Photo by Nizam Abdul Latheef on

This poem is all about big dreams, slow flowing streams
Where big ideas find a place to stretch, to split their seams
This poem is undressed, a naked symphony, where all is revealed
This poem repeats itself, it’s a fruit that won’t stay peeled

This poem appears from nowhere, it lands on an empty page
This poem is precious, it’s no longer lonely, but still full of rage
This poem is explosive, it’s a lorry load of dynamite
It could blow up in my face, could keep me up all night

This poem is a stranger, we need to spend more time together
This poem won’t go away, it’s on a journey to forever
This poem wears trainers, tracksuit bottoms and a hoody
This poem’s got a lot to say, but can sometimes be moody

This poem can’t do impersonations of Craig David
This poem believes it’s radical, it’s progress could be rapid
This poem is growing, it’s destiny is not known
This poem won’t give up, until all minds are gloriously blown

This poem doesn’t have a plan, it breathes spontaneously
This poem has it’s own desires, it wants to be free
This poem is a prisoner, in a concrete illusion
This poem will escape, it’ll burn all the oxygen

This poem will change the world, bring us love and peace
This poem is revolutionary, it’s available on a long lease
This poem will bring you riches, it’s smart and clever
This poem can even predict the weather

This poem likes to travel, far and wide, to places exotic
It lies in the sunshine, hoping for some groovy rhetoric
This poem is a story, or it could be a Netflix boxset
A sofa surfer’s dream, floating into the sunset

This poem didn’t vote in the Brexit referendum 
This poem never stops, it’s always banging the drum
This poem is an ace guitarist, it riffs like a rock god
This poem’s always ready, it never needs me to give it the nod

This poem wears a smile, as wide as a big river
This poem makes waves, it might make you shiver
This poem sings, like a nightingale, tuneful and sweet
This poem’s a super lover, it’ll sweep you off your feet

skinny jeans

person in blue denim jeans and white converse all stars
Photo by Snapwire on

skinny jeans

tight tee shirt, skinny jeans
tapping fingers, flashing phone screens
floppy fringes, facial hair
tattoos and piercings everywhere
mobile phones with applications
something for every situation
facetime, facebook, Instagram
email folders full of spam

vape smoke floats across the nation
nicotine shots, a slow addiction
friction burns, from nylon shirts
plastic wraps our universe
fruit flavoured cider, pink gin and tonic
kaleidoscopic alcoholics
small sips of psychedelia
Poison posts on social media

tight tee shirt, skinny jeans
big belts and boots, and broken dreams
TV gameshows, fake reality
Making money from fake morality
Celebrity culture the favourite narcotic
Hot gossip, hungry and hyperbolic
Gods discover demons, claws are sharpened
In high definition, egos fall apart

This high-tech world could be science fiction
Injections of hate the latest prescription
Medicine mixed from extreme ideas
A rush of blood brings on the fear
Another selfie records the moment
Image consultants become redundant
A nail bar closes, it’s lost its gloss
No one seems to give a toss

tight tee shirts, skinny jeans
leather jackets, gadgets and machines
The code is corrupted, full of bugs
Dining daily on designer drugs
The future is just another f word
Someone smashed the circuit boards
Forever got lost in the washing machine
Deep in the pocket of those skinny jeans