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Ian Black Poem
This manifestation of colour that springs from a genome , eternal, nourished, weathered and fashioned by a dyadic fornication cradled in time.
A pigment of hues in an utterance of undertoned, ubiquitous discourses, leaves an impression of stereotype and a plethora of lasting self fulfilling prophecies.
Eyes of blue, green, grey, brown and black see a world in chaos from within the dark, see a postcode lottery determine who lives in peace and who’s under attack.
Born from this colossal chaos are children of men, pure beating hearts that know no colour, that know no attack and are born of wonder. Little beating souls, Tabula rasa’s cleansed from the outset by a Nature's nurture and positioned by fate to their eternal mother. LOVE, love is the battle cry of the ages, But Race, creed and colour, somehow becomes loves significant other.
To breathe is to live and to live is to be, but how can one be if their colour determines, fashions and moulds their destiny
This heightened hierarchy, Noble, dynastic and imperial accost the paupers and protect the privileged. This blend of white creates a world of grey just another spectrum added to this Strata’d state of play.
For no colour will protrude into my life for they tried to make it black and white, yet may they see the four seasons come, may they take back and change what they have done in return, for a speedy recovery of an illness yet unknown, as its no longer children who are above their throne. Can they take on their challenges and reveal their day, can they take away their loneliness and their dismay, from this magnanimous world that is diluted with hate, where its profits before margins, it's no social state.
Copyright © Ian Black | Year Posted 2017
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Ian Black Poem
Oh mother mine, you're a friend to the end.
Seen you be a borrower a lender and a fixer of broken men.
You see your sons you have grown, we are true of heart,
You see you've taught us so well to shine bright and find our way in the dark.
I've seen the privilege in your face change, as we’ve grown in time
I wish i could map out and relive those photo’s, retrace all those laughter lines.
I wish i could have half the strength your mind and body have shown.
You see all that I've seen is you love us tooth and bone.
You see all that I've seen is you love us tooth and bone
Oh mother of mine who’s love loves the most
Seen you be a worker, a warrior,a beacon and our lives signpost.
Now the men you have raised are but yours and will never depart
You see you've shown us so well how to live and to love from the heart.
Copyright © Ian Black | Year Posted 2017
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Ian Black Poem
To the death they said...
No color will protrude into my life, for they have made it black and white...
May they see the four seasons done. May take back and change what they have done in return.
For a speedy recovery of an illness yet unknown, as it's no longer kings that are above our throne.
So take on your challenges and reveal your day, take away all this loneliness, take away dismay.
For this magnanimous world is diluted with hate, Profits before margins, its no social state.
Copyright © Ian Black | Year Posted 2017
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Ian Black Poem
...And I'm pleading with the powers, yeah the ones who love their state. Where its profits before the marginalised in this strata'd play of fate.
And I'm screaming at the mongers, selling a malingerers parade. Where its bombs before "oor" bairns in this warhorsed "social" state.
First past the Post... Equities of disease..
Living wage infractions..
Become this bourgeois wet dream...
Carnivorous cancers...
Form Vito's of class.
Still the price of a pound...
See's who's first and fears who's last…
Copyright © Ian Black | Year Posted 2021
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Ian Black Poem
From your parapet of pity you prophesize and proclaim,
That the widows of the tailors dug two shallow graves.
To mould the unmoulded into suits a crane,
who makes such dreams built of rain, served on a the back of your undiscovered pain?
A topographic phrenology that undulates the benign.. a course of repression not duly prescribe. While consciousness draws closer ticking over time,
we hear of other mumblers, shuffling for their dime.
Their mumbling over and over what's your sure once was mine.
Their mumbling over and over what's yours now must be mine.
So once again willing to put in the time.
Castaway your wings sink to the sublime.
Indulge in divulgence, balance the the unclean, tightropes are not mere nooses for a canvass set unseen.
Copyright © Ian Black | Year Posted 2020
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Ian Black Poem
It's the residue from the gunshot that you aimed right for my heart. See it ricocheted, backfired, meaning another false start…
A reissue of rhetoric accost the poet's you adore, so if acceptance is temperance then uneasiness no more?...
Do you remember that time we rode across your kitchen floor, clinging to a chloroformed kleptomanic repose, yet never in danger of being fully exposed, so we dined all night on a third and fourth course....just another case of the tail wagging the horse!...
When I held you in my arms I always felt you needed more...
See, we were allinged by chance, prepackaged romance, rinse repetitive repeat, another day, another week, who the f**k is winning in this game of hide and reep?...
I'll sow the seeds and water your fledgling soul, never once asking a suture for my own sterile self control…An awareness of sorts that our haves creates holes…
Acceptance is temperance then uneasiness no more, still when I held you in my arms, I could never see past my own sores…
Copyright © Ian Black | Year Posted 2023
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