Concoction Of Words

stock-photo-respect-love-romance-info-text-graphics-and-arrangement-concept-on-white-background-word-cloud-88661770

 

Concoction Of Words

She is a concoction of words so beautiful

That the trees gave forth their own flesh .

Yearning to be the infinity that holds her

As they Writhe under her life sentences.

Ecstatic to bare her essences on their skin

Moving through windows of my soul

She smells like new books and lipstick

And all of my boxes now get ticked

Her lips speak , unwrapping infinitely,

Intimately caressing all my grey cells

And in there now dwells some hope

But I hold it loosely, so not to crush it

I try not to rush it, in fear of falling head over heels

This starling likes the shiny hearts it steals

All of my common sense for emotions so intense

It prevents me from standing back from it all

But to be in love is to fall, so I just let go and enjoy the flow

Watch it grow or whither on the vine of connection

A life time of intimacy or just eventual rejection

It’s the section of life we all spend so much time on

Because it bares the hope that when we are gone

We may carry on in the hearts of those lives we touched

And as such we achieve the closest to immortality we can

So take my hand and don’t be afraid of the days to come

Just remember we are always two, and never one

That should lock in some safety in our romantic run

Losing yourself in someone else is tricky business

You find yourself lost saying “ what the hell is this?”

Just as they in turn get lost in you, on the couch watching BBC2

Wondering what to do with the weekend, how to pay the bills

Wondering what ever happened to all those passionate thrills

(Spoken word performance of it here – https://soundcloud.com/glen-w-hunter/concoction-of-words )

Advertisements

iStand

2013-08-29-182532_3

iStand

I stand here with this body ready to rock every body

With my words nouns and verbs

Enhanced by well grounded herbs

Made from a plant so old, here before the warm, here before the cold.

Eternal from the primordial soup until that day that beats played on a loop

And I began dancing to the sound of my own inner drummer

I dance like crazy pan barefoot in the fields with a pipe in one hand

Playing the tunes of all that is human.

I exhale to create a veil of mist over my mind.

I prevail to weather the hail of the one eyed man leading the blind

And in time , bring sight back to the masses.

Break down barriers of classes, unite through dances and tales so old

The young tongue needs re-strung to say when it has begun and it never ends.

It’s the tale of friends, the story of Lazarus.

The spoken words of ancient wisdom ignored can be disastrous.

Just look where we are now!

We have sold the sacred cow to fast food culture.

Sliced and diced and served with rice and picked from the bones like vultures.

We embrace the face of the enemies our grand parents fought,

Because we have forgotten to learn the lessons they taught.

History repeats only when we need to unlearn what we have learned,

Rebuild what we have burned, turn back from where we have turned.

All of their efforts and stories we have spurned.

Or sold to the highest bidder and then tweet defeat on Twitter

To let the world know that we let it all go.

What we reap is what we sow, and all we sow now is woe.

The fear started to grow and now it won’t let go.

Time to re-plant , re-seed, cut away these damaging weeds and look to science and nature

Rather than some white male saviour.

I want you all to look at the person next to you. What do you see?

Is it a person, a them, or just another me, a fraction of the ‘we’ to the highest degree?

If you see another then return to you mother and re-learn the lessons she taught.

I know our fathers failed us , our manhood jailed us, and masculinity and femininity

Come in a box with locks and stocks for those who do not fit in.

So where do we begin?

We begin right here. We drop all the anger and loose all the fear.

Hold a hand out to help those far and near.

Solidarity, empathy , living life the way it’s meant to be.

Turn the other cheek with the weak, be better than the elite

And surpass their class, and as we all pass we will moon them from the windows of our cars.

Maybe that’s a bit silly , or too far. So let’s stay in the bar.

Then head out into the community, spread a message of action, commitment and unity.

Fix up the buildings and clear away the mess, help people to help themselves , free from their stress.

Thank you for listening today. My name is Glen.

Always remember , there are many, many more of us than them.

( Audio Performance available here – https://soundcloud.com/glen-w-hunter/istand )

Perfect Orbits

stock-footage-flying-hearts

Perfect Orbits

I have sang the songs you once sung for so long

They have become tattooed upon my tongue

You colourise the flesh of trees, frame the passing breeze

And tease the rain on your lips with your fingertips.

The other hand on your hips as the heavens start to rumble.

Words tumble and fall as I fumble at the call of my name.

The way she addresses me each word so sweet.

And at my feet , upon the ground, lay the words ‘lost’ and ‘found’.

Meanwhile she slips into a blanket of stars.

One million points of light draw me in deep

We become the singularity of the soul

Drawing our solar bodies with ancient elements

Discovering our perfect orbits as if it’s heaven sent

Cosmic lovers under the bedsheets of dark matter

Eventually birthing our very own binary system

And the light so bright as to shatter death itself

But, we’re beyond deaths door now, way down the hall

Past the notice board on the wall, smoking outside the exit doors

Kissing like metaphors to overtures of the warm pouring rain.

