The
Urban Time
Bomb
By D’Persona
Copyright 2011
D’Persona (Donna Parkinson)
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Cover Design by the author
Cover Photo by
Katrina Frazer
Contents
Introduction
The
Urban Time Bomb (Part 1)
How
Can We Reach These Kids?
And
The Piper Plays On
Peace
Simplistic
Notion
Another
One Drops
As
a mother I made choices
Young
Gunz
Behind
The Man
Damaged
Thoughts
Repaired
Thoughts
Hug
Gotta
Make A Change
Gunz
Drawn
Ghetto
Nation
Freedom
Isn’t Free
Awareness
Please
The
Eyes Of The Youth
Radical
Ramblings
Desperate
Need
The
Urban Time Bomb (Part 2)
Deadyouths@london.com
15
And Counting.
Spirals
A
Message From Beyond
Earth
To Earth
A
Raging Battle
I
Will Not Let You Tear My World Apart
Big
Ballin
Ghetto
Afterlife Part 1
The
Ghetto Won’t Let Go
The
Price Of Fame
When
I Awake
A
Change Is Gonna Come
That’s
All I Have
Ghetto
Afterlife Part 2
In
The Ghetto
The
Payback
Drop
The Guns And Knives
Hold
A Mirror Up To Your Own Face . . .
Blue
or Red, Red or Blue?
If
You Believe . . .
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Dedications
About
The Author
Introduction
The UK is
witnessing a significant rise in gang culture and the urban violence
is spreading through our inner city streets at alarming rates. Post
codes have become ‘red flags’ and our youth are becoming
increasingly synonymous with bulls raging in a bid to defend their
own territory. Our children, our teenagers (and oftentimes even
younger kids) are caught up in an environment that remorselessly
breeds societal depravity and decay. Our babies are having babies,
drugs are readily available, promiscuity is commonplace, racial
prejudice is still a part and parcel of today’s society and peer
pressure is running amok in high schools all across the UK. Nothing
shocks our children anymore and its getting worse by the day.
Smouldering just under the surface of almost every inner city
pavement in the UK is an urban time bomb just waiting to explode in
our faces.
There is no denying the fact that rising
unemployment levels, the lack of positive role models (particularly
male role models), limited recreational resources, peer pressure,
diminishing family values and the sheer fear of the ‘unknown’ can
cause alienation from what we have come to know as mainstream
society. And this in turn contributes to today’s youth seeking to
find a ‘sympathetic ear’ on the street as some sort of a survival
mechanism. Many of our children are turning to the concrete for
guidance. The urban time bomb was penned with parents and teenagers
in mind with a view to addressing the problem two fold. As parents we
need to take responsibility for the social development skills of our
offspring, encouraging, educating and cultivating their minds from a
young age. This book is a critical and poetic look into today’s
youth and as a matter of moral decision it, in places, contains
strong language and somewhat graphic descriptions.
I
understand that as a parent you may say “I don’t want my kids
subjected to bad language, sexual metaphors or explicit imagery”,
but lets for a second just face the facts here; today’s kids speak
today’s language and live today’s life. They are consumed by the
Medias usage of such idiom; contemporary films, modern music and
video games often assume the moral low ground so our kids are already
surrounded by such things in their day to day routines. Some of our
kids don’t even bother to read books anymore as they are not
written in ‘turns of phrase’ that they can relate to.
The
words ‘Fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitches’, ‘ho’s and the likes
are regularly used as tools of expression by our children whether we
like it or not. Alarmingly enough, In their circles the use of this
verbal communication is deemed as socially acceptable as carrying
knives, stealing phones and ‘rushing’ kids from other areas. So
the seemingly obscene words that you will see scattered across these
pages are nothing more than common phraseology and the collective
norm that I have used in some cases as a means to contextualise and
familiarise the circumstances or events that form the atmosphere
within that particular piece of poetry.
Our children don’t
believe that as adults we are ‘on a level’ or that we are able to
understand their day to day struggle and therefore shy away from
‘opening up’ to us. I have found that if you adopt the kind of
dialogue that they can relate to, you will reach a wider audience. I
don’t apologise for my using this type of language in this instance
if it instigates the child’s imagination, or gives them an
affiliation with the text they are reading.
This book is
about ‘urban behaviour’, ‘peer pressure’ ‘gang culture’
and the kinds of societal temptations that our youth face everyday
and if my choice of words gives our children a real ‘connection’
to the piece it is more likely to persuade him or her to take a
deeper look into the types of things that we are trying to tackle. My
aim is to encourage our youth to take a more candid look at the urban
lifestyle that they may have already adopted or be on the periphery
of and to try to deter those children lucky enough to have not yet
been touched by the long arm of the street.
Economic
downturns, social acceptance, Gang culture, restrictive government
policy and sheer ignorance have created and fostered conditions that
strangle and suffocate their generation. Clearly change is in the
air, is this not the right time to take up arms against this downward
spiral? I personally feel that it is overdue and time to realise that
violence is not ordinarily rooted in the human mind but more so
firmly planted there by the structure of our society. I believe that
it’s high time that we held a mirror up to our own faces; we need
to re-think, re-imagine and re-construct the social order, to convert
silence into words and words into actions.
The alternative
means that our collective failure will create new social realities
too ugly to even begin to comprehend for our children’s children .
. . That urban time bomb is ticking. . . . Are you ready for the
explosion?
The Urban Time Bomb (Part 1)
My heart
bleeds,
For the community seeds,
That we lose on da regs,
As
the streets ‘dregs’,
Are ‘purified’,
In the seek and
divide,
Mentality we allow,
Somehow,
Some way,
Whether
today,
Or tomorrow,
A mothers sorrow,
Must be
eradicated,
Our hearts have been weighted,
For too long,
Too
many strong,
Minded youths have travelled the wrong path,
And
in the aftermath,
Of numerous teenage deaths,
It’s no time
for regrets,
Its time for alteration,
The deterioration,
Of
our youth must stop,
Its time to swap,
Violence for
knowledge,
Real knowledge,
To promote self worth and
respect,
We must dissect,
Their minds with understanding and
consideration,
I don’t want to attend another burial or
cremation,
Where half of the congregation,
Are not yet
twenty,
There are plenty,
Of seeds who have gone,
That could
have shone,
If given the right guidance and light,
Our kids
these days are bright,
And they just need their minds
cultivated,
And Educated,
In terms of unity,
Shown how to
take pride in their community,
Urged to rise and be counted,
Cos
all of the kids before them, could have amounted,
To so much more
than a name plaque on a grave,
But instead they died a slave,
To
their situation,
Can’t you see that the kind of violent
propagation,
They meet day to day,
Has a strong correlation to
the way,
In which they carry themselves on road,
And this urban
time bomb is set to explode,
So we might as well ignite it,
Since
no-one is willing to fight it,
Yeah detonate, obliterate, the
youth,
Cos the truth,
Is we don’t do enough,
I know times
are tough,
And resources restricted,
But the tribulation
inflicted,
On communities must be our responsibility,
The
government won’t take culpability,
So we must penetrate the
youth with conscious vibrations,
Inner city public relations,
In
an attempt to bring about change,
We need to stick together and
try to re-arrange,
The balance on the street,
For too long the
same beat has been on repeat,
And its time to complete,
The
mission our forefathers set out to do,
The community’s survival
is up to me and you,
Tick tock the urban bomb is primed,
And
the ghetto bells have already chimed,
So where do you stand?
Are
you willing to lend a helping hand?
How Can We Reach These Kids?
How can we reach
these kids if not with guidance?
The only way is to promote basis
not subsidence,
Teaching self respect and regard for a fellow
man,
Is something to incorporate in your parenting plan,
Have
we failed our kids struggling to just live?
Have we given them
less than we should give?
We go through the motions day by day;
surviving,
Trying to put food on the table, fiscally striving,
To
make ends meet; providing for families needs,
But have we
neglected to sow the right seeds?
Our kids need constructive
contact and direction,
Support and aid; understanding and
protection,
Help with the transition into young adults,
Parents
are responsible for the desired results,
The limited opportunities
strangle their ambition,
And so, they use their situation as
ammunition,
Maintaining that there is no point; it’s all a
waste,
Then throwing their educations away in haste,
And that’s
when the street digs its heels in deep,
And In the blink of an eye
read ‘em’ & weep,
As our kids are drawn to a ring of
recognition,
And the concrete is the key to cerebral ignition,
The
missing link; rousing minds to be inspired,
They’ve achieved the
ID they’ve always desired,
There you have it; youths on road
just living to die,
Learning how to ‘sidestep’ and how to
expertly lie,
The peer pressure is beyond grasp once
enrolled,
Every step they make is analysed and controlled,
And
then the street teaches them to duck and dive,
Convincing them
it’s the only way to stay alive,
Slowly but surely we’ll loose
a part of their soul,
They go blindly into their new found
role,
They progress onto the next chapter in their life,
And
their actions are stimulated by the gun and the knife.
