2017 Freestyle

Myself just seeing what singing would be like in 2020 with more time available due to the Covid - 19 Pandemic.

The Ballad Of The Bottle Shortened

Rock Ish.

2020 Freestyle with new guitar

Poem: 

Owning your own is akin to a throne, 
With the kingdom embodied in your actions 
Royalty is therefore a routine.

Reflected from the tongue to habits imprinted, 
Both intentionally aggressive and timid. 
Never a tinge or a tangent on a time line
As what you're building, will be worth a life time. 

All depends on what you decide to do, 
Be relentless in your pursuit 
As your palace is your perspective, 
Your view depends on you, 
The courts decide whom they want viewed. 

Your choice is your crown, 
Clown around or 
make your worth one that can never be found.  

All depends on what choices, 
you decide to make now. 

So are you ready, 
to be crowned. 


About: Owning yourself, which is the first throne and the only table you really and truly get to own.

Crowning (Spoken Word)

Poem: 

How do you console someone when they feel like they've been played?

How do you tell someone, there'll be a better day,
after they've prayed for months, 
asking for a few minutes with their beloved. 

How do you tell someone to remain strong,
While they're struggling to recover, 
Seeing loss lingering in tingling fingers, 
leading to a lack of oxygen in their lungs. 

Their tongue tasered, 
Their knees trembling, 
their ankles invisible, 
At this point, 
Tripping is inevitable. 

Is there a cure, 
a remedy for a collapsed conscious, 
for a spirit that's unavailable, 
Because, right now, 
it just feels unattainable. 

(Pause) 

Look, I know, everyone's saying that I need time to heal, time to grow,
I know that I've said the same,  
But the healing, 
The healing is taking too slow. 

This isn't growth, I'm lost, 
I don't know what to do. 
 
Truthfully, I miss you. 

(Beat)

What am I supposed to do, 
When I don't want to continue? 

How do I do better,
when it hurts to admit the truth,
that I'm talking to an empty chair. 

About: An interpolation of Stings Empty Chair song. 

The inspiration came after watching the songwriters Hollywood Round Table with Alicia Keys, Justin Timberlake and Sting. In that roundtable episode, Sting revealed what the inspiration for his song was. 

Then in 2023, the artist Siya of Roots and Love asked if I could make poems in relation to the theme of grief and this poem was one of the poems that I sent. I even have the concept for a video already ready, so let's see how that goes and workouts.

Empty Chair (Spoken word)

A freestyle, using a variation of the E, D, G major and E minor chords. 

2023 Freestyle: EDGE (Guitar)

Poem: 

She knows, 
Look at the way she's looking at me, 
She can tell somethings up,
But what she doesn't know won't hurt her,
How could she feel any pain,
Her eyes are as dead as mine, 
Today she'll know that I penetrate without restrain, she's my dolly, pardon me 
If I relinquish my strength unrestrained. 

It's been two years since I last saw her picture, 
I still keep her image framed, 
Easier to copy and paste onto this ones face, 
Practice makes perfect as they say. 

I don't need to imagine anything, 
Or feel unprepared, 
Nor consider how she feels, 
This is what I call a time to play. 

How dare you judge me,
When what you do is the same, 
Googline names that don't know your name,
Looking at still images, 
Focusing on body parts you'll never touch, 
She never asked for you to imagine her in a way she doesn't know about, 
Do you even know that this person you've been rushing to please yourself with has aged, 
That she's married, has children,
Is double your age, 
And yet you're telling me using a machine that never complains should make me feel ashamed,
Your idea of love is cyber,
Hey punk, guess what,
Your feelings are a phantom to her, 
Just like me, it's only yourself you have played. 


About: A man whose only intimacy is with a sex doll and the others only interaction in an intimate manner is with pornography. 

They are both in denial about the fact that they struggle with intimacy which is why the protagonist sounds antagonistic. 

This is a concept for a short film or a scene.

Cyber Crush (Poem)

2024 Freestyle

G - 13 (2017)

Growing Up Is Okay (2020)

Made with a friend, a dear one, in 2017. He grabbed his guitar that was out of tune and I grabbed my guitar that was missing a string and we just jammed. Mind you, his expertise is with the trumpet, so it was nice to just have fun.