Having learned the hard way that there is only today and tomorrow

Down the drains pour all sorrow, if only for temporary release,

If only until tomorrow, just a beautiful moments peace.

Loving in the now, hoping some how, to make it all last forever.

To never ever sever the tether that keeps us together right here.

Cos things I hold dear seem to disappear or fall apart at the seems.

(Audio version available here – https://soundcloud.com/glen-w-hunter/perfect-orbits)

Hungry and Angry

DC1Y3stXsAA6mKz.jpg

Hungry and Angry 

As the Queen sits upon her solid gold chair
I’m sitting here hungry and caught in despair
No work to be had and food prices going up
Telling me to work harder to fill up my cup
But fuck I’m out of luck, this all really sucks
They’re sipping on champagne while I’m in pain
Trying to rub two pennies together to weather
The storm of poverty that’s raining down on me
Got to steal for my bread and there is no roses
Signing on in Babylon, let us all eat that cake
No nutritional value like capitalism
An economic prison, you’d better listen
To this ‘n’ I tell you all right now
You may think you’re ok at this time
But how long til you’re down and out
I know most of you won’t listen to the voice of an angry man
Trying to devise a plan to reverse the demise of man
Before it goes out with a big or just a defeated whimper
My temper rages, stuck like animals in cages
In overly priced homes, paying too much for phones
And can’t even afford heating, we’re economically beaten
Bruised red , white and blue and all I can say is fuck you
And the left are no help when they leave the working class behind
Got them on their lips , talking about unity in community
Yet their meetings are a muddle of students and the middle class
Sitting on their ass talking dialectics I just cannot respect this
In fact I wanna wreck this , so check this reality check
You got people living in damp homes hungry correct ?
While you wave your banner with your bellies full
Che Guevara revolutions are just not cool
You think rule will change to some socialist system
meanwhile you’re talking the talk I’m down as a victim
So fuck all your systems I want justice cos it’s just us now
The masses of the under and working classes amasses
and passes by your police lines like a tidal wave
We’re marching on down to send the elite to their graves
Treating us like broken and busted slaves until dying days
Making profit from out prophets , I prophesize your demise
At the fist of some some working folk who have never spoke
Instead they choke on all the bullshit that has been sold to us
When I see people doing well in this hell in which I dwell
Trying to tell me ,well, see, try harder and you could be
What you want to be, in the land of the free you can see
I wanna choke them with the butchers apron
Because we are the forsaken and forgotten
Left on the heap and rotting, just fodder for the jails
So flip up the coin , pick head or pick tails
Either way I am barely eating day by day
and at least in the joint I get three square
Work , drugs and health care in there but out here
Seems like the rich won’t be happy til all us poor disappear

 

Weird Wording

10056382-surreal-face-with-text

Weird Wording

When I’m home alone in an introspective zone
I send poetry to people to for no real good reason
It’s just a way for me to play when I have nothing to say
But want to write anyway and contact a friend or two
When I’m feeling blue sending poetry to you cheers me up
And the subjects of these rhymes can sometimes be strange
Like surreal sonnets about bees and bonnets of cars,
Comets and Mars dancing around stars after drinking in bars with Saturn’s sons
Fighting’ with Titan, biting and skyting all the way across the Milky-way .
Then maybe a piece about finger tips stealing ships and running away with lips
Renting ski chalets in snowy valleys with bowling allies comprised only of soup
My brain gets stuck on a loop of the weird and bizarre
I ponder if the Spar is a covert front for selling blunts and Unicorn meat
On the black-market of sesame street, that famously un-policed beat.
I steal tellies from tubbies tummies and force feed them dummies
To spare all the mummies and daddies from these psychedelic baddies
I am, I am , I am NOT high! That’s a lie ! I swear there was no wear and tare
when I composed these emails with rhyming details of toe nails called Ted
Who live down the side of the bed , just clippings of his former self it seems
Says he dreams of being the next Dr Who…and what are you meant to do ?
When a toe clipping is flipping jabbering on about it’s aspirations and dreams
Exasperated, I scream. Enough! I can’t take no more !
I’m standing on the ceiling now staring at the floor
and I can smell the rain pour and the rising of a score
An overture for the brain where there are marshmallow planes
Flying into the synapses and as it collapses an actress ask if you would like another drink.
But there’s no time to even think as a thieving , deceiving make believe in ghost burns toast
When he was meant to toast burns. This wibbly wobbly wording turns into CERNS
Particle accelerator revving it’s engine all up and down the length of the worlds biggest Cheerio
Here we go!
As we come down like Tetris blocks rocking your socks out of the docs with pictures of Spoc on the sides,
which talk in the night about logic and light outweighing the needs of the many
And any thoughts of sanity now are grazed on by a cow and lactated into complicated networks
Comprising of pipes and pumps with no calf at the end but just a blend of water and chemicals
So far I’m sure this may make little sense , seems a little dense ,
possibly intense , but I’m high on rhyme
With green coloring’s of time sticking to ticking tocks
Stealing your odd socks and selling them to Gnomes
With no homes selling the wee issue with a wee tissue
Cos a gnome without a home gets sick really easy
Swaying all queasy until healthy, then he’s sleazy
Cos this gnome is easy with the cheesy chat up
Making me crack up , pack up and walk away
Cos I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be talking to gnomes today
(Audio version available here – https://soundcloud.com/glen-w-hunter/weird-wording)

