Shoreditch Slave

 

I’m a Hipster

Fashion tipster

Got my beard

Some find it weird

Work in I.T.

Watch Boosh the mighty!

Live in Hoxton

Landlord’s Foxtons

Drink my micro-brewery beer

Yet it’s the locals that I fear!

Often wonder why I’m here

©M.C Bolton

Gentrification?

 

The Belstaff Barbour boys are in town

Moncler girls puffed as their pride

Red winged tricker brogued media’s young blades

Edwin Selvedge* all the rage

canvass bags vacuous as your projection

look at me chum

I rent from Foxtons

strutting down Portobello

middle aged man’s Hoxton!

Baker boy cap on mockney accent

But the fear in your eyes

Shows you’re no Jason Statham

not grouse we shoot round here mate,

on my sink estate

Gentrification? Everything we hate

as we’re moved to the suburbs

priced out of town

along with its character, diversity, smile and culture

what once was our reality

is to you just so vulgar   

 

*Jeans turned up to show white selvedge with red stitch

©MC Bolton 2014

Working Class Hero

I was once a working class hero

today that counts for zero

for we’re all now slaves to Pharaoh

building pyramids of avarice, of greed

 

Some talk of revolution

most are disillusioned

looking for a solution

not buying the great delusion

 

I can see where it’s all going

the fruit of seeds we are sowing

so slowly, without knowing

minds that have stopped growing

in the midst of such confusion

craving freedom’s restitution!

my purposeful existence

offering ‘old contemptible’ resistance

 

M.C. Bolton, April 2018

 

 

Man of Rags – Easter Story 2018

I wear this suit – this tie

to really mask the lie

that truly deep inside

I’m just a poor lowly simple man of rags!

 

Travelled up and down this land

this briefcase in my hand

full of sorrow, poverty and pain

seen soldiers asleep in doors

who once fought your foreign wars

Just a poor simple lowly man of rags…

 

Gazed upon children, used abused

to drown in drugs n’ alcohol confused

Just a poor lowly simple man of rags…

 

Heard the cries of a mother who’s lost her mind

her teenage son dead before his time

Just a poor lowly simple man of rags…

 

I walk these city streets

mankind sleeping at my feet

at night I see the dead

arising from their beds

then return back to their graves

like a vampire – to dawn, a slave…

Just a poor lowly simple man of rags…

 

Tomorrow I will die

hung from a tree so high

this poor lowly simple man of rags…

 

Yet these rags belong to you

that is very true

But with God I have arranged

your old clothing to be changed

into silk and linen garments fine

so for eternity we can dine

eat the bread – drink the wine

no longer poor lowly simple

men and women dressed in rags…

 

Christ.jpg
Photo by G

M.C.Bolton, March 2018

Exodus for the Soul

I seek a burning bush

deep inside this internal wilderness

blazing sun the canvas

upon which vultures circle

over dry bleached skulls

of the eternal lost

who’s spirits are forever imprisoned

in this arid haunt of demons and jackals

 

Oh! Lazarus salve my tongue

with just one drop of your tears

as slowly I wander amongst these ever-changing dunes

crawling over rocks that were once thrown

by men without pity or grace

along with memories of scorpion-like words

that once pierced my heart…

 

Yet still no ignited shrub

giving purpose – offering hope

to a man who’s fist clenches time’s sand

which slowly seeps through his fingers

like his dreams

blown into heavenly halls

by divine life-giving breath

my mind boiling like mutton

a feast for an old toothless lion

who has only his roar!

Like Moses searching for the promised land

that flows with milk and honey

always eluding me

 

Darkness falls – I play games with the stars

that have shone on greater men

in the distance I spy a dancing flame

surely it doth burn so bright

bringing light into the hidden places

where only the bravest soul dare venture…

 

20170213_114623

 

©M.C. Bolton, February 2018

Ode to Self-righteousness

Searching for a piece of solid ground

on which to make a stand

finding only slippery clay, cold wet shifting sand

nothing stable, untainted, pure

Everything corrupted

My own fine clothes exposed as rags

when the truth brutally interrupted!

 

Constantly falling into the abyss

outside space-time dimension

no beginning, end, finish, start

or realistic comprehension

 

Hating this so-fallen self

that no longer walks amongst the angels

my pitiful deluded self, against my soul it rages

hands and face like melting wax

dripping on to the keys of a pianola

Its constant tune plays sorrow’s song

as I yearn for paradise tomorrow

 

Still the parasites, the leeches

continue sucking at my core

the man I aspire to be

a mirage in this war

I see him in holographic dreams

awaking in sweat and terror!

 

The morning tormentors return once again

Pointing out my faults, my errors

Kept for perverse security

like two old cats about the place

my only fear of drowning

In God’s eternal lake of Grace….

 

 

M.C. Bolton, January 2018

DSCN2061

 

Duck Down and Goosed

Gobble! Gobble! Gobble!

Canadian goose is getting fat

time to kill and pluck him

to put that coat upon your back

maybe cost a monkey*

even cost a grand

spare a thought for the poor, the homeless

with whom you share this land

 

not criticising your purchase

but maybe stop and think

on life’s forgotten army

it’s not champagne they drink

 

Retreating from society

all its phony rules

POWs of austerity

Policies so cruel

So the gap just widens between the rich and the poor

a tale of two cities

where greedy men want more!

 

Some talk of revolution

overthrow and change

evolution of mankind’s soul,

desires rearranged

 

Give to Ceasar

what is Ceasar’s

Pursue the path of truth

For its only money that provides a homeless man a roof!

 

Gobble! Gobble! Gobble!

the goose is getting fat

Slaughtered, roasted, eaten,

scraps left for the cat,

whilst the one that lays the golden eggs

sits quietly on my lap

the one that lays the golden eggs

sits quietly upon my lap….

 

M.C. Bolton, December 2017

 

*£500

 

 

Kensington and Chelsea-20120205-03053
Snow on Grenfell Road, North Kensington