All I will say is those responsible for the damage the last few days has made me feel so ashamed of being a Londoner, but the Clean Up Crews capital wide gave me back a sense of hope and pride that we can come back from this in their unity. I call for peace on the streets and let our communities come together in harmony and rebuild what others have so cruelly taken from us.
Presenting 'Shame' the first poetic collab by Angee & Marina....
I feel ashamed to say I live in London
Because the actions of the few reflect on all
I feel ashamed to say I live in London
Because in this city I used to be able to stand proud and tall
Ping! Let’s stop the postcode war
And all go rob a store.
This devastating burden of crime and pain
Don’t rest on me I don’t care I’m unashamed.
Is London burning because the power hungry hesitate?
Is no one learning from past rioting mistakes?
Why does the heart of London’s disenfranchised ache?
Only to see police flee and fall back from their angers rising wake…
Ping! Where you at?
I’m in Clapham and my pockets are getting fat.
We got one purpose, one thought, one goal
To see how much our hands can hold.
People are crying because their dreams are dying
All the while politicians and police are still lying
Covering up what they did and what they failed to do,
All the while their undercovers stir up a poisoned brew.
Ping! Ping! Where the police at?
Sssssssssssssh you mouth and pass me dat hat.
Put it on over mans dem head
We need to hide our face from the feds.
Seeing how youths are coming together
Looting and robbing is now done just for fun
At least they’re not shooting each other
They came together without a gun.
Ping! Whose that on your phone?
It’s my mum she’s crying, telling me to come home.
Mommer Bwoy! That’s so just wack!
Why don't she go back to smoking her crack?
Parents at home asking where are our kids?
When they finally come home with that LCD
How will they explain to us with no job
They can afford such a big TV?
Ping! Don't she know man has to run?
Why’s this woman always trying
To spoil man an man’s fun?
At least, today I don’t need a gun.
With all this rioting
Have you heard any shots?
All I’m hearing are voices screaming out
“We’re gonna take what you got!”
Ping! What! You want to stop me?
You can't stop me, as I will multiply at least by 3
Then to replace me 30 more
Will come knocking at your door
The fight for justice is a cover
This is rage, it’s not a yearning
This is children supposedly having fun
But all they do is leave London burning.
Ping! Who started this war?
Fools can't stop me, I walk straight though any door
I put my fist right in their face
I’ll show them it’s not just about one race
The Turks in Dalston came together
They defended their own territory
As one they rose up to the thugs
As one they said you will have to come through me!
Ping! Yo Blud! You watching the fire roar?
Let’s hide these things behind that door.
Look! Did you see that man?
Why is he waving, does he want water or a fan?
The looters are getting looted
The survivors are getting robbed
Everyone is just out for themselves
Damn dirty stinking criminal yobs!
Ping! Please come home?
Shut up women who cares if, you’re all alone
My family’s here So I am never alone
And if the truth be told, I am already home
People getting trapped in businesses
Lone women getting jacked for their cars
I hope that all these sad fuckers
Get prosecuted ending up behind bars
Ping! Political movement? NOT
Or we’d be knocking on the Queen’s door
We're here to take what we can take
We’re having too much fun for fucks sake
There are no aliens looking for a fight
This isn’t a film called attack the block
This is a gang of fearless youths
Testing their might by attacking cops
Ping! You know you can't stop me!
I am everywhere can't you see?
The world is mine, I pick and choose
I can do and take what I please.
But we feel ashamed to say we live in London
Because the actions of the few reflect on all
We feel ashamed to say we live in London
Because in this city we used to be able to stand proud and tall.
(C)9th August 2011 Angela Edgar & Marina Bayley
All Rights Reserved
Sunday 14 August 2011
Monday 8 August 2011
THE FIRE BURNED IT ALL (Poem)
The fire burned it all
It wiped my slate clean
As I watched the things
I’d worked so hard for
Engulfed in plumes of black smoke
Gently licked by raging red and yellow flames
I could only fall to my knees and cry
When the fire burned it all.
