Street life #soCs
Anno Domini, episodic moments of yore.
Excalibur sword wielding, mind-bender moments – mind your step and hit the dance floor.
Decadent, whisky on the rocks, Drugs fresh from the Durban harbour docks.
Uncut, fresh,this shit gets you in a state of euphoria that makes you a natural at dancing the charleston without spilling a sip.
Ice cool , candy flip – time to get a grip.
Eyes close, pass the ball to a fellow game player.
Eyes open – the dancefloor has become a party of howling werewolves in clothes ,time to shake hands with the new mayor.
Heart palpitations – this is no comic strip . Pushing past the furred crowd, talking animals in their lairs .
A hit of oxygen to the lungs – knocks away the culpable house with its cymbal, progressive climb up the winding stairs.
Walk into a potential crime scene – apparently, a runner doing his job running – his boss not far behind him.
He falls to his knees – mercy -covers his head. A steely glint of a revolver aimed- to the back of his head, ready blow him into Infiniti tum
Deities break out through the stars. One last chance for this soul to retrace his steps and get creative, cough up not shades of red but sprightly hues of fresh Mint .
Apollo wakes up long enough to gives the thumbs up and then goes back to a golden age of sleep.
The beats will consume my soul again – this vessel will not become a nazi graffitied derelict.
Gulping down sugary drinks.
Recovering from nearly hurtling into a trip- blindingly.
A mole hole, abyss- deep.
Music, life is my school , my community , my church.
The orphans , the lost , the ones called ET who wanted to have a place to call home.
We had to put up with the freaks coming out ,once in a while – ogres, pixies, a dreadlocked gnome.
Education doesn’t have to start in an institution called school with a ‘YOU must think this.’ mentality.
Where Black people are called ‘Kaffirs’ – ‘they are simple’ – learn the truth early on.
Gunshot – start running at an age of infantility.
The street life takes you around twists and turns.
Left , right , left again.
HOW do you want to think?
Why do you think this way?
Drop out, dirty stop out, learnt more about how to protect myself – when I had to defend myself against 5 skelme tearaways – half baked under a drug sway.
Time has been kind so it has been worth every second- even the tortured screams that have come out from me.
The years have gone by – damaged ,
the most blessed scat cat to come out of the debris.
Posted on Aug 27, 2016, in CREATIVE WRITING CORNER, STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION and tagged Creative Writing, Creativity, Emotions, humanity, inspirational, poems, Stream of consciousness, word prompt. Bookmark the permalink. 20 Comments.