1976, that summer’s heat making light work of my shoddy whites.
Sweat beads slip from my crown, wiped from my brow,
They run the bails of my fingers, to where a rubicund sphere sits.
As a boy, it held no mystery, taught me no lessons,
It told no lies, held no surprise, a simple ball to my eyes.
And I, a player in its game, out in the field, making up the numbers.
Thursday 22nd April 2021 3:06 pm
In a hushed and reverent tone
he asked us to bow our heads
in gratitude for those who sacrificed
so much for our prosperