T E A  A N Y O N E.


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While compiling some research I stumbled upon the essays  of Stuart Hall, I was amazed at his intricate analysis of identity and ethnicity. Understanding the importance of  cultural identity and ethnicity and its connection to the individual make up of ones identity. Brings me to my point –  Lately there has been a surge in black media and literature and I guess that can be attributed to the growth in creative outlets. The black narrative has long since been ignored by british mainstream media and the absence of the authentic voice reduces the effectiveness of developement in these essential areas. In order to address the lack of diversity in books and provide books or media that displays this, we need more writers of colour. It is essential we tell our own stories in our own voices.
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T H E  F R E Q U E N C Y:

They disturbed the earth with their presence, blinded the sun with their shine. Unite sisters that have been adorned by the heavenly divine. They came to win, everytime. Their speech was like beautiful music, a tune you can rewind. A smile from their lips a picture you can keep in your mind. As they  dance across your frequencies moving evolving over time. .
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I wrote this after another morning of sullen faces and silence. What happened to a general ‘morning’s or a bright good afternoon’s?
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Then I remembered we are all dancing to our own tune. .
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H E A R T B R E A K E R

HEART-BREAKER
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I aint never been a heart breaker
I aint no undertaker
Collecting body parts and unwanted hearts
I aint never requested a tear
Or tried to instill fear

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I aint never been a heartbreaker
I aint no undertaker
I had my heart broke
Felt like I been choked
It was as if it would never end
I couldn’t even pretend
Every part of me was shattered
The absconded heart battered beyond repair.
I shed tears, I felt fear

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So now I’m a heart breaker
Collecting those bones
Feeding on souls, Ice Cold!
When did I become this heart breaker
Collecting broken bones
Only my Heartbreaker knows…. . .
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Do not copy or Reproduce any Material without written consent from author.
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G O O D T I M E S

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Dripping wet with the scent of Christmas turkey and Malt Wine washed and rinsed from her pores she draped the robe over her nakedness. Christmas was finally over, her shoulders had finally relaxed and her feet had stopped throbbing.
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An hour ago she was on the verge of committing a bloodly crime after the festive litter debacle. Before long the sound of silence prevailed, peace resumed within her household and the cake was calling her name. .
Slowly she padded down the stairs careful to miss the creaky step two from the bottom. Passing the front room her eyes danced at the sight of flowers and cake center stage on the table. .
In forty five minutes the clock would strike and another year would be added onto her life, the idea of aging scared her. Only one thing colud ease her birthday nerves, but she couldn’t; could she? .
Pulling the stool from under the counter she sat down and admired the cake embleshed with her age. “Forty never looked so good.”
Looking up at her husband she grinned. ” Come to bed.” He requested. “I can’t sleep. ” she replied with honesty.
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Trailing her finger around the circumference of the base she heard the clatter of cultery. Knife in hand Jordan slit the seal and slide the cake from the box with ease. .
“We Shouldn’t!” She protested weakly already savouring the taste of chocolate on her lips.
“Hand it over.”
She looked away quickly , hiding her rosy cheeks in the shadows as she tried to hide the evidence. The metal clanking on the floor brought a loud chuckle from his lips that wouldn’t stop.
“Whats going on?” A sleepy Renee quizzed her 8 year old curisoity written all over her face.
Junior was right behind her his eyes bright like he had slept all night instead of and hour. “Pull up a seat Kids Mum needs to feed to Cake Monster.
Rubbing her swollen belly she giggled. ” Don’t worry baby you will be here soon to defend yourself.”

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P R I D E

The P R I D E .
An essence that departs from the
I N T E R I O R
Omitting confidence from the
E X T E R I O R
Blue, black shine and naturally
R E F I N ED
Adorned in unaltered cutural
D E S I G N S
Breathing and
L I V I N G
Through generations,
A L I V E
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THE TALE OF HARLOT HALL

There was a flutter in his heart as he reached for her hand, he had planned this well and wanted no mistakes. Her smile warmed his heart as she clasped her hand over his finger tips and rose to meet his lips. The earth sometimes shifted when their lips met thats how he had known she was the one. Looking down at her crown he waited until she lifted her head and her eyes met his before he spoke. “Will you marry me. ” Tears instantly sprung to her eyes as she understood his request. “I know what it will take but im willing.” He almost pleaded.
He could see her eyes flirting with indecisive intentions but beyond that he saw love. Even though Kingsley had tried to deter him from this moment he knew exactly what he wanted and it exisited beyond Harlot Hall. Kingsley was happy in the wealth and slimy confindements of gentry but he wanted real things. A childhood of untouchable ordaments and a future planned without him he had intended to rebel from birth.
Tasha was a beautiful accident, a perfect mistake he would never eradicate. She lay her head in his chest without any words before a small whisper he heard. “What did you say?” Stepping back she took a deep breath and replied. “Yes, I will marry you.” Pulling her back to the spot she vacated he squeezed her hoping she could feel his love. Her hand on his chest she wondered if their love would be enough…………

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INSTA READS…..

I had never heard of the book until I saw a post on Instagram. The fact that Instagram has a hive of book lovers and a huge reading community had never crossed my mind.

@ReggieReads finds the books and opens the pages for the reader without giving everything away. The analyse of discourse and literary pieces are profound and enable readers to actively understand themes and hidden messages within the binds of the book.

Check out his post in August Town.

Now living on my bookshelf.

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