And The Piper Plays On
And the piper plays
on,
Piping his sad song,
A disseminating rhythmic beat,
Born
of the cold dark street,
Claiming its victory once more,
Closing
another door,
In societies face,
Another youth lost without a
trace,
The piper calls for the youths to follow,
And by
tomorrow,
A young flame will be extinguished for good,
Lost to
the violence in the hood,
And the insanity reigns,
Hostility
runs through the veins,
Of the concrete,
And up into their
feet,
Coursing through their bodies to their brains,
Leaving
stark blood stains,
Inside deaths white chalk lines,
And the
loss defines,
Our community’s story,
As some misguided child
finds glory,
In postcode retaliation,
And the whole
nation,
Watches as the decay takes control,
Growing stronger in
the death toll,
While young hearts stop beating,
Completing,
This
vicious circle of urban life,
The gun and the knife,
Demanding
recognition,
Their sole mission,
To seek and destroy,
Any
young and confused boy,
Who’s searching for a reason to be?
And
that child’s destiny,
Is caught up in the pipers tune,
Captured
and immune,
To the danger,
He would rather take the word of a
stranger,
Than trust the devil that he knows,
And the piper
will now compose,
A tune tailor made with precision thought,
And
the assault,
On another ripe mind has begun,
As the piper plays
his tune to your own son. . . .
Peace
Prepare to
Excel and
Accelerate
Community
Endeavours
Simplistic Notion
I’ve longed for some clarity
or some insight,
To see the end of the tunnel encircled in
light,
A way forward; a new course,
Some sort of community
taskforce,
I’ve dreamed of a way that we could live in peace,
To
see poverty, confrontation and conflict cease,
I’ve yearned for
an end to power and greed,
To see the unity that we so desperately
need,
Return to our generation before it’s too late,
To
eradicate the fear and strangle the hate,
I’ve prayed for the
ghetto kids our leaders ignore,
To see their tables finally
blessed with more,
For a change to take them out of the hood,
For
the path of our youth to finally come good,
I’ve screamed at the
irony of our lack of devotion,
When all of this is such a
simplistic notion.
Another One Drops
Another one drops,
Queuing
at the death toll one stop shop,
A young buck dies giving his
postcode props,
En route to nothing but a coffin pit stop,
Leaving
no clue for the keystone cops,
Who will eventually start the
investigation,
By beginning the paperwork at the station,
And
opening a line of conversation,
With a community that has no
explanation,
The Youngers have no information,
They aint seen
nor heard no affirmation,
And that’s how the social
mitigation,
Will Continue and sustain,
Allowing the violence to
reign,
With nobody willing to make a stand,
No upper
hand,
Reaching out to our youths in desperation,
To ease this
collective constipation,
And as we coast as a community,
The
opportunity,
Arises for another to make his graduation,
At the
university of urban violence insemination,
He sits and waits in
preparation,
For his final indoctrination,
His chance to make
it big on the endz,
To represent for the circle of friends,
That
have welcomed him, where others rejected,
Leaving his mind
infected,
And unprotected,
From the propaganda and
hype,
Another stereotype,
Another number,
That society has
put asunder,
To drown in the forgotten cess pit,
Now ready to
submit,
To his fate,
Fuelled with hate,
For the
shoulda,
Coulda,
Woulda,
Mentality that has steeped him in
disapproval,
Hiding from the eyes that would prefer his
removal,
From their sight,
Rather than to fight,
To keep him
focused on his education,
And so his concentration,
Has turned
to a circle with which he can connect,
A fraternity where he can
earn the respect,
He craves,
And as his mind enslaves,
His
heart,
Every part,
Of him beams with pride,
He has found an
ear, in which he can finally confide,
Someone is actually
listening, paying attention,
And his apprehension,
Is
outweighed with relief,
That someone somewhere actually has
belief,
In his ability,
And the futility,
Of it all falls on
the deaf ears of the commune,
Who assume,
That this boy is just
another bad breed,
The useless seed,
Of a broken home,
Another
unfortunate soul prone,
To a life on the street,
And in a
heartbeat,
They turn their back on his plight,
And on a cold
and dreary night,
Another one drops,
And I ask can someone tell
me where the buck stops. . . .