Fall of The Tyrants
Fall of The Tyrants
There is a movement from earthly to heavenly
The scene becomes filled with more light
More exquisite grows the scene as you look
Across and enlarge your understanding
© Zubyre Parvez 2017 All Rights Reserved
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Samuel The Philosopher Some cool East London slang features in this one. It's about Samuel The Philospher, a character you come across in London, that's a beguiling combination of being cool, and knowledgable that you get with the hip hop folks, who don't put on the air of being in the know or particularly intellectual.The Eaghams. He was an absent-minded fellow when he was young but his word was good as gold, who picked up information around him first before what was said, that got in the way of what he was hearing from a given person, at times, especially, girls, whose emotions were all over the shop, or aggressive men who were too emotional, it made his eyes glaze over. Source: http://allthe2048.com There was more information in all the clairvoyant like detail around him, so he would naturally take more time for a given task, dismissed by most as ignorant and vague, by the go getters...oh, they only rushed but never paused to consider any subtleties of a given situation to enlighten to. This slowed them down in the long run, and led to a lack of knowledge on their part. It was only a decade after they tired themselves out and wasted resources, that they saw the error of their multitasking ways of greed and excessive gossip. He seemed like he was zoned out, and would stay stuff like he didn't know where in the universe he was from whilst peering down at his Reeboks. He wore an Akademiks top Some people thought it was because he was lazy, leisurely dressed with baggy jeans, some people thought he smoked weed because he was never serious, joking in his deep baritone voice. He thought deeply to the point that he lacked common sense to the bespectacled (double glazing) crime bosses of Beckton, who were impeccably pragmatic and practical in their directives, who were calm and collected but with a fire that could be unleashed. They knew how to control themselves, it was too bait to be otherwise, they would have got caught by feds. One of them was at a restaurant talking in a low voice and greeting the middle class customers who dressed in strict neatness and had tennis wear (including sporting tennis shoes, they were never lazy wearing trainers) for their friendly tennis tournaments on Saturday mornings, with discreet courtesy and a surprising kind of respect, as if on the watch for any coppers. Samuel didn't find out his name over the course of the dishes time. When he did get his act together in a life where there are no dress rehearsals, he forged his way. It was so superb the stuff he came out with, that people wondered in amazement. He knew exactly how to phrase a given particular, and he knew the principles of things without even appearing at the scene. People thought he was clueless, but he obviously knew what he knew. That's why he didn't bother with a lot of people, he had been there, done that, had that conversation, acquired that lesson, done that degree listening to poised lecturers, traveled to that domain on the internet, or had visited the region on his travels simply by train and plane and contemplation of the peoples there. He would often hang out with Jake, that is, when Jake had an opportunity, he would ring Samuel. If you enjoyed this post, you can check out further short stories in this series by clicking the following titles:
For Vernon James
We bust leafy lyrics over the speakers
Over the campus Wall Hall
Where we built and talked our walk
Drank till we were stoned
Ate chicken and went to the Carnival
Gave you my collection
Your appreciation of paintings
Was new to me, poets and paints
We wrote with peacock feathers!
The grey shirt with matching
Loafers after your smart attire
Is what we chose for the open mic fire
In Camden, the intrigues played!
Hitting up the bars with lyrics.
Commentary: This poem comes out of the time I rolled with Vernon James, (the subject of the poem) and the times we spent while at University of Hertfordshire at the Wall Hall campus. We hung out at The Carnival, where there were brears blazin’, listening to the hip hop there. We used to bus’ freestyles on campus and I produced a fair few beats on the QY20 sequencer…
© Zubyre Parvez 2016 All Rights Reserved
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WRITER BIO: Zubyre Parvez (BA hons) studied English Literature at Hertfordshire University. He writes song lyrics, poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles for The Taoist Crucible. His poetry won runners up in a competition judged by Simon Armitage and Margaret Atwood. His poetry has been published in Kobita. His articles have appeared in The Epoch Times as a journalist for the newspaper. He has worked for New Tang Dynasty Television as a journalist. You can catch up with his tweets @TheEaghams
Putting The Words Together
On my own I have been putting the words together
I been meaning to show you what I can do, what’s new
Does it take longer than we first think when we go
Along a course of action I’ve learned what I know
Trying to piece it all together to find my way in life
And I hope you find your way here, like a passenger
On the train and train conductor communication travels
My stop fast approaches the rhythms are jazz drums
Good to see you time for me to catch another train
Another song waits in construction of lines we plan.
There are poems that I write that revive my interest
When I’ve read enough from my books, when the air is full
Of my heart, conjured imagination, the impact
Of full books of full story outside the pub the drinks
Take away the spirits of some though the dreams appear
When you’re not in the mood so I turn to the page now
For all the times I’ve not had a clue, this is how it’s told.
I’ve wanted to write and wear the culture
I’ve reaped and sown fine seam, casual and loose
Where the apartment blocks of the past
Lack definition I’d say
Although like building bricks
I read read more than just cover to cover
I build the stores of my foundation
Reading the paragraphs under
The lamplight, for ears around
The corner of the book I recall
You look at the record sleeves
Of your fashion statements
That were true to the person.
Wine-tint glasses were turned
Away to read more closely
And to write of what
Springs to mind, a fountain
The refreshment from the
Banks of memory to rejuvenate
To get back to some of our flow
Away from the incongruence.