Kuier in Kuilsriver (Guitar, 2017)

Wanna Tell You Why Ft Mia

Originally made in 2017, then edited again in 2020 and then edited again in 2024, the Linger instrumental was one I came up with after mixing two chords while trying to learn John Legend's You and I. 

The intention was to make a theme song for a film on grief, to coincide with the empty chair poem which was also written for grief. 

The instrumental is still one that I will edit again, until I find that perfect tune I am looking for, from beginning to the middle to the end.

Linger (theme/score)

That New Strings Feeling

CG, two string strut

Wanna tell you why Demo

My attempt at jazz, with a bit of the Cape Townian Minstrel Ghoema rhythm that I tried to interpret.

Jazz Is Klas

Theme: 

Death knows no discrimination,
I don't discriminate, 
Use me, you'll soon realize 
That if you hesitate in front of another who's waiting for you wait,
You've already accepted your fate. 

Poem: 

I wish my brother listened, 
Instead of moving in haste, 
He wanted to be of value,
Then became waste, 
It wasn't his fault for where he was placed. 

Imagine being full of potential, 
To be a police officers aid, 
Then told to work for a pawn shop owner,
That looks at you, saying you're worth little pay. 

The day my sibling was put to work,
a leg was grazed, 
reacting to another's passion while he remained passive, 
the consequences of his reality relayed, 
another life was taken before their journey could be run,  
The impact he created, ricocheted, 
Losing a child, was the act he was reduced to on that day. 

Before tasking us to assist,
Consider how many lives could've been saved,
Had you left us be,
You could've avoided having your name being dated, engraved, 
guns aren't slaves, the way you use us, 
will depict how you'll be named, 
your reaction can either free you or have you locked up in chains, 
your decisions are chained, before you go astray, 
think of the child lost, their life ahead, 
that could have been lived, had your choice changed, 
it's not only you, that is in your way, 
my brothers now a murder weapon, sealed, 
a piece of evidence for a court case, 
he's in that position because you ran away, 
you dodge a bullet, 
but you'll never dodge what you've faced, 
what you mimic, is what you mirror, 
what you have chosen, is what you will face. 

About: How a gun feels about their sibling gun being used for acts of gangsterism, by someone who went through initiation. This is their grieving letter, their way of grieving, of trying to cope with seeing their sibling used by another person, with only the act committed being attached to the person's name as the gun stays locked up in evidence. The same way a prisoner is locked in a prison cell to show that the consequences for their actions are both negative and visibly evident. 

Why the image for the poem? 

If the cycle is not changed, it will continue, no matter the variant of the weapon.

Let Me Be (Poem)

Voice Reel 2 (2021 To 2022)

Voice Over Reel 1 (2021)

Makro Competition 2023 and a News reading from a show I did on UCT Radio

Voice Over Reel 3 (2023)

Poem: 

We... I’m sorry, its just me,
We separated, a while back,
The e remained and myself was added but I'm struggling to encompass one word into one letter the way two letters did before. 

Did I try to get the W in every argument 
More than I'd try to admit, 
Three words would've settled it, 
"It's my fault", 
As I did attempt to argue out of spite,
Becoming competitive, 
Ready to cuss, before discuss,
On the cusp of disagreeing with you,
Before you looked like you'd had enough,
I said you never would, 
Guess you called my bluff. 

Do I disagree with you leaving, 
With myself on the verge of apologizing 
Every time I admitted I was analyzing your issues, in avoidance of my own,
In that matter, I must have made you feel alone. 

Is that why I'm by myself, 
Waiting for a w, punishing my body through booze, pills and melodramatic melodies, a symphony of sadness creating a cacophony echoing in the coffin where I have placed our memories, 
A sonnet of misery in symmetry with my essence, 
when will I feel serenity, 
What will it take to remake the plenty I felt with her, 
how do I let go and let it be, 
What is there to let be, 
When she's happy and I'm fueled with jealousy, 
I know we made love, 
So surely I can make another destiny,
Or is what I feel now,
Going to remain my reality?

About: Lesson the guy is learning, is to focus on yourself and love yourself. This poem is what you feel when you are by yourself and you're not used to it, which I felt at some point too.

When We Were A We (Poem)

Poem: 

Our love was vinyl,
Wrapped, protected, played
to the point of recital, 
making reciting the statement vowed, 
vital to the vitals,
'love you too' 
said as urgently as a breath breathed, 
keeping us on track as we progress, 
Showing us that love is ritualized. 

You did warn me while the record was held, 
"Don't skip away when there's a hiccup, 
I've been played before, 
I know the difference,"
And as she said her lyrics, 
With eyes intent to see the words were heard, 
I replied that this she wasn't my first,
I was only on the second verse. 

Over time, she began to talk about 
Those who scratched her heart, 
How much this hurt, 
About deejay who used her as a gig, 
A come and go visitor 
Who called to see if she was in his perimeter, 
Then disappeared when he 
wasn't close to visit her. 

The more we exchanged lines, 
A rapport was built 
I was her lullaby she clung to for comfort, 
we became looped, the word love sounding like a routine. 

Then came patterns I recognized, 
All too familiar, as her behavior 
Was easy to recognize, 
She pulled away when I asked her 
What happened, 
She took hours to respond, 
Saying she was out with a friend, 
I came home one day finding a note 
Scribbled with pen, 
"I'm sorry, but I'm too afraid to love again, 
I don't know my story, and I need to live it out", 
I sat on the couch, 
Holding the ring in my hand, 
There are some songs I can do without. 

About: Regret in love not returned, now the regret they feel is repeatedly played.

Vinyl (Poem)

Poem:

“Hy was my kaptein”
He was my captain, 
Someone I respected, admired and trusted, 
someone I called when I had an issue,
The first time I told him I wanted to go for captaincy, he was the first to say I should. 

Each day, our path to school, 
Was not the easiest riddled with men who played dice with lives that never asked be put of a game they never made,  
passing by boys who were class mates a week ago, grouped in a team where our kicker became a shooter, our fullback a body guard, 
Doing anything they could to make ends meet. 

Unlike Denzel, I listened in class, 
made sure I got my matric, 
When I matriculated, he refused to yield,
Letting me know that he was going to catch up,
Two weeks before his final exam,
His body was found on the rugby field,
He was just accepted in a bursary program with the Stormers rugby team, 
if I told you this happened down the road, you wouldn't think it was real. 

Today is the day he passed on, 
I'm doing my best not to feel,
kicking a ball on a varsity pitch,
Yet he was the one who showed me how to kick, 
He was the first man I ever loved,
Heartbreak isn't supposed to feel like this. 

About: The character I am embodying in the series "Who We Are", being made by Amateur Hours Productions. This is a background note on their first love, being someone they saw die, and Stefan never got to tell Denzel how he felt.

Stefans First Love (Poem)

Poem: 

Walking around campus,
It's been difficult to avoid the gaze 
Of other guys, it's not that I'm shy,
It's just they see a buff boy,
Approach me, and stare at my shoulders,
Touching it, then say hi, 
That's the moment I say goodbye,
Many have done this out in the open,
I know they don't know that I like other guys, 
I've been seeing girls just to make people think that on the sexual spectrum,
I'm only engaging with one side. 

One night as I walked over to residence, 
I saw someone trying to get through the gates,
I was amazed calling someone wasn't a suggestion he tried, 
"Hey, you know anyone here?"
"Oh, hi yes, I'm looking for someone named Ty?"
"He's the sub warden, ja, I'll let you in, 
Just don't tell him it was me,"
"I won't bother, can you please let me in?"
This was how we met
Not our story begins. 