Items of no monetary value
But which were sentimentally irreplaceable
Were ignited to ash
Photo edges curled and crisped
There was nothing that this fire would miss
It had a life
A will of its own
It took my home
Claimed it as its new throne
Nosing through my personal things
Flaming fingers melted diamond encrusted rings
Investigating every cranny and nook
It hurt me the most
When it torched my paintings… writing… books
WHOOOUMMPHH!!!
There it goes…
For some it is the start
For others the end of woes
WHOOOUMMPHH!!!
There it is…
Something breaks, melts and starts to fizz
Flaming fingers…
Flickerty flick…
Burning tongues…
Lickety lick…
My whole life gone before my eyes
I couldn’t stop it, even when I tried...
The water flowed
But the fire was stronger
I walked away broken
I couldn’t watch any longer…
Seeing my childhood go up in smoke
Invasion of privacy
By fiery pokes and prods…
I shouted out loud,
“Where are you God?”
“Why do you let my life be burned?”
“Am I being punished for a past wrong turn?”
“Is this a lesson that you want me to learn?”
I took a breath and finally looked back
Thereafter remembering Lot’s wife who was turned to salt
I realised then that it wasn’t really my fault
For me to get up after a fall
I had to rise up
When the fire burned it all.
©25th August 2010 – 02:09am Angela Edgar All Rights Reserved.
Unauthorised reproduction prohibited.
MCN: CHTG1-Y2WQ7-VNR4C
Listen to my reading of it here at about 1hr 14mins in.
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/allwaysreal/2010/09/06/open-mic-night
It wiped my slate clean
As I watched the things
I’d worked so hard for
Engulfed in plumes of black smoke
Gently licked by raging red and yellow flames
I could only fall to my knees and cry
When the fire burned it all.
Items of no monetary value
But which were sentimentally irreplaceable
Were ignited to ash
Photo edges curled and crisped
There was nothing that this fire would miss
It had a life
A will of its own
It took my home
Claimed it as its new throne
Nosing through my personal things
Flaming fingers melted diamond encrusted rings
Investigating every cranny and nook
It hurt me the most
When it torched my paintings… writing… books
WHOOOUMMPHH!!!
There it goes…
For some it is the start
For others the end of woes
WHOOOUMMPHH!!!
There it is…
Something breaks, melts and starts to fizz
Flaming fingers…
Flickerty flick…
Burning tongues…
Lickety lick…
My whole life gone before my eyes
I couldn’t stop it, even when I tried...
The water flowed
But the fire was stronger
I walked away broken
I couldn’t watch any longer…
Seeing my childhood go up in smoke
Invasion of privacy
By fiery pokes and prods…
I shouted out loud,
“Where are you God?”
“Why do you let my life be burned?”
“Am I being punished for a past wrong turn?”
“Is this a lesson that you want me to learn?”
I took a breath and finally looked back
Thereafter remembering Lot’s wife who was turned to salt
I realised then that it wasn’t really my fault
For me to get up after a fall
I had to rise up
When the fire burned it all.
©25th August 2010 – 02:09am Angela Edgar All Rights Reserved.
Unauthorised reproduction prohibited.
MCN: CHTG1-Y2WQ7-VNR4C
Listen to my reading of it here at about 1hr 14mins in.
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/allwaysreal/2010/09/06/open-mic-night
Sunday 7 August 2011
"HE'S GONE" Exclusive Poetry Collaboration: Angela Edgar & Donna Parkinson
He’s gone and I can’t believe,
I just can’t conceive,
Why my son would be taken this way,
After today,
There is no yesterday,
No tomorrow,
And from now on I will need to borrow,
A future, because mine is dead,
I sit by his bed,
Knowing that I will never again hear him say “Morning Mum”,
I will never get to know the adult he would have become,
I won’t ever hear him laugh or cry,
He won’t utter a sigh,
He never even got to say goodbye,
Why?
