Solange Moffi is a French born writer of songs and poetry. She moved from Paris to London nine years ago, and says: “The city’s cultural diversity and many creative opportunities greatly influence my work, notably when collecting experiences from both native residents and expatriates, like myself. Originally and ultimately a writer of songs, some of my works have found their way in the shape of poems, when the words did not compel enough melody to make it to song format."
THE DEED IS DONE I knew you were too good to be true “I love you” came into play way too soon I knew that it would hurt eventually I didn’t care, I was too busy being happy It’s all gone: the deed is done It’s all gone: the deed is done I had to let go of you That was all but easy You had become my favourite enemy I had to go cold turkey It’s all gone: the deed is done It’s all gone: the deed is done I wish I could have seen the light And not have given you any of my day But love is blind, they say So I suffer quietly Day in day out, Longer by the memory Of how it feels to be happy It’s all gone: the deed is done... REAL FRIENDS DON'T CHANGE SO OFTEN... Some of us want to be flooded with love Without giving any in return They collect companions as if they were medallions Always making sure they share their opinions But when comes any contradiction You're in for some major friction Then they know that, Real friends don't change so often Real friends don't change so often Some of us spread their love Not getting any in return They attract deception instead of consideration Turning a blind eye to such ill-intention The big eye-opener Feels like a heart failure As they see that, Real friends don't change so often Real friends don't change so often I know some might think that it's only human But if so, I'd rather be an alien Feel no pain through consciousness or realisation And when it comes to you and me Partnership aborted With no U-turn on good memories, missed opportunities Just the disillusion of a true buddy We're in a state of transition Oblivion, more like 'Cause real friends don't change so often Real friends don't change that often Real friends don't change that often... CAMDEN SCENE The Camden scene is so obscene Full of wannabes in tight crotch jeans Who all want to act like Steve McQueen But instead they look like The Libertines The Camden crowd is not a scene It is fools’ gold, gobbing counteractive vitamins Not for a cure, oh that’s for sure! Cos there’s no cure, there’s no cure The Camden scene is not pristine Believes in a God called Heroin And its disciples Coke and Ketamine It worships it and that is it Those Camden arms are far from clean Roll up their sleeves and you’ll see what I mean Heads ache Not for a cure, oh that’s for sure! Cos there’s no cure, there’s no cure ... The Camden scene is so obscene Still it remains to be seen Away from its pretty petty sins If there’s a cure, I’m not sure But if there’s a cure, where’s the cure? NEVERMIND The unhappy are the heroes They aspire to think the unthinkable They dare dream of the undared Some of them can't even get to sleep: Every night they introspect Others aren't comfortable in the community system They just can't get any satisfaction They all pray for the conjuror The unhappy are the heroes They do have ideals They do feel rebellion In their mind, in their mind, in their mind, they do. YOU CARE NOT NOW Now I look back And here’s what I see: Faded to light Slides of You and Me They had to stop, though And let it go: Nothing to share But time to waste You care not now You care not now We had our fun Only under cover: Best of the rest Has no savour It had to end then And leave us sane: No more to spend But lust and blame You care not now You care not now You care not now You care not now… Is all I see And that suits me A CLOAKROOM CRUSH The rules of attraction have no master- Such a glad realisation I’m making: Who would have thought that the westernised beauty prototype poster could surrender to my Afrossistic pride? There you are glancing at hide Thinking I don’t witness of You and I’s connection Moving, hanging around at full speed from ten to seven A few breaks for a few stares Brushing each other, self-aware Amid this art fair frieze Beforehand comes to thereafter- When I wish I knew how the rules of attraction could get mastered. A List I see voyeurs I smell lust I feel poseurs I spell dust I watch players I blank fate I hear crooners I frank fame The in sociable currency, Predictable felony And now I see all over me They cast at me those jealous eyes I shout murmurs I cry trust I heave torture I flag thrust I dream prayers I drum stake I stream liars I vow shame To make Poverty History Universal conspiracy And now I see all around me They throw at me those jealous eyes What about all the cliquey imbeciles from Camden Town to Notting Hill? Where rebels without any causes choreograph their warrant fantasies. I see voyeurs I feel poseurs I watch players I hear crooners I heave torture I dream prayers I stream liars…A List He who… (After Don Juan) Sold soul To steal minds, Ditched fears Throughout tears, Chasing shaky borders To escape domestic poise; Ever to rule A ship of fools Misguided in the lead Of this conning voice… He who. INNER CITY My body tells me: “Treat me well or I’ll make you ugly” My body says I should not be too easy But make ourselves worthy My body aches fits of appreciation, My body shines rays of admiration. It guides me in all the right directions, Spots many guilty intentions. And when I sink in, It threatens to burn me out: Just like under Napoleon, Territories would spread out So I recall its frightening advice: “Treat me well or I’ll make you ugly, Do me right and you’ll be for good” My body remains; My friendliest enemy.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
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