
The first crisp days of autumn, give them to me.

The first crisp days of autumn, give them to me.

I’ve not been into the sea since the beginning of July. I’ve been staying away, allowing my tooth extraction wound to heal. I didn’t want to get it infected, further or again.
I have missed her, no doubt. I woke early and didn’t give it a second thought. I had the time, the energy and means to get on down there and get in.
It was like starting all over again. The pain of the cold was something I’d forgotten but soon remembered as I inched my way in, allowing the water to seep further and further up my body.
It was worth the pain. It’s always worth the pain.
I feel at peace now as I warm up and give thanks to myself and nature for allowing me this time and space to just {BE}.

Unconsciously I set myself the task of being creative everyday. A good way of marking this practice, was and still is, turning up here on this blog and posting something. Anything. A word, a quote, an image, an essay, an epiphany.
Some days, I’ve not had the time or energy or bandwidth to create anything, other days when I’ve felt this way, I’ve still turned up and done something. Anything. I’ve wanted to bring in some consistency within a world where consistency is irrelevant and pointless in the grand scheme of things. When the world is on fire, when Palestinians are dying of starvation and gunfire. When anti-immigration riots erupted once more in the UK. When tropical storms kill people in the Philippines. And when Syria returns to bloodshed. The list could go on of more countries and peoples around the world suffering at the hands of others, who do not see them as human or care about them.
I get sick of hearing the news. Watching the news. Seeing the headlines. I look away. I look away because I can and then chastise myself for dong so. There’s something in witnessing it all, even though it hurts my soul. What can I do? What can I say?
I get frustrated with all the hypocrisy I witness. The double standards. The lack of justice. People saying we’re doing this to them because we’ve been persecuted for so long so have a right, or are justified in persecuting other people now. I’m a white man and I rape women and children, but I’m protesting about (illegal) immigrants coming over here and raping our women and children. Everything is operating within this world to keep a few in power and wealth at the expense of other people deemed inferior and dispensable.
I hate hate. I can’t stand it. I see it in the screwed up faces of people hauling abuse at vulnerable people. It’s been there within the marrow of their bones for centuries. Grown white adults, hurling abuse at little black children. Not seeing them as children but as beasts, beasts to destroy. It breaks my heart and disgusts me, but what can I say? What can I do?
I can stop myself from feeing powerless. I can stop my handwringing, and getting frustrated with myself and use this energy otherwise. I can make art to bring about change. No matter how small that change, starting from myself and vibrating out.
I can create stories of an imagined alternative, better, other world. I can create zines which challenge and refuse what has already been refused of us. I can blog about my own experiences in order to connect with others. I can paint/ print posters to raise awareness and change the messages of hate to love and hope. I can create community and create change together, one stitch, one word, one voice at a time. I can create poetry to create conversation. I can self-care so I can in turn community-care. I can donate time, money, resources to a cause I believe in and that is bringing about a better society. I can lean more into mutual aid to divest from racial capitalism.
I can keep showing up here, craving out a safe and brave space on the internet that is liberatory worldmaking, on my own terms.







I showed you this handmade journal in May. It was supposed to be on sale in an Etsy store. Well the best laid plans and all.
I started using it on my return from Iceland and completed using it, that is my energy was called elsewhere before the end of May.
Can’t wait to show you what I’m working in now. But until then here’s the completed journal.

1.
Blink twice and I miss you. Not wanting to make this mistake again, I watch for your arrival. Then once here, bask in your delicate beauty. Each bursting cluster unique. Soft and curled petals, blush and flush, fuchsia, rose, and pink.
I pray for the wind to stay away, to go away as with each gust you are forced to separate from your centre pistil and disperse like confetti. Floating upon the air to land anywhere. And then it’s over for another year. Short-lived gone in the wind.
2.
Each year you return with an open palm, gentle and vulnerable. I see you watching me. I wait for my time. I put on a display of tight fisted pink buds as a promise. A promise that soon comes. To blaze in my glory is a gift I cherish. As soon gone. Drifting off in the wind to become more in time.

I give myself
the right to refuse.
The right to refuse
what has already
been refused to me.
These rules, standards,
boundaries and barriers, I refuse.
I’m taking myself
outside.
I refuse to be labelled
and placed in one
of your boxes. I refuse.
And when I think about it, from being a child,
asking questions
and taking the beats for them questions,
I’ve always occupied
this refusal, but I never
had the words for it,
the language to hold
it up to the light
and investigate.
To amberfy it.
Until now.
Thank you Fred.
Thank you Saidiya.
Thank you Dal.
I refuse to take up
the subservient position
of ‘black’, to play
the good slave,
to kiss your boots
that continue
to kick me in the face.
Nah man! I refuse.
I refuse the choices
you offer me
and I carve out my own. I refuse
your parameters
and (re)imagine
other possibilities.
I’m tapping into
my own desires
which you could
never claim
or tame. I refuse what was refused me – rights,
responsibilities, respectabilities,
and stepping into
the rapid rivers
flowing fugitivity.
I’m ceasing up my body and running,
outside,
escaping
your oppressions.

Ohhh good question.
Laughter and fun, with trust and communication, honesty and commitment but not in a heavy sense but much love and affection and respect and joy, I spent a long time in a relationship that wasn’t joyful and really what’s the point, life’s too short to waste time and energy on people who don’t treat you right or who aren’t happy in themselves, I want to be with someone who makes time for me and us, just like I make time for them and us, hey I get it, people are busy, leading busy lives but I’m of the belief that if you want to be with someone you make time and effort to be/do just that.

It really wasn’t on my radar. But I must have signed up for a co-writing salon with Lemon Grove Writers. And you know how it is, afterwards they send you they send you other emails, sharing the stuff to buy into. Well one such email was sharing that the Lemon Grove Writers were offering a free 30 day poetry prompt email send out for the month of April to coincide with National Poetry Month in the States. As you know I’ve tried a number of years to write a poem a day in April, some years more successful than others.
It’s free, what did I have to lose? So expect to find a poem a day here for the month of April as I try to create something to the given prompt. I begin today with the weather.
If you want to receive these poetry prompts in your inbox, just sign up here. Happy writing.