Life in Your Hood

Once Enchanted         (SP Summerscales)

A Jack Russel
sits yawning
on lead pencil
shaded mornings .

Street feet doomed
in every wrong tripped up step
they ever assumed .

For sale signs
forgotten has been
gravel clad
railway lines .

Remaining public houses
where competition priced pints
are swallowed
in the million liquid ounzes .

Above the sound
of beer being pulled
you can hear the pound
of humming skulls .

Antiquated church spires
illegal screaming car tyres
drunken brawls
and police infested
telephone wires .

Strange people
falling from medieval
church steeples
in methadone hazes
as their children play
in the slag heap mazes .

Young bodies
fill old graveyards
superstitious old ladies
sporting tarot cards
shop assistant retards
secular dour backyards
remembering pictures
of once enchanted boulevards
you aren't going to sell
any postcards .  

.:10,000 More:.


http://8020.photos.jpgmag.com/464430_126860_9671e834c9_l.jpg



day breaks rushing pass yesterday's fall
the third eye squints; is this the get up?
while in this dismal light
a fuzzed chin within that light
attempts to fill in the cracks
all the while muzzling back a pop
a pop seen popping off too many times
at times, unreasonable minds
they just stare into the light
into that neon glare channeling their apathy

we’re distracted continuously
by the ongoing chaos we see
yet together; here again we take a look
taking on the look of the wild-eyed inhabitants
the ones charting these idle wild streets
streets occupied by today's redundancies
so far in this century what else is new?
everything & nothing

this we confess; what a mess
as invitations are received
what’s perceived is an attempt to ward off
time-warped catastrophes; the invites freely given
given to address the chaos we're living
given up freely in care of the children
the children and their children
altogether wishing for it to get done
safer streets for everyone

yet this is a war; visions of blood & gore
where alotta folks have been more than sore
as they walk the core looking for the battles won
where so many simply want it over & done
none of this is fun; where seen are the overcast eyes
blurred, almost blown and…who’s to atone?
as we’re here surveying our own
our humanity…this insanity
rolling stealth as the wildest of wild-eyed idolaters  
too many manipulated by
the manipulators

subscribing to machinations of defeat
just part & parcel of the ongoing bittersweet
challenging the patience of poor folk
broken folk attempting to get mended
the unattended who too often die
we question why where it's beyond belief how we survive
waiting for that next newer; that next predacious storm to occur
that continuing blur with families suffering
going through a far too familiar grief
any happiness; its lifespan is far too brief

good grief; nah...that ain't even the case
odd, but one can see the turmoil all up in our face
this, the ongoing seriousness of a bad joke
our third eye always & continuously getting poked
as it squints…bad vision most the time
call it a definition of "almost blind" almost outta time
scrambling in a stupor to see daylight
looking, seeing that none of this; none of it is right

the perpetuating, the systematic sustaining of these
unjustly dropped tears; our fears
the non-trusting of our peers; negative circumstances
the ones caused by those unreasonable minds
the ones channeling their apathy;
is there no averting this ongoing catastrophe?
as we together once again we take a look
looking down streets; suffering more & more defeats
all the time occupied by redundancies
and so far in the early part of this century
what else is new?
everything and nothing

while along these urban stoops and porches
the lit torches, the lighters
them igniters with their LED flashlights
they and their slightly bent companions
melting while still illuminating out of place hearts
blackened hearts in need of jumpstarts…struggling
the out & out warring while not wanting to submit to another bite
as we see it, just wouldn’t be right…this
as we watch & react to another family's plight
that 'family’s rite' to bring redress

we confess all this as we again glance
a longer quick study surveying these idle wild streets
tell us who in the hell can compete?
where the looking out at these pathways; these
fearful avenues & boulevards; more akin to bullet yards
these roadways; the ones supposedly leading to a so-called success
knowing that while treading upon them surely
it's an ongoing test…this test to get away
to escape out & away from this madness

and so it goes...it’s forward & onward
crookedly into another tomorrow
into this continuing sad song
one of a deepening oppressive sorrow
played out as we try to maintain
where no less than serious is the insanity we claim
planted outside - inside; the experience of this pain
on these idle wild streets and what they do to the brain.







