Make time for and give gratitude…
Blocks the intentions of the ineptitude,
Balances out the excessive cattitude,
Brings justice to the blood feud,
Ensures projects reach that time to conclude,
It’s the only one worth having, you know…attitude,
Helps Gaia heal herself in quantities of magnitude.
Make time for and give gratitude…
Spitting bars in his mama’s womb
A bonafide wordsmith, profusely sweating rhymes
“What are you? Make up your mind” olde fart English-Lit teacher asked, for his crimes
Can’t fit this brother into a tomb.
Some sit in a lecture hall poncing over Proust
While Ed’s ticked off TikTok with his YouTube comedy shorts
Some laugh, some cry, some get on the phone to resolve their differences, others check into resorts
The power of the Bard – touch lives, heal hearts, etcetera – and so what have you deduced?
No “formal” degree, self-taught higher education from the likes of Q-Tip, KRS-One and Guru from Gang Starr
Bards before him, leaving a legacy for the next gen sisters and brothers picking up the baton
It’s not about the wonga, gold teeth and bad boy jewels from London’s Garden of Hatton
The likes of Ed and his counterparts, one-stop edutainers that reveal the truth of phonies as hamster.
To edutain, deeply embedded in Ed’s DNA
Sorry, can’t pull it apart, can’t alter it, can’t separate it, it’s all or nothing guv’
Acting, singing, writing haunting songs to moving melodies to serve your greater good, it’s all about the love
He’ll beat the “darlings” at Scrabble, stitch-up the negativity pouring off the haters – his talents, they sure are an array.
Thespian, writer, poet, producer, musician – yeah, he’s all o’ that and none o’ that
Just take him for what he is – Bard to the Bone or Bad to the Bard, he chooses
His words carry the weight of worlds’n’wisdom, he is his own muses
Sharing life lessons with you, a problem shared a problem halved, the rest up to you to combat.
Image Credit: Dumbshirts
Is it poetry? Is it a story? No..it’s storytry – a mixture of poetry and story with a moral to the tale…
There was a young lady nicknamed Candy Lips,
Who liked nothing more than sweet tea and sweeties,
Fruit chews, toffees, honeycomb and sherbert pips,
She had a taste for sugar and an eye for the cuties.
After waking and before bed, she brushed her teeth twice a day,
But that was neither here nor there, the real issue being the pattern and habit.
Everyday she stopped by the local grocery store, for sure, never possibly or may,
Then one day she saw a “cutie” outside who offered her one of his Tangfastics, then took a stab-at-it.
A thud, a splatter and a splosh – Candy Lips’ grocery bag fell to the ground,
As she knelt down to gather her groceries, the mean guy took off with her handbag,
It wasn’t her belongings that she was upset to lose, but that he had violated her defenses like a tainted blood hound,
Candy Lips’ stomach churned, the sweet taste had turned more than sour, hurt like a punchbag.
A grocery assistant called the police and offered Candy Lips a sweet tea and a digestive biscuit as she sat on a cashier’s stool,
“NO…thank you,” hailed Candy Lips, adamant that she would no longer be clueless nor ditsy,
From that day onwards she vowed to curb her sweet tooth, not be fooled by appearances and to pay attention only to her inner guidance system – no more the fool,
Candy Lips’ life got better each and every day, she was able to have new experiences and be consciously aware all the time instead of just those rare moments, itsy bitsy.
Have an idea,
Put it into action,
1,2,3 steps forward, my dear,
Easier than fractions.
Gracefully, roll with it,
Don’t run it off a cliff,
Stop…come back later, candle’s already lit,
This is the start of a new hieroglyph.
Let go of the rush,
This isn’t a hectic newsroom,
Express the truth, no hush hush,
Less of the Zoom, more of the va-va-voom.
Relax into inner flow,
From harmony comes harmonies,
Smooth like this morning’s cup of Joe,
Tell the stories, our odysseys.
On the wets of South-West London,
Natives returned – voles, geese and otters,
Reclaiming the Thames water dungeon,
With the assistance of conservation Harry Potters.
“Let’s turn it into wetlands”, said the barnacle goose,
A native of Svalbard, offering it’s Norsk wisdom.
“Yes” agreed the water vole. [Btw it’s not a rat, moose].
“Sure,” said the otter. “Easy peasy, it’s no conundrum”.
Bamboo, reeds, water lilies flew in,
Natives from further afield responded to the calls.
Reverse the Thames’s industrial workings, that’s no sin,
Cooperation in full effect, no time for brawls.
A natural “wonder of the world” the wetlands is not.
A natural and normal part of this world – yes, yes it is.
Natural flood defense, carbon storer, it has got,
Pollutant trapper, water purifier, this one’s a whizz.
105-acres once again home to wildlife and wetlands,
A testament to the two and more-legged working in unity,
Beautiful and peaceful, just like the Shetlands,
It too a shining example of climate change immunity.
Best friends on a roll,
Spoken word a rare thing,
All about heart and soul,
Not puppets on a string,
One-2-one relays, block the mole,
Telepathic speed dial, ring-a-ping-ping.
Strike a chord,
That’s right, I on keys, you on bass,
Harmonious rhythms, pause only to raise a sword.
We back in the manor, pick up the pace,
You on drums now, me on the gourd,
Finish off with a fish supper, chips’n’plaice.
Open house for us and our crew,
One on the decks spinning records,
Another in the kitchen, cookin’ up spicy beef stew,
There’s chanting in the backroom, destroying unwanted cords,
One in magickal silence, another meditates for a few,
Peace and prosperity, all in accords.
Each doing different things, yet still attuned,
To one another’s voices,
Some of us crooned, some of us harpooned,
For these connections we’re grateful, ’nuff rejoices,
Always one for eternity, heal that wound,
Highly blessed, ain’t no need for Rolls Royces.
Some call it jazz;
The Universe calls it music.
Some focus on what they don’t what;
The Universe calls it “ok this is what you do want so we’ll give it to you”.
Some take from others what doesn’t belong to them;
The Universe calls it karma.
Some make allowances for mean-spirited, nasty beings because “oh, but they’re family”;
The Universe calls it chaotic evil.
Some think their opinions matter;
The Universe calls it like-attracts-like energy.
Some believe that their cultural and religious beliefs are the gospel;
The Universe calls it null and void.
Some do only that which serves the greater good for the planet they’re on;
The Universe calls it Divine Love.
Image Source: NASA