Over the next few weeks, 
After practice, I'd meet the same person in residence, except he wasn't looking for Ty,
He asked me what my name was,
I guessed what his intentions were, 
He asked about myself, 
I didn't even know where to begin,
This was the first time someone asked me how I was doing, who I am and what I do,
Before mentioning the smoothness of my skin or the colour of my sloffies/slippers or how much I bench, at that moment, my interest and my desire to hold him were hitched, This was the first time I met someone, 
I felt scared, I didn't know what I was experiencing as the last time I liked someone they died before reaching matric, 
I don't think he sees me the way I'm seeing him,
I thought I was overreacting for months,
Until after a res party, as I was walking him to his crib, he leaned in and I leaned in, 
for our first kiss. 


It was lovely to have a romantic relationship, 
To be experiencing it, 
Until questions arose on the lack of public affection, the lack of attention shown when walking on campus and how we never met each other during the day, 
Why the only time we saw each other was when I came to his bed to lay, 
Until he questioned on me on the distance,
And I said words I still regret,
"I'm not gay, what did you expect?" 
He asked me to leave, 
For the first time, I felt my spirit left. 

The next week, when he walked past the rugby field and our eyes met,
He turned away, walking straight ahead, 
Now he's engaged to be married to an accountant, on his way to graduating, 
Secrets kept become secrets wept,
Accepting who I am, is still a truth I'm learning to accept, 
If I ever get to liking someone again, 
I want them to know that what I feel, I meant,
I'm sorry I didn't know how to love you, Greg, 
Sincerely yours, Stef.

About: The character I am acting as and their reason for teaching themselves to love themselves more.

Stefan's Dating On Uni Residence (Poem)

Poem: 

What is strange? 
Coming to a foreign land, 
Calling the people savage, 
Then taking their homes 
Grabbing their belongings because you've got to have it,
Taking what they let be,
Left life at peace,
Then proceeding to steal what there is 
For your relief when back at your place 
There isn't any peace, 
People getting guillotined, 
Bombs thrown all over blowing those pieces stolen to smithereens, 
With the people starving cleaning chimneys 
While the food is harvested for two people,
A king and a queen,
Then decreeing it hereditary to be ruled by their off spring, 
Describing the world infiltrated as serene, 
Taking it apart for a diamond on a ring, 
Then writing sonnets on how the diamond is the person holding the ring, 
Then why steal the thing.

Making carpenters build ships and rinks instead of building on the dilapidated buildings that were starting to sink, 
Taking away names and tongues to make people hardly speak, 
The spirit could not be killed, 
the bullies were the ones who were weak. 

Ancestors were whipped, chained and then proceeded to weep, but they couldn't weep as they were forced to work for weeks, 
Picking wheat as air was what majority were given to eat, 
What's strange about this, 
Is that this is often the history that is readily swept, 
As though nothing happened, 
As though billions weren't killed,
as though someone took a broom, 
deciding to sweep a clean sheet for human history, 
Slave owners, slaves, owners, 
All of these are my kin, 
What's strange is that it would hurt to even begin to recount the images depicted,
As not many of these images people have seen, many still experience this today, 
I wish I could say these were realities only shown in a sci - fi scene. 

Ancestors footsteps echoing beneath my feet 
Saying "we want our truths to be released,"
Tell them, please,
We weren't just cargo, 
We were more than just foot prints at sea,
We were not made to be washed away easily. 
We are stories, culture, arts, medicines, 
We need these stories told as we too are veterans, 
Tell our tales, let us in, 
As we were not only royalty, 
We too were more than nobility through clothing, 
We want to be heard, 
Let us all in, 
We'll tell a tale one by one, 
"But how can we tell your tale, without any archives?" 
There are many selves that have been archived, 
Let us try, as the memory must not die, 
So no one else has to die, the way we did, 
It is possible to learn from the way others have lived, 
By telling their stories. 

This is their opportunity to say what they couldn't give, advice to their great, great, great grandkids, 
Saying look, this is what we did, 
Understanding the past, 
To appreciate the present,
Perspective, is also one of life's greatest gifts. 

About: Learning from the past, specifically as a coloured body living in Cape Town South Africa, that has architecture that still serve as remnants of slavery.

San On The Sand (Poem)

Poem: 

Back here in the room with you, light low, 
if sparks spoke, they'd banter on two Shadows distanced, apart, leaving the area as they would know what is going to start. 