Because 15 years of life,
Have been stolen by the slash of a knife,
Held in the hands of another adolescent,
This scenario now incessant,
On the cold dark street,
Signed, sealed and delivered by the concrete,
And I can’t even hate,
Because my son’s fate,
Is another mother’s nightmare,
She will have her fair share,
Living in the shadow of the despair,
That her seed extinguished a flame,
Knowing that the light that bore my child’s name,
Flickered and expired in his hand,
I understand,
The pain,
Her boy took my boy’s life in vain,
And this thought will forever remain,
In her mind,
So we are in some strange way combined,
In our grief, as our thoughts are entwined,
In non belief…We are both resigned,
To the stark reality we call life,
And united by the destruction caused when you pick up the knife,
See, my son is gone I know he ain’t coming back,
The superficial evidence of his existence is now inscribed on a plaque,
Above his grave… my only treasure,
And her son is serving life at her majesties pleasure,
So how can either of us even begin to measure?
The extent of our failing,
And the concrete smiles; its victory prevailing,
Lording over 2 mothers and a shocked community,
As we cry for every missed opportunity,
And pray for impunity…..
They were only 15 and they had their whole lives ahead,
Yet the street left one incarcerated and the other one dead,
Its time for change, street purification,
Do we really need further justification?
© 26th July 2011 Donna Parkinson
http://www.facebook.com/Persona.Poetry
He’s gone and I can’t believe,
I just can’t conceive,
Why my son would take another mothers’ son away,
I never brought up my son to stray
I never taught him to run the street
I gave him every opportunity
To make him feel special and unique
To educate him, teach him well,
Now my life feels like it’s all gone to hell
But still, I cannot even begin to fathom
The depth of guilt he makes me feel
Now I go to church every day and in the pews kneel
Praying and looking heaven-ward trying to understand why
Why a different mother’s heart is cut deep like a knife
Just like the one my son used to take her son’s life
The tears fall and cannot ever stop
Then I consider…
Is a knife wound worse than dying from a shot?
Regardless of release by an itchy trigger finger
The pain and fear as either touches lives will forever linger…
I cannot begin to comprehend how she must feel
Like she won’t be able to comprehend my remorse and shame
That my 15 year old son chose to run game
To get a rep, to show others he was the best
That he had some surefire balls of steel
To get initiated he had to show he was deep and real…
And because of that
She now prepares a funeral
As I prepare for court
My son will be dished a sour lesson
One which he should never have been taught
As she will go to visit a headstone
So will I have to visit a different kind of tomb
One that will for the rest of his living life
House the boy child I birthed from my womb
Like her,
My son won’t greet me to say, ”Morning Mum.”
He won’t grow up into the man he should have become
Every sunrise will peep at him from behind bars
And through those same bars watching him sleep are the stars
Under which this mother also lies curled in a ball at night grieving
So do I too, but for many differing reasons
I cry at my own motherly failings
Asking what else could I have done?
This battle our children fight with each other
When will we step in so this war can finally be over and won?
I wonder if this other mother will hate me?
I wonder if my own family will forsake me?
I wonder if my son has ever loved me?
I wonder when I look in the mirror,
Will even I ever stop wanting to shun me?
In despair, I rage at his father’s inability to connect with him
Just when he needed him the most
When he should have been at home, talking and schooling him
He was out in the club ah toast
So I try to feel what she feels
So I try to get inside her head
But give up because it’s too hard knowing
Both our sons are dead
Hers buried because of mine
And mine banged up for that heinously vain crime
But both our sons are gone
We’ve lost our baby boys,
Both our sons are victims
They are never coming back
The streets again run victorious
Because of such needless wanton acts
Its time for change, street purification…
After this… We really don’t need further justification.
©27th July 2011 Angela Edgar
I just can’t conceive,
Why my son would be taken this way,
After today,
There is no yesterday,
No tomorrow,
And from now on I will need to borrow,
A future, because mine is dead,
I sit by his bed,
Knowing that I will never again hear him say “Morning Mum”,
I will never get to know the adult he would have become,
I won’t ever hear him laugh or cry,
He won’t utter a sigh,
He never even got to say goodbye,
Why?