Regular and Routine Rejection

call_centre1

Regular and Routine Rejection

WANTED!

People who can handle regular and routine rejection.
We supply the phones and the number selection.
“Hello. My name is…” “Fuck off! I don’t want any!”
Calls like this you will have by the many.
“Sell the sizzle not the bacon” Said the boss. What dross!
We sell nothing that you need on a contract cost.
From an honours degree to head set and keyboard
And the boss wonders why every day I looked bored.
And I can barely afford the daily journey to work
Just to deal with the capitalists nasty wee smirks
“I’m just not interested” “How’d you get my number?”
The same every day from winter to Summer
Grey floors, White walls, long hard lit halls
Bad coffee, bad biscuits and really bad tea
Avoid like the plague, especially if they’re free
And it saddens me to see that the tea may be free
But we are not, democracy when we vote
After that, well that’s your lot.
Cos the work place is a dictatorship, all fall in line
No one ever wants to work extra shifts on over time
But we have no choice, no voice, no say,
No alternative means of supporting ourselves any other way.
Do what the boss wants, when the boss says
But this thought is interrupted by that damn dial tone in my ear
Another call, another potential sale “Would you like to buy?”
They hang up; I sigh and look at the clock on the wall
it seems to be moving slow as I wait for the hand to fall
I lock the computer and head off for a pee
Well aware that all the time the boss is monitoring me

(Audio version available here – https://soundcloud.com/glen-w-hunter/regular-and-routine-rejection)

White Male Aged 18 To 35

thumbbig-112985

White Male Aged 18 To 35

Hello.

I am a white ,straight, male aged 18 – 35
I am the most listened to demographic alive
I live amongst the middle class, live up on a hill
And from my window cil I can see the whole city.
I holiday at least once a year.
Monitor my carbon footprint cause I care.
Politically conscious, socially aware.
I don’t eat meat, drink alcohol or take dairy.
When it comes to government to say the least I’m quite wary.
I’ve got a relatively easy life.
I barely experience real trouble and strife.
I get laid most weeks, people listen when I speak,
And if I get hit I turn the other cheek.
I’m an atheist, a syndicalist, I used to be a real anarchist.
I don’t get drunk in bars, make big faux pas,
Don’t give a damn about fast cars.
I have a ton of flaws , I’m lazy and crazy,
Sometimes I get so high at night the world becomes a little hazy.
I like a smoke, I like a toke, sometimes shop in Tescos and occasionally drink a Coke.
I can be bad tempered, grumpy and mean, pedantic, semantic, and a little bit frantic.
I can be stupid and dumb , easily overcome, When It comes to fight or flight,
Well, sometimes I run. Sometimes I speak without thinking,
When I should rise I am sinking. I run from the cops when their lights are blinking.
I can be a hypocrite, full of shit, a total tit, a little git.
A stupid ass crass male, sometimes cheat if I might fail.
Always skint, usually late, prone to anger, sometimes hate.
Guilty of objectification mixed up with implications of forgetting to check my privilege like a first world nation.
Been known to suffer from The Coolidge Effect,
After having sex feeling all vexed,
Then apologising with a text,
Wondering who I will get with next.
I start big projects that I rarely ever complete,
Despite swearing blind that I’ll do them this week.
I’m a terrible quitter, a world class bullshitter.
If an FPS was exercise , every night I’d be getting fitter.
Useless with DIY and when it comes to a hammer,
The only thing I know to do is SMASH like Dr Bruce Banner.
Obsessed with Machiaveli like a tactical boss,
A million tactics to enact this epic win at low cost.
I can be a real pain, like a bad back seat driver.
Like Ferris Bueller I’m a first class skiver.
Yes I’m a white straight male aged 18 – 35,
And just like Pearl Jam I’m still alive.

(As this is primarily a spoken word piece, the audio version is available here – https://soundcloud.com/glen-w-hunter/single-white-male)