Renaissance Man Part II
Back to the drawing board
Brushing up against the past
The painter reflects on the scenes
He made his peace with old friends
And turns to the Old Masters.
Conceived in his watchful calm
Never turning his back from
The canvas though his back
Was a picture of the years
That rested squarely on his shoulders
Congruent with the town square
In which he lived and breathed life
Into his paintings the clouds and sky
From within, a real air to it, and city,
And landscape and all his canvas
Became a painted mirror watercolour.
Jacob had an honourable business he sold for a few thousand which he used in whatever way he deemed fit over time, living in a council house he had done up with new interiors and decor. The drawers were full of classic titles in literature, movies and a wardrobe of casual suits, depending on whatever way he wanted to play his cards on particular days. Besides this, his rooms were spacious, clean and neat. Lionel felt it was an ambient space although rather quite discreet living quarters, that was larger than it first appeared from outer appearances.
His friends would come around to his house to discuss plans for the weekend,
It’s what Wayne stood to gain that roused him from his leisurely life, too long had he lived in the glories of his past. He complacently was implacable and his aloofness, ignoble. From there he admired, passive in his attitude, gratitude could not take the place of his resentment, he needed to be stirred by the fire, to move forward in life, to seize the days. He talked to his old neighbour who lived in a semi-detached terrace house, with a lovely patio, and a dog kennel. He was friends with old people in the place of his own self-assertion, expecting people to pat him on the back or glorious praise from the historians, them. He admired his friend he perceived to be less intelligent than his person. He was amused at his friends progress and condescended to smile, in a moment of forgetfulness. He thought in his heart how his intelligence could not match his, offsetting his friends practical accomplishments through subverting it’s natural emphasis (for him) in this way. His friend once said to him ‘why all the praise?!’ in an unexpected outburst of insolent pride or anger, that was crossing the line.
Was it because Wayne thought so highly of himself, with the praise he would usually lavish upon himself, that he generously could extend it to others in an all-too-shallow act? He thought he could reposition himself as i he sat in the office of his mind. He was looking for work, and in his jealousy, congratulated himself more, taking comfort in doing less, making it regal. The stress of concentration, he was used to that, he languished in his self indulgence, before he made a new attempt. His friend was admired at work, though it was dished out formally as the Employee of The Month award, people were restrained in their overt expressions of emotion, they were professionals.
Wayne wondered, where his time went on idling. He felt he was creative, and wanted to settle for a better job, which took time to reach, but was now within his range of possibility. Not all those who search are lost, or so went the cliche. He saw himself as being of service to his neighbours so he didn’t look for work as much as he would have. They had lived life, and were more than happy to keep him where he was. He became unconsciously responsible for their emotional life in the past, kidding himself, in the place of an active, blazing life he now forged. He turned his face aside slightly in their presence when their two faces were facing toward each other, for a moment as he said hello, his smile was kind.
He was relocating to a district not too far from where they were, he knew he had to escape the smug complacency that he and his neighbours knew. He had to face the front, see to his left and right, see what was behind and ahead again, he wasn’t taking sides backing others, he wasted to have his own wherewithal to be the centre of his own world, not off in a corner, in someone’s corner.
To be a true, free spirit and move to a neighbourhood that aligned with his thoughts and wishes, and the person that he was. Gatherings had to be tempered with adventures of self, initiative and forthright expressions.
His neighbour smiled to be talked with, and he approached first with friendly overtures. Replying with short, proud and happy responses. He always took the initiative, and now he was more directed in what he was doing.
Wayne thought to himself about the scenes and Judy. It was the world they had between them, the world they had in front of them that dawned on them and shone. Didn’t they have the full right to make their glories as did any other generation before, as convenient as it all was for them? Laptops, i-pods, and mobiles. In the celebration of style and writing and culture, of friendship and the reflection in the company of the tribe following much merriment, he had known in these days.
How many books did they read, how much fiction, how much fact, before life dawned and new beginnings were begun. How much yearning, before life’s stirrings. Sometimes they sang along with the song they knew, sometimes they sang the song they dreamed that reminded them of all that life could bring them.
The true pictures of themselves, words and images of life. So many words that are thought and thought, brought them to what they now saw.
Sometimes Greg smiled because he understood, sometimes he was in repose because he understood, looking at him attentively, as his friend ashamedly confided in him, looking up at him, smiling the whole time as he was speaking. Even on the phone calls he took, you could hear his smile. Either way, his friend had to learn for himself what he wanted to do. Was he getting it right? That was the basis of their friendship and what it revolved around.
Sometimes, Greg would talk from his own experience which nudged Rupert from his self-absorbed ponderings. Steering the conversation purposely in his direction some people could not really listen for long without talking about themselves or how their stories are related to their won, when they weren’t doing back with something bigger and better.
Some people so centred in their own train of thought that they weren’t actually listening. Sometimes Greg would be thinking about something whilst listening. So then Rupert would ask for affirmation: ‘are you listening?’ Greg would succinctly summarise what he was saying, but it wasn’t just a small indication of what details he had caught onto, but rather it was the main of it together with his response. Naturally, some people retained more information than others. Rupert couldn’t keep up with his own impressions and thoughts, let alone what was going around him, therefore, he would sometimes talk a bit loudly, not paying attention to his surroundings, saying inappropriate stuff, that was vague and incoherent.