Because 15 years of life,
Have been stolen by the slash of a knife,
Held in the hands of another adolescent,
This scenario now incessant,
On the cold dark street,
Signed, sealed and delivered by the concrete,
And I can’t even hate,
Because my son’s fate,
Is another mother’s nightmare,
She will have her fair share,
Living in the shadow of the despair,
That her seed extinguished a flame,
Knowing that the light that bore my child’s name,
Flickered and expired in his hand,
I understand,
The pain,
Her boy took my boy’s life in vain,
And this thought will forever remain,
In her mind,
So we are in some strange way combined,
In our grief, as our thoughts are entwined,
In non belief…We are both resigned,
To the stark reality we call life,
And united by the destruction caused when you pick up the knife,
See, my son is gone I know he ain’t coming back,
The superficial evidence of his existence is now inscribed on a plaque,
Above his grave… my only treasure,
And her son is serving life at her majesties pleasure,
So how can either of us even begin to measure?
The extent of our failing,
And the concrete smiles; its victory prevailing,
Lording over 2 mothers and a shocked community,
As we cry for every missed opportunity,
And pray for impunity…..
They were only 15 and they had their whole lives ahead,
Yet the street left one incarcerated and the other one dead,
Its time for change, street purification,
Do we really need further justification?
© 26th July 2011 Donna Parkinson
http://www.facebook.com/Persona.Poetry
He’s gone and I can’t believe,
I just can’t conceive,
Why my son would take another mothers’ son away,
I never brought up my son to stray
I never taught him to run the street
I gave him every opportunity
To make him feel special and unique
To educate him, teach him well,
Now my life feels like it’s all gone to hell
But still, I cannot even begin to fathom
The depth of guilt he makes me feel
Now I go to church every day and in the pews kneel
Praying and looking heaven-ward trying to understand why
Why a different mother’s heart is cut deep like a knife
Just like the one my son used to take her son’s life
The tears fall and cannot ever stop
Then I consider…
Is a knife wound worse than dying from a shot?
Regardless of release by an itchy trigger finger
The pain and fear as either touches lives will forever linger…
I cannot begin to comprehend how she must feel
Like she won’t be able to comprehend my remorse and shame
That my 15 year old son chose to run game
To get a rep, to show others he was the best
That he had some surefire balls of steel
To get initiated he had to show he was deep and real…
And because of that
She now prepares a funeral
As I prepare for court
My son will be dished a sour lesson
One which he should never have been taught
As she will go to visit a headstone
So will I have to visit a different kind of tomb
One that will for the rest of his living life
House the boy child I birthed from my womb
Like her,
My son won’t greet me to say, ”Morning Mum.”
He won’t grow up into the man he should have become
Every sunrise will peep at him from behind bars
And through those same bars watching him sleep are the stars
Under which this mother also lies curled in a ball at night grieving
So do I too, but for many differing reasons
I cry at my own motherly failings
Asking what else could I have done?
This battle our children fight with each other
When will we step in so this war can finally be over and won?
I wonder if this other mother will hate me?
I wonder if my own family will forsake me?
I wonder if my son has ever loved me?
I wonder when I look in the mirror,
Will even I ever stop wanting to shun me?
In despair, I rage at his father’s inability to connect with him
Just when he needed him the most
When he should have been at home, talking and schooling him
He was out in the club ah toast
So I try to feel what she feels
So I try to get inside her head
But give up because it’s too hard knowing
Both our sons are dead
Hers buried because of mine
And mine banged up for that heinously vain crime
But both our sons are gone
We’ve lost our baby boys,
Both our sons are victims
They are never coming back
The streets again run victorious
Because of such needless wanton acts
Its time for change, street purification…
After this… We really don’t need further justification.
©27th July 2011 Angela Edgar
LONDON'S BURNING (Poem)
Now I'm not going to say what is happening is Tottenham is right, but people are heated...
You have got to remember the only ones who are going to suffer the most are the ones in the local community whose jobs, homes and livelihoods have been effectively wiped out by the looting and burning of the shops, the destruction of property or homes. Some top brass somewhere is laughing saying let them destroy each other and everything they have worked for and a question I keep seeing being asking so many times on blogs/twitter etc is... why are only cops getting interviewed? #JustMyOpinion.
YouTube Audio interview my friend sent me (after I wrote this poem) with a protester about what really sparked the riot: http://bit.ly/qnR9zS
(Photo: BBC NEWS)
LONDON'S BURNING (title suggested by Stennet)
London's burning feelings are churning
All because Mark Duggan's life was lost
London's burning male rage is yearning
Cops laugh saying "It's just another black gangsta we shot!"
