Biography of Wicked Mike
Filled with thought!
Personal blog at www.wickedmike.com. Love for my town at www.loveknysna.com, political commentary at www.knysnakeep.org and old music zine at www.wickedrock.net.
Favourite book - Imajica (Clive Barker)
Favourite movies - Fight Club & Donnie Darko
Favourite TV Series - Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Favourite Poem of My Own - Whispers
Hate: Liars, the lazy and religious hypocires.
Wicked Mike's Works:
Only in my head. Never tried to be published although most of my poems have been filed, online, under the title Black Book for many years.
Wicked Mike Poems
God Wears Black
God was on T.V. today Never a special moment for he’s the news everyday Kabila was shot but God lived
Always in want Never achieving A pursuit of something that’s always a nothing vacuums the heart
A Sometime Hurt
You never acted without good intention but in the sky my moon is dying, blackened by your love Leave me
It’s night and the lights are out Raggedy Anne, pleeasse hold my hand Hide beneath the covers SSSH – don’t make a noise
The sun is calling out your name from a million miles away It’s an everyday feeling that you share with everyone Didn’t you see it on T.V. (our species may die today) ? How big is a problem when it’s seen from outer space?
Where Is Here?
I am the Boy and the Lover of a woman that is insanely a wonder I am the Man and the Fear
What foul animal would crawl to your heart and there abide, bloating your mind with ideas
Love tangles like dirtied satin sheets The deafer I become, the louder your voice inside my head The daemons are beckoned
Observation Mesticulation Evacuation
Seconds shiver as liquor lingers TV parades wrestling clowns Hi-fi scapegoats a suicide singer whilst i drool the death of rhyme
The Biggest Jigsaw
This umbilicus between contemplation and action is so havoced by grey that the stage we play on
The Clouds Are Us
When the sun goes down and the trees are naked, when the fallen have no need to fall, we’ll stop posing the charcoal question: what life do we live when we’re awake?
A Street Diary
Every raindropp hits me In winter night, my skin reads the newspaper and I awake educated to the street The cold colds
I cast him a smile and he stared at me with disdain I offered my hand but he struck it away
Response To A Second Of Death
Burn in yourself (every moment) If grief should prey, revel in it for a second and forget in the next
The gentle snow of a full moon’s face
caressed my soul like dew-wet lace
Whirled away into that purity of a fantasy moment
by the rose beauty of your debonair smile,
I felt the loosening of my chains of exile
Your inner voice spoke to me from the world of one eye
It was the pained plea of the golden butterfly:
“Help me, ive been hurt”