..

photo: Kenneth Greene



..

for an idea of my English "hood" listen to Jake Bugg from Clifton, & Park Bench Society from Nottingham.
ok sorry just promotin the local talent cool bye

Looking Out The Window

Looking out the window there's a world of indifference
I never was quite sure what I was missing
Equivocal vision
The disposition is aggrieved
And not only for me
As well as people in the streets
Open up and take a peek
What you see might frighten the soul
And if you quickly turn away it might lighten the load
You might like that road
But you should know it's not the best way
Strive for a change
And just don't worry what the rest say
In fact
Let the rest stay just where they are
Because in time you can shine ultra bright like a star
I open up the blinds and I saw the truth
Forced into hiding
It seemed a bantam bit aloof
Intentions misconstrued
Now what's left to do?
We've been written off
We only dream about the hard times soon getting soft
I've been relinquished and scoffed at
Friends never called back
But you have to keep the faith
Even through all that

Another Person

Another person died
Murder murder
A mother had cried
They sent her baby to the burner
There's no way to hide
This genocide is eternal
I would've been lying if I had said it never hurts
Open your eyes
Another person in a box
Blood flooded the streets like jealousy on the block
Outlines in chalk in every place you try and walk
Say it's out of control
A close community now bitter and cold
And wasn't hip to packing weapons but the fear made them bold
Corrupt cops in the streets
Activists get the heat
Anyone who speaks against this ended up being decease
As if the people could escape but rather stay in the grief
But see the truth is everyone is trying to eat
Can't be at peace with people trying to pull you down
Like they've made a mistake for trying to play on even ground
Made to think they we're meant to be out casted and inferior
And some know the truth but other people rarely hear them

Poem: My home..or is it?

The ghetto is where I live
Brooklyn new york
coney island
where you see passed out bums on the street
crazy people trying to get you to smoke with them
if you not like them your shit
seeing drug dealers standing in the same place
its a repeating cycle of unfulfillment
old buildings breaking down
cracks in the sidewalks
screaming housing tenants
fighting over nonsense
the people here gets excited over weed
its killing them brain wise
sadly they know it
if you don't follow their ways
they will shun you
beat you down until you do
this place was suppose to be a beautiful place
that's not how I see it
look threw these broken down creaked up windows
seeing kids using disrespectful language towards others
watching teens get messed up at such a young age
everything around here going down hill
selling themselves just for a quick one
instead of paying those bills
everyone loves the first of the month let me tell ya
free money is what I see
using it for weed
using it for cigarettes that will kill you from the inside
oh yeah don't forget the lotto
I see people running just to have them be played
wasting so much on  time it
you don't care though
as long as you got it
its so depressing seeing all this
especially after hurricane sandy
I hated this place for so long now
I can't even comprehend the meaning of it all
bad ass disaster leaving destruction behind
stealing shit
breaking in stores
falling trees and broken homes
no water and no food
this place wasn't all good but now we worst than ever
a home? Yeah sure if that what you wanna call it
I call it a real hell
I'm glad that I at least met a few good people here
without them I might have just go insane long ago
this is my own living hell in reality
living here thought me how to be strong
being this way helps me protect myself from
unwanted circumstances
my daily activity is to live my life
go to college and get the hell out
to me this place sure isn't safe but damn I try my best
to keep my loved ones safe
coney island will never feel like home to me

Class War

The rising,
the rising.
I want to,
I am the underclass.
This is class war!

This is for the thought, class war.
We got no time,
we got no one.
We got nothing at all,
we got a class war.
We got nothing at all,
we've got to fight for it all.
we've got to fight for it all,
fight for it all.

We work all our lives,
we work all our lives to get no more.
We are the underclass,
we are the underclass we work for nothing,
we get nothing.
This is class war!

Why is it all the goods against us?
It's not a good existence.
This is class war!
Oh yeah!
This is class war for sure.
This is class war for sure.

Juarez (My Teenage Years There)

I'm from a place called Gutterville,
Just call it hell's ribcage and all is well,
block after block bullet holes adorn
the smell while everyone walks around
like it's common place, it's strange
to see lives destroyed in the name of drugs
and high caliber toys. Listen to the silence
overpower the joy but yet optimism is
powerfull and used as a decoy by criminal
kings who idolize Sigmund Freud. This life
chose them out of necesity of course, so instead
of New Zealand we're here counting shells
and we don't live by the beach, I speak about
those surrounded by yellow tape accompanied by
screams in the backround, so slowly I begin
to understand why people fled this place in such
a hurry, thinking about it I need to get up early
and get out of dodge before I become a victim to
my own curiosity. Grew up affiliated without
much of a choice, many years later, here comes
the remorse pocking me in my conscious without
ever thinking about what it's doing to my mind,
I've seen young ladies cry while giving kisses
to their loved ones right after they died, and
that can be traumatizing to a good kid trying
to understand the difference between heroes and
villians when the whole neighborhood looks up to
killer drug dealers instead of model citizens, but
I guess that's all part of the struggle when living
in a place surrounded by nothing but rubble.