Let's burn a cop car...
Let's petrol bomb a bus
Cops stand back laughing saying
"Let them do our work for us!"
Youngers with hoods on
When they should be tucked up in bed
Going out to earn their stripes
By kicking in someone's head.
Where's the order?
Who's in control?
Tottenham is rioting
Haringey's initiating new blood into the fold.
But wait, didn't it all start peaceably?
Only tempers got frayed quite heatedly
Protesting legitimately for another unlawful police death
Someone will have to answer to this hot mess.
Blackberried youths
Receiving a ping
Who's controlling this fire?
Send a group broadcast to rope more people in.
Outta area militants using a family's grief
To cause more fuss
Missiles and fireworks launched
Any excuse to raze local businesses and homes to dust.
Those in the heart of it
Journalists documenting the war
They are beaten, their cameras stolen
They're left knocked out cold on the floor.
Looting, burning, rioting
Is this a sign of the times?
Public demanding answers from the police
All everyone wants is the truth to the shoot... so give us that at least.
(C)6th August 2011 Angela Edgar All Rights Reserved
You have got to remember the only ones who are going to suffer the most are the ones in the local community whose jobs, homes and livelihoods have been effectively wiped out by the looting and burning of the shops, the destruction of property or homes. Some top brass somewhere is laughing saying let them destroy each other and everything they have worked for and a question I keep seeing being asking so many times on blogs/twitter etc is... why are only cops getting interviewed? #JustMyOpinion.
YouTube Audio interview my friend sent me (after I wrote this poem) with a protester about what really sparked the riot: http://bit.ly/qnR9zS
(Photo: BBC NEWS)
LONDON'S BURNING (title suggested by Stennet)
London's burning feelings are churning
All because Mark Duggan's life was lost
London's burning male rage is yearning
Cops laugh saying "It's just another black gangsta we shot!"
Let's burn a cop car...
Let's petrol bomb a bus
Cops stand back laughing saying
"Let them do our work for us!"
Youngers with hoods on
When they should be tucked up in bed
Going out to earn their stripes
By kicking in someone's head.
Where's the order?
Who's in control?
Tottenham is rioting
Haringey's initiating new blood into the fold.
But wait, didn't it all start peaceably?
Only tempers got frayed quite heatedly
Protesting legitimately for another unlawful police death
Someone will have to answer to this hot mess.
Blackberried youths
Receiving a ping
Who's controlling this fire?
Send a group broadcast to rope more people in.
Outta area militants using a family's grief
To cause more fuss
Missiles and fireworks launched
Any excuse to raze local businesses and homes to dust.
Those in the heart of it
Journalists documenting the war
They are beaten, their cameras stolen
They're left knocked out cold on the floor.
Looting, burning, rioting
Is this a sign of the times?
Public demanding answers from the police
All everyone wants is the truth to the shoot... so give us that at least.
(C)6th August 2011 Angela Edgar All Rights Reserved
Thursday 2 June 2011
Urban Cinnamon - THE BOOK LAUNCH EVENT - Sunday 31st July 2011
http://www.facebook.com/UrbanCinnamon
You are cordially invited to the Double Book Launch Event for the release of 2 fantastic new Poetry books by
Angela Edgar aka Angee-Licious & Donna Parkinson aka D'Persona:
AND
Entertainment:
DJ's Macca C & Ricardo Rocafella from UNIQUE 101.2FM
with Music, Poetry and Special Guest Artists including
Reggae Legend, Winston Francis.
Books & CD's for sale on the night.
