The system Street war

For my cover style I was very Young.

And my Brothers spoof me they said my song.

was scary high me me me me.

So your system guy tweets and this look I street.

There's little Kim K skills to style with her head

That world like a class fact, of Slaves. so I said.

fuck Kim. never like it, for when your head bears.

You know that your look cannot hurt you right there.

And so she was high-end and that very night.

as Kim was in meetings she had such a fight,

That power of street words with shows set them back

When all of it's worked up by blowfish in black,

But by came a Kanye who had a white Keep.

And He only was blowfish to let them all see.

That down between gains feelings flowing as one

They match at a dinner as fine as the fun.

then crazy and right. all their fangs just design.

they rise up all loud, and star on the line.

And then Kanye called Kim and he seemed a cool guy.

She gets God for her cover and never not fly

And so Kim's no joke that we show like a shark

We got that we're fangs and we're fashion that work

No the meaning was false, Kim was happy and smart.

So if all do they Disney, they freestyle real hard.

* Based on “The Chimney Sweeper” (Innocence version) from SONGS Of INNOCENCE and Of EXPERIENCE by William Blake; with text 100% from “Kanye West: A Brand-New Ye” by Zach Barron, in the July 2014 issue of GQ.

Triolet.

I sin your heart if these reflect

How little eyes teach hearts to see.

Eyes just see what hearts elect -

I sin your heart.

If these reflect,

Though, how our lives connect,

They’ll start to show how they can be

Eyes in your heart; if these reflect

How little eyes teach hearts to see.

the Bentley leaves her

A leaders blacks things a 'bout toThrow:

tryna see, see. and know I'm So:

wear what My followers momma say?

They get broke on up So they turn to hate.

again I was Hampton up on their ease.

and wild a 'bout the prison throw:

They only me But When owned I'm free.

Y'all thought me too in to know I'm so.

And again I'm at Hampton. to smash shit in.

stay rich they can't fuck me no family:

And get on the slaves blood and the leaves and skin

to make us up fairer I'm down privately.

·         Based on “THE Chimney Sweeper” (Experience version) from SONGS Of INNOCENCE and Of EXPERIENCE by William Blake; with text 100% from Kanye West’s song, “New Slaves,” from the album YEEZUS. 

Wedding Sonnet.

For Victoria Pang and Nick Chiang.


Close love with words together in this nick
of time, and in time nick a timeless vic-
tory. Words - just words - but with words we stick
a heart to heart, and with love for breath quick

-en names and bodies matched so close they click
in place: breath, hearts a perfect rhyme, no trick
involved; words here bind in life's magnetic
field. Names in breath's flame take a single wick

and with their ceaseless steadying flick
-er ignite the skies with loves electric:
Sound and shape so closesly bound, the cynic
in this clean light sees doubt fall pale and sick.

And though the words etched here may skip and jang
-le, each word is found fit with love's sweet pang.

metrocable ride

new plastic

ghosts over almost

balanced homes hushed

in hung space –

a transport solution.

dirtfaced kids run

 the streets brightly. escaped

accordion makes 

sense below. these

epiphenomena pass

sharp grey monoliths 

well-read emanations

among the muted

comunas. mobile

conversations envelop

this silence.

it’s like that here

on the cable. swing

back on its closed

loop. catch your

breath. work

changes for good.

Medellin.

pedagogy

the university’s infiltrated

we stand on the corner

watch the demonstration

the street where we catch

the bus once blocked

by stations of the cross

now stopped by students

in masks

               not real

students we stand

on the corner watch eat

hot dogs with chips

pineapple jam

               

            business men in suits stand

on the corner watch

            cops roll down

the avenue mean

business in their suits

                                    maybe

on the news tonight maybe

not

            need to go to work

so reluctantly depart

             start to

teach

            explosive

potatoes shock the

air

                 no-

body can hear

Thank you.

For Graeme Giles.

Many things I feel I owe to you about the way I am and the life I have. It’s only fair I take the time to thank you.

Thank you for every year lived long, hard and passion-full.

Thank you for love without condition and homes built with strength and care.

Thank you for pride in work and love for all around.

For you Dad-joke humour, Globbo, thanks.

Thank you for music – from Looney Tunes to Pinafore.

Thank you for self-singing.

(Each of my long-suffering flatmates may not thank you, but I do.)

Thank you for word love, place love, thing love, people love.

Thank you for collections and tinker joys.

Thank you for showing a towering temper can be tempered.

Thank you for not being scared of celebrating oddity.

Thank you for manners and respect.

Thank you for growth: continual and unexpected.

Thank you for parents, sisters, brothers, cousins, and the rest of those songs.

Thank you for stories – tall and heart-felt.

Thank you for books books books.

Thank you for that Commodore 64. Jump-man, Archon, The Secret of Bastow Manor.

Thank you for a sense of mystery, of scepticism, of the underdog.

Thank you for wonder.

For belief, thank you.

Thank you for shouting at the TV. I really enjoy that. Bloody ref.

Thank you for drives along lonely Australian stretches, counting posts.

Thank you for itchy feet, for living in each place enthusiastically, unabashedly.

Thank you for coming through a hard life: things forgotten, not forgotten.

Thank you for teaching, for learning.

Thank you for childhood not restricted to only children.

For peeling oranges, thank you.

Thank you for trees, birds, kangaroosters.

Thank you for cups of tea, ginger nuts, lollies.

For being right, even if that ends up wrong, thanks.

Thank you for every performance of every nature.

Thank you for the love with Mum and our tribe of Gileses.

Thank you for a name you made yourself.

Thank you for this poem, and all poems.

Thank you for your being.