.:Killadelphia:.

http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4030/4579971377_6526f3a392.jpg


We kill in 99% of all The Occupied Spaces
We kill who we kill ‘cause we don’t care ‘bout no traces
Hard life… to Death all the time is what one faces
What’s now being said is in reference to these places  
Skills begetting thrills wherein alotta blood gets spilt
Ferocious like Death Squads and the craving just won’t wilt
That chilly ability of “Making someone dead”
On tilt, absence of guilt; the hammer gets fed

Nailing ‘em…as in carpentry?
Jesus, No…

Indeed it’s more like Infantry
In Killadelphia, that’s the “death” we see
Killings with nail guns & hammers
We kill Kings & Queens with broken speech that stammers
Some of us, we learnt this while up in them slammers

SSSSSSSSSStuttering?  Nah we call it… “Stud ‘O ring”

The blood spilt, now sputtering across the floor
We’ll hit ‘em hard, real hard with that two by four
Victims crying out…”PLEASE, NO More”
But trust…there’s a helluva lot more in store

In Killadelphia… See for yourself we ain’t no slouches
Observe the double-deuce as it slips out of pouches
Here we come watch it son. We’ll be leaping up out of crouches
Just like Call to Duty when playing it on them couches
We creep…then we leap; then we rush ‘em real quick
A sucka punch, take they lunch…an ill deed by The Clique
But we’ve done gone beyond sticks; forget about them stones
It’s the “Kill Age” baby…this is how we Rome
Ready to take a life inside another vacant home
The Definitive Victim; call 'em…two shots to the dome

We will kill everything; letting kills run their own course
We just kill over & over with alotta Brute Force
For real, it’s unreal but that’s how we feel
Each killer killing with that over-the-top zeal
In Killadelphia…a joker; him coughing up & sick
That joker can get killed by the ink from a Bic
And some jokers can get killed over a discolored glass of water
Killed by an irate mother or by her “too fresh” daughter
By a wayward son whose completely out of order
This the kinda kill-zone where only a few may adore ya
We kill…with or without…a fully loaded Glock
We kill in Killadelphia…and we do it around the clock

We be stirring that pot; we do that a lot
That Homicide Squad know they ain’t got squat
Leaving ‘em out there questioning & clueless
Victim’s slumped to their side ‘cause we just that ruthless
Condemning passive folks defining them as useless
Life, yeah, for sure; we surely do abuse it
What we yield that’s the ordeal; see we compassion-less inside
In Killadelphia…on occasion sometimes televised
Scenes of rabid friends caught up in their frenzy
See our dawgs they can get…real, real crazy
Watching a Vic’s eyes as they begin to get hazy
Assaulting and or murdering; killing off alotta folk
Worst than The Triple-K, them white sheets still a joke
We wear the dark hoodie; then we head out to work
The mission at hand…another Broad Street Murk
This is what we do and it’s all quite true
Killing works for us; just another Code Blue






...

photo: david waymans


...

The king of absolutely fuckall





Each morning i wake, look out the window and take
A good look at my kingdom, what a wonderfull day
Knowing im the king of all i survey
I sit with a coffee and the hardest thing i must say
Is thinking of what i should do with my day
With a smile as wide as a cheshire cat
Feels like ive won the lottery or something like that
But then comes reality like a whacking great wall
not even a slippery slope, this is total freefall
Coming back to reality starts making me sad
Something is wrong, i think im going mad
Cos while im still in total freefall
I realise im the king of absolutely fuckall
I look out again and all i survey
Has never been mine in any way
Not even a Kingdom, a Castle or thrown
Not even a thing, im all on my own
While sipping my coffee i start wondering why,,
I done what i done then i start to cry
Everything and everyone i ever loved i drove away
Now none of them would even give me the time of day
Nearing the end of my coffee i think "well that's that"
The final few swigs i take a pill for this and a pill for that
Cant get through my day without taking a pill
And even then, the day is just one great big hill
Then at the end of the day more pills i take
Knowing i'll be a king again when i awake