*****Tickets cost £10 & get you entry & get a FREE signed book*****
***** SECURE ONLINE PAYMENT LINK AT THE TOP OF THE PAGE*****
or go to http://www.poetryforschools.com
~ Prefer to get it in person? Delivery available
Call Angee: 07985 650 009 (BBP 2343DC89)
*****Tickets available NOW & moving fast.*****
*****Get yours before they sell out!!!*****
For more information on Artists/Books etc - please visit:
http://www.facebook.com/UrbanCinnamon
******************************************************************
VENUE DIRECTIONS:
CLICK HERE FOR LINK TO MAP
TRAINS: London Overground & Bakerloo Line - Kenton - 5 min walk
Metropolitan Line - Northwick Park - 10 min walk
BUSES: 114, 183, H9, H10, H18, H19, 223 all stop outside the bar
PARKING: No restrictions for parking on a Sunday - main road or side streets. Sainsbury's Car Park is a 5 min walk away)
You are cordially invited to the Double Book Launch Event for the release of 2 fantastic new Poetry books by
Angela Edgar aka Angee-Licious & Donna Parkinson aka D'Persona:
AND
Entertainment:
DJ's Macca C & Ricardo Rocafella from UNIQUE 101.2FM
with Music, Poetry and Special Guest Artists including
Reggae Legend, Winston Francis.
Books & CD's for sale on the night.
*****Tickets cost £10 & get you entry & get a FREE signed book*****
***** SECURE ONLINE PAYMENT LINK AT THE TOP OF THE PAGE*****
or go to http://www.poetryforschools.com
~ Prefer to get it in person? Delivery available
Call Angee: 07985 650 009 (BBP 2343DC89)
*****Tickets available NOW & moving fast.*****
*****Get yours before they sell out!!!*****
For more information on Artists/Books etc - please visit:
http://www.facebook.com/UrbanCinnamon
******************************************************************
VENUE DIRECTIONS:
CLICK HERE FOR LINK TO MAP
TRAINS: London Overground & Bakerloo Line - Kenton - 5 min walk
Metropolitan Line - Northwick Park - 10 min walk
BUSES: 114, 183, H9, H10, H18, H19, 223 all stop outside the bar
PARKING: No restrictions for parking on a Sunday - main road or side streets. Sainsbury's Car Park is a 5 min walk away)
Wednesday 26 January 2011
"WET PANTY APPRECIATION"
The sight of you
Makes me drool
Gives me a flutter in my tummy
Gives me that tweak down below
That makes me leak in anticipation
You make it easy for me to give you
Some of my wet panty appreciation
You know
It's that kind of feeling
The one that builds and grows
Until I have to do something about it
Do I touch myself?
Or seek you out instead?
Imaging us tumbling,
Into a fresh laundered bed...
But I need some instant gratification
I've got a bad case of wet panty appreciation!
(C)6th September 2010-17:07pm Written by Angela Edgar
All Rights Reserved. Unauthorised Reproduction Prohibited.
Makes me drool
Gives me a flutter in my tummy
Gives me that tweak down below
That makes me leak in anticipation
You make it easy for me to give you
Some of my wet panty appreciation
You know
It's that kind of feeling
The one that builds and grows
Until I have to do something about it
Do I touch myself?
Or seek you out instead?
Imaging us tumbling,
Into a fresh laundered bed...
But I need some instant gratification
I've got a bad case of wet panty appreciation!
(C)6th September 2010-17:07pm Written by Angela Edgar
All Rights Reserved. Unauthorised Reproduction Prohibited.
"PUT THE PUSSY ON THE BED"
'Put the pussy on the bed,' I said
Lay it out neatly there on the spread
I'll flick the catch
Smile and open the lid
For tomorrow you'll be bragging
About the nasty little things you did
Your slit it looks so inviting
Just like a sideways smile
You better get comfortable
Because I'll be here for a while
I lick your lips to make them moist
I lick mine to make them clean
I'll have you moaning and shouting for more,
Screaming, 'Papi, OH MY!! You are so thick and lean!'
(C)10th October 2010-01:29am Angela Edgar
All Rights Reserved. Unauthorised Reproduction Prohibited.
Lay it out neatly there on the spread
I'll flick the catch
Smile and open the lid
For tomorrow you'll be bragging
About the nasty little things you did
Your slit it looks so inviting
Just like a sideways smile
You better get comfortable
Because I'll be here for a while
I lick your lips to make them moist
I lick mine to make them clean
I'll have you moaning and shouting for more,
Screaming, 'Papi, OH MY!! You are so thick and lean!'
(C)10th October 2010-01:29am Angela Edgar
All Rights Reserved. Unauthorised Reproduction Prohibited.
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