Blindfolded,
bound by crows
unable to gaze
beyond the veil,
I choose helpless
and wallow
in a sword pronged
dungeon.
To be black with wings
is better than none.
As the night sky –
a portal of possibilities –
beckons me
only my shackled
screams can reach
that high
I’m the grey-green North Sea
tide out
calm and clear;
from the shimmering ripples
spreading out
amongst the glossy seaweed
In case you’re a kid who doesn’t have the right equipment,
and just in case you’re growing too big for your bones and
have to walk around in second-feet shoes,
take a moment to nestle in the autumn chilled grass,
lean in close, breathe in the slack conker smell and squint.
You might not have a magnifying glass but you can still
recognise kin. Ladybirds, beetles and ants.
Creatures of the earth. Overlooked and taken for granted,
caretake as you learn to nurture yourself into bloom.
craving and restless
at a loss
knowing my medicine
and not taking it
to suffer; a tradition passed down
through our bodies
attempting to work against it
sharing time
with water helps to heal
the wounds, silence the cries
After Megan Fernandes
Sometimes, I could see Daddy,
liming along the sea walls of Trini
racing in the hills between the metal shacks
clothed under a black blanket dotted
with diamonds holding wishes of England
whispered from thick black lips.
I’ve been waiting on Summer like a promise.
Sweating under breasts, I’m reluctant to cross
over the threshold, the weight of this black body
offending everybody and including me.
Some days, I imagine silver light shed
along the shoreline. Probing sand eels
leaving spiralling piles of sand and shit.
Grace is not something I wear. Except
one time after pulling myself together again in
Iceland’s otherworldly landscape.
Daddy kept his island parcelled in fur, under
the bed, never to drift out and cocoon me in home.
At midlife crisis, I’m knee-deep in this man-made
forest, serpents for hair, munching waxcaps, knowing
it’s not wise, but mesmerised by their ruby rubber
ness, knowing there’s no escape looking in the mirror
sensuous
free
body
burning
deep
communion
skin to skin
slip and slide
glide and glove
fit together
is such
a delicious
way to be
I’ve always had a wandering relationship with water.
Called it curiosity as a child. Call it freakiness as an adult. To feel the curling nothingness upon my skin, turning once dry to wet.
I’ve always wondered where the water flows,
why it’s never the same sea twice and
why they keep pulling me back to dive deeper into their cores?
When I don’t finish my coffee, brooding black, concealing the bottom of the cup
you look at me and say the price of a cup of coffee is on the rise as crops are damaged by dryness and frost.
You’re quick to guilt trip me as if my fears of what lurks within the dregs are stupid, ill thought out
and frivolous. Disrespecting coffee beans making the brew. As if I’m a Black diva
forgetting my place like transplanted lilies still expected to thrive and recycle just for you
for the chance of being somewhere that you might look upon them with favour as you are the master.
I stare into the dark liquid. Deciding not to go back into the cup as my heart jerks in my teeth like freakish weather.
Northumberland National Park’s writer in residence Dr. Sheree Mack loves immersing herself in nature. She has learnt to destress through nature and found inspiration for her creative writing in the great outdoors.
Join Sheree and National Park Ecologist Gill Thompson on International Earth Day to discover how to get the most out of your personal nature experience.
Date And Time
Thu, 22 April 2021
11:00 – 14:30 BST
From some hints on where and when to find hidden natural delights to practical tips on capturing your own precious memories through journaling, this online workshop will prepare you for a meaningful connection with nature.
Joining details will be sent ahead of the event.
This is the first event I’ll be facilitating in relation to my writer in residence with the Black Nature in Residence Project.
Living Wild Studios 