Gold from the Stone. Lemn Sissay

the eyes of cats and tramps,

      Incubated drunks mumbling incomprehensible bids,

      Crashed out under yellow water lamps.

      This is England, I said, on a soap box in the street.

      What Have We Got

      We’ve got a mountain on the horizon,

      A sun on the floor,

      The sea in the sky,

      And the devil behind the door.

      We’ve got a desert in a lake,

      Islands in the city.

      We’ve got the moon which is a fake,

      And a bomb which is a pity.

      We’ve got the stars when it’s light,

      Silence when it’s not.

      We’ve got friends, but they fight,

      And what have we got?

      We’ve got brother in the sky,

      Sister in the sun.

      Everybody’s getting high

      Yet no one’s having fun.

      We’ve got the rainfall,

      We’ve got the snow.

      Our sisters and brothers we call

      And what do we know?

      We’ve got a mountain on the horizon,

      A sun on the floor,

      The sea in the sky,

      And the devil behind the door.

      Moods of Rain

      Rain twisting down the air poles

      Like a broken river.

      Slicing through the air. Cold

      Biting me, I shiver.

      Get your Manchester Evening News.

      Soggy paper, running print,

      I’ve got those winter dark blues.

      Wet, cold, and skint.

      The rip in the side of my pocket

      Lets trickles of rain tickle the palm of my hand,

      The picture distorted and wet in its locket.

      Give me sunshine and sweet golden sand.

      I’m giving up dodging glassy-eyed puddles,

      My feet like the kitchen cloth,

      Face screwed up, no time for scruples.

      Head down, walk straight and cough,

      And silver speckled my licks are crowned.

      Melting Black faces drip and shine,

      No smile but an unsatisfied frown,

      Same goes, I think, for mine.

      Stepping through mirrored streets,

      Reflections of the dirty skies,

      Soaked from my head to my feet,

      Drips from my lashes sting in my eye.

      It is raining, and I give way,

      Soaking and cold I should smile.

      What the hell I’m wet for today

      And there’s no use in getting so riled.

      So kick the water, run down the road,

      Hold your head up to the rain.

      I was only feeling the cold,

      Mind over matter over pain.

      Soon I’ll be home throwing off my coat,

      Wrestling with my hair,

      Warm and hungry for curried goat,

      And the windows haze in the air.

      My merry moods

      Change like the weather.

      Wasita

      Was it a café window

      or

      A picture of a café window on a café wall

      or

      Was it a picture of a café wall and a café window on a café wall?

      Sing a Song of Sick Penance

      You and all your arrogance,

      And all your golden rings,

      Stating with your marriage,

      To a tune that sings.

      Sing a song of sixpence,

      ’Cause you have got more,

      Jumped right over the fence

      And landed on the poor.

      You and all your grandeur,

      And all your stately charm,

      Got to a stately figure,

      By bloodshed, death and harm.

      Sing a song of sixpence,

      ’Cause you have got more,

      Jumped right over the fence

      And fell for ever more.

      Sing a song of sixpence,

      ’Cause now you’re sixpence less.

      Jumped right over the fence

      And now you’re in a mess.

      The Black Writers’ Workshop

      We are like cement, soft and protected,

      Set hard and projected, the image

      Of the mould of four hundred years,

      We, the ever flowing

      Tears of laughter and pain

      Sprinkle our stories

      Like light warm rain

      On eyes that search for truth.

      We, like cement, are weather proof.

      We, the singers of dreams,

      The echoes of screams,

      The rivers of crying eyes,

      Inject our words of truth, of love

      Into the heart of life-living lies.

      We are like cement, soft and protected,

      To set hard and projected as the image.

      Understanding Difference

      I am the snake