These shadows join, 
the more we are stepping into the lights barely visible, you're smiling, 
Although the nervousness is visible. 

No music in the background, 
I am following the melody we're making together, 
This moment isn't here forever, 
It is a succession of forever's, 
Nervous as I am, with you, I am here to endeavor. 

If I could choose music, I would have chosen rider by Mereba, sand storm is a tale about two distancing, I accept that possibility but that's not what I'm manifesting. 

This isn't the first time I've faced this instance of a close up distance, well, less distant as we're already risking whatever risk there was to risk, 
Palm to palm, wrist to wrist, it's familiar, we've all known a tale like this. 

Admittedly I have pulled my face away before to avoid this gust, out of digust from not knowing how to choose to clutch my gut, 
Nor have I taken the shot, trusted, 
whether someone was in or already choosing to be out, 
This time, strangely, no, not strangely, 
Acceptingly happily, I'm choosing to shelter in your warmth,
All of it, all that is within, all that's out. 

It's my first time too, 
If you've had a body count, that's between you and your amount, 
I'm here to provide O's without a count, 
However this all depends on what you decide, 
Of course I would feel hurt if some of the sounds were fake, I did write that o line to make it sound as though I was doing great, 
Well, I don't know her thoughts, but I am seeing parts of her shake, 
whatever I am doing, 
Whatever it is that is working for her, 
I do wish she could tell me what that is, 
Then again, this is the first meeting, 
Right now it's a him her less name fragrance, 
Details will only be shared once I am accepted, 
For now, I'll accept moans as a statement. 

While you're pulling my palette with your pulse, 
I feel the articulation of your tongue, 
In this friction, we speak dialects that speaker box oohs and ahhs, 
Intelligible this language is, only to the two lyricists that are speaking it, it is. 

Nothing done hurriedly between linguists speaking cunningly,
Acts of aggression with intent,
Pace increasing, messaging through subtext. 

The glow, the scent of your cocoa butter, bringing this moth to the flame, your body bugging while it's stuttering, I'm speaking, though it's only seen through the friction that your legs are uttering, 
From the love below back to where the muttering stopped, 
You can hear two heartbeats in sync (luv dub, luv dub), 
Slowing, accelerating, pacing, panting, 
a mosiac of movement painting an image of 
instruments improvising, 
What was evident was that this sound kept rising. 

Now this melody made by melanin meant much, 
It's a story that has started since the dawn of bipedal skins, 
One, we all cir - cum - vent,
Muscle memory,
A Rhythm learnt only through attempt. 
(Action: breathe out). 

However the next part of this journey, no one is exempt. 

About: Two lovers meeting each other for the first time and experiencing making love with each other, told from the mans perspective, from my own perspective of imagining what the evening would be like.

Luv Dub Part 2 (Poem)

Poem: 

Easter, your favorite part of the year, 
hiding eggs for the kids,
One by one, seeing their glee,
Making my day as while they trip, stumble and fall, 
they keep searching, 
Not giving up, until they find them all. 

Now they’re realizing they can work together to locate what dad said mom hid, 
They’re looking at me, like quit playing, 
 but reminiscing on a what if, isn't a way to live. 

What about fetching a philosophers stone, 
Or grabbing any item from any text, 
Writing you into existence, 
pulling you to me, 
sharing presents, being parents, 
I still have the card you wrote, 
This is a sign, there is a connection. 

Yeah, I see you, looking at me with a strange look, 
Seeing me picking up this book, writing this letter as though you’re in the room, 
It's just, I never got to say the words I wanted to,
The last time I was with you, I was looking outside the hospital window, 
watching you breath air from a container, 
recalling the first time you took my breath 
was when you handed me my fallen books. 
 
It was me who was the first to transmit this disease, 
But what do you say to someone when you don't want them to leave,
hoping waving goodbye puts them at ease. 
 
Blowing a kiss goodnight they'll never know, 
Wondering if they know that you still feel their touch when you wake up, 
that you’re seeing their last day as each one repeats, remembering their machine beep,Whispering "I love you" before they rest, as they fell asleep.  

About: A wife dying during the first months of covid and wondering what this must've been like for those during this period of time.

Waiting Room (Poem)

Poem (Shortened):

I don't know what it's like to see a friend die in front of my eyes, 
bullet wounds patched like potholes on their thighs, 
With myself crying, 
Holding their families hands by their bed side, 
The final place where they reside. 
I don't know what it's like to be in a relationship and grieve a time that was shared by two individuals, who gave it all they could give, Choosing to split because their lives are too separated as much as they want their efforts to be equated in equal relation, 
It is a struggle when it comes to representation of feelings fermented, To know what it was like to accept that all was done to have a grievance prevented, to have done all that is possible to not have separation accepted. 

I don't know what it is like to have hopes manifested with another who shares the same name as yours that is said last, 
With expectations already arranged, 
With all decisions engaged to the vows made for both 
to know that they are on the same page, to decide to part ways. 

I don't know what it's like to have had phalluses exchanged, 
For hopes to be expected, 
On these words declared, I do know that I am lying, 
I was half way in, half way out, filled the other with doubt. 

When it was time to grieve, 
I felt half way in, I didn't know what to cry about, 
I cried, confused as to why I was letting it out. 

To be present makes it easier to know what the present is about, 
As I think on this now, 
I wonder why would I confuse another as much as I did myself, 
Either way the grief was felt, 
Not briefly, as what followed was a longer doubting of self, 
If you want to be with someone else, 
First get to know whom the else is within yourself, 
Was a lesson I learnt, 
By burning a bridge before the flames burnt, 
To mourn has no discretion with which situation is worse. 

But what do you say, to someone who has experienced worse,
When you haven't experienced it first,
Nor do I want to see anyone I know of in the dirt, 
What do I say to another when they see the star they watched shine, being earthed.
What do I say to make it better for them when they have seen their worst, 
How do you hold someone when they are hurt, 
How do you be there when you're not sure what works, 
When everything I say has a hope of "I hoped it worked," 
When they have just watch a chapter turned, 
Without turning the pages, 
How long do you hold on, 
What do you do when you too need saving if the same experience is in reciprocation, 
When all participants want to be held, 
When the damage dealt is damaging to the ones damaged, 
To then read in the newspaper how the moment is written as tragic, 
how do you live a life with yourself mismanaged. 
 
How do you cuddle after seeing a stranger strangled, or a kid culled based on the directions of the conditions for joining a cult that corners every avenue to cul de sac, 
How do you be there for a woman victimized because a group of guys liked that she greeted them with her eyes, "she asked for it", 
She didn't ask to die. 
 
How do I talk about grief when terrified is a term tangled with it, 
When coldness is conditional to being conditioned to witness death as a deed, not as a description in a piece of fiction with that moment connected to the vitals, how do I tell a story when nothing I say can be rivaled by another losing what gave them their reason for survival, who am I to speak of grief when I have never lost a child? 

Who am I to speak on grief when I haven't witnessed the killer of my partner on trial testifying with a slight smile,
knowing they're facing life with us living with the loss for a lifetime. 

Yet those I know have lost others when it was out of their control, 
What do I say when I can let go, 
What do I say when someone else will never really know what could have been if they had a life left to turn into growth, 
With a tombstone declaring that their book has been closed, 
A conclusion that wasn't theirs.

Dear Friend (Poem)

Who knows, we might make this into a song as a trio for Roots and Love. Love you both my brothers.

Jamming with Siyabonga

Just played around on the guitar and this was the full result. Decided to record the whole process, to include the messy bits too.

Random Fretting 1 2024

Actor, Filmmaker, Writer
Proud Member of The Roots and Love Music Collective with Siya and Maru.

Gigs: Presenter, Voice - overs, Modelling, Emceeing.

Soundcloud: Spoken word, Guitar themes, Voiceovers

Social Media Handles

Instagram: liammick08
Twitter: @liammick5
Tik Tok: liammick08

For Business Dealings

Email: liammick8@gmail.com
Linkedin: Liam Mick

Liam Mick

Popular tracks