to fall, but on our feet we remain
Surpassing every hurdle they throw, but they don't understand they have terrible aim