Poetry

That Little Girl

That Little Girl (Based on The Last of Us)
BH the Uncivilised | Copyright © 2014

When we met she was annoying
Some jumped up puffy faced kid
Who was way too inquisitive
We didn’t get along
I wasn’t even trying
My guns was all I wanted
And even then
I wondered whether this whole ordeal was worth it
From pretty much the beginning
She was asking questions I didn’t want to answer
I thought to myself there’s no way I’m putting up with this for much longer
I’m too old for this nonsense
But they say there’s something about children
Something about their pure spirit
That even the most callous find hard to resist
That unwittingly, your heart always gives in
Maybe
All I know is
Since Sarah I haven’t…
I don’t really talk about feelings
In this life it doesn’t bode well to have them
All I’ve been doing is surviving
Days and nights pass by
And I hear the screaming
On plenty of occasions
I’ve thought about ending
I’m not always sure what’s kept me going
Something
“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for”
I told myself that so many times before
I didn’t always believe it
But somewhere between
Annoying child
To saving my ass a few times
To seeing her on that table
Maybe, just maybe I’m capable of love again
Even if I have to lie and kill for the privilege

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Don’t You Dare Call My Unicorn a Pet

Don’t You Dare Call My Unicorn a Pet

BH the Uncivilised | Copyright © 2014

Don’t you dare call my Unicorn a pet
My Unicorn stands erect
Her muscles flex when she takes a stride
Pride, does not describe her majesty
The fact most think she’s a travesty, is a tragedy
And you say to me, ‘There’s no evidence’
I say ‘You are looking in the wrong places’
There are spaces, on earth that humans never go to
Perhaps you were told not to
Or perhaps you were going to
But couldn’t see what was in front of you
And decided it wasn’t worth another step

But don’t you dare call my Unicorn a Pet
My Unicorn has wings like Pegasus
Can fly long distances
High above tall buildings and
Can summon the wind by calling it
Shit. My Unicorn slays demons
Destroys feeble creatures
And when she goes to war, the devil packs his suit case
And in case, you are wondering
Her horn is made from the gold
You would find at the end of a rainbow
Her voice is like the sound of a halo
And no homo sapiens, can ever brand their mark upon her chest

So don’t you dare call my Unicorn a pet

 

Illustration by Flying Pony

Beware My Unicorn – Elias, age 9 and 3/4

It’s a good feeling to know that you’ve inspired something, especially something awesome, like this poem by 9 and 3/4 year old Elias, after hearing Don’t You Dare Call My Unicorn a Pet.

Beware my unicorn. Hes tough n rough And he likes to ruffle stuff. Rainbow spit Gripping feet As you probably know… he has a horn made of gold. After eating jam tarts he tends to laugh Cos this is my unicorn for all to dread… so my unicorns NOT a pet.

Below illustration by James The Desert

35 – Poem

35
BH the Uncivilised | Copyright (c) 2014

Letting my mind wander as I travel through this district
As I sit on this bus in London passing a cinema theatre I am reminded of a city of violence
At night in London one cannot tell how dirty the river is
Speaking of which, why do I see beauty where no one else does?
My 35th year on earth is now completed I am entering into the twilight of my youth
They say the person you are at 40 is the person you will be for the rest of your life
I am inclined to believe this is true
I have observed that I have become more stubborn as I have gotten older
But I do not concede that stubbornness is always detrimental
However one must be careful that one does not become arrogant and non conducive
This would defeat the purpose of learning
Education can be its own burden
I’ve often felt unprepared by my academics
Surely life was supposed to be easier than this?
It may have taken me a long time but I now believe I can move past, past regrets
Holding on to anger and lament is like holding on to anger and lament, metaphors are for pretty things
Like beautiful women, be they poets or preachers, whores or harlots
London nights is home for all of them
And home to the perverts who prey upon the innocent
We blame the victims in this nation
5000 years from now, after the apocalypse
I wonder what future archaeologists’ would ascertain from the history books
How primitive are ways would look as we mock the ways of our ancestors
Civilisation is a false concept
I see no love here
Or maybe that’s just me
I see this city as a reflection of myself,
There is a beauty there
But, only a few will ever see it

Below photo, by Dilshad Corleone