Archives for posts with tag: by abdul j


an hour a day away from the perfect life
instead i continue my wanderings
roaming the earth without a master to devote myself to
committed to no purpose,
i am a ronin with naught but a pen
there is no roof above my vagrant heart
my blade dulls under the open skies
as i flit from employ to employ

Abdul j.

I meant to write something else I’ve been pondering on. Instead I looked out at my garden and this came out. Whoops.


i fall in love too easily
with the spring blossom on our apple tree
with the cacophony of bird calls on this overcast evening
with a rhubarb bush grown wild
a broken fence and upturned milk crates
i dart from one thing to another
the object of my affections everchanging
i am a fickle lover
indecisive even in this one garden

the world is too large for me, my loves
i can never see it all

abdul j.

From the 2010 album The Wild Hunt:

Camp Nano started yesterday, I’ve yet to begin on that. Also National Poetry Writing Month (Napowrimo?). I’m more hopeful about that one I guess. In American news, the Supreme Court just dropped the ball on another shitty decision. What I wrote about that is below. HIMYM also finished recently and I feel very mixed and disappointed about it all. Believe it or not I want to write something inspired by that too. And then of course my new Rumi selection came in the post and the first poem has already blown me away.

..Is The New Black

citizens may unite but baby, money talks
and freedom comes at a premium
sold to the highest bidder
gavel struck by the robbers’ court
I hope you got that extra
extra justice supreme

and if not, make do with your free lunches
full stomachs and empty souls
watch them as they handwave away the dinners
these are not the tax cuts you are looking for
Paul calls the kettle black
or should that be ‘inner city’?
they swear to Christ, we’re all of us still equal
separate yes, but equal
the greens segregated from blacks

Abdul J

I wrote a poem today and it turned out a little too grim to comfortably share. Maybe on a slow day when I dont give a shit. Here’s one from yesterday. I dont write poems often, but I’ve been on somewhat of a binge lately (probably the most I’ve done in a month ever at a running grand total of.. five). This one’s almost a little humourous. Please excuse the Greek mythology: I dont mean to sound like a pretentious douche, I’m just a sucker for dead civilisations for some dumb reason.

I couldnt find the song I wanted to put up so instead I went with the mythology thang and chose this one. It’s by a Northwestern Brit so I’m a little partial but it’s pretty cool stuff imo. From the 2013 album Engravings, enjoy:

Labour of Words

a handful of words spill out as the axe strikes
Athena is born fully grown fully clothed
and the pressure eases for a time
then Metis the muse, no, rather the witch
begins her hammering once more
utterances reverberate in the mind
the head pains, groans for relief
clove it in two with your axe
or strike me down with a hammer
give me peace again

Abdul J

Sometimes when I write or brainstorm, I draw heavily on music for mood. Almost never for plot or narrative structure ideas, but just the feel of events or how characters themselves might feel. I also like to create mini-soundtracks for characters/story arcs. It gets a little trickier though because I want the playlists to consist of music the characters involved would listen to themselves.

So anyway, this song (from their 2013 album Cupid Deluxe) is basically like the centrepiece for a story I want to start working on soon. For whatever reason, the first time I seriously mulled over my idea, the entire series of events popped into my head almost immediately. Crazy how something so nearly fully formed can just jump out of your brain like that (shout out to Athena, I see you).

And on an unrelated note, a poem I just did.

Let This Warpaint Fade

The colours are faded, I revisit some old paintings
of landscapes that need tending to
and faces in portraits that have aged faster than those depicted therein
some I no longer even recognise
the skin is that cracked, the creases that deep
and the weeds so overgrown

I apply warpaint to an old friend become new stranger
then throw down my brush
no more
already no more
which idiot would willingly vandalise his own work any further?
let gardens grow and persons wrinkle
let it all stand untouched
they were young once and that is enough

Abdul J

London, MFS

I ride shotgun en route to my cousin’s wedding
with his younger brother, both of our suits worn just this once
the S-class is fresh out the shop
the interior lights match the tie and the clock says the car is younger than me
this city’s skyline flies by us
it has always looked beautiful with a red moon overhead
as ever, London has me feeling like a country boy
you’re beautiful I tell her, only miming the words through the window
the sounds are too loud, the music is smooth but the voices too uncouth
shout out to my fuckin favourite stripper
before the week is done I’ll go through her myself in a dirty BMW

Abdul J

My poems dont usually come out like that but it is what it is I guess. Sort of a perverse love-letter to London, my vacay spot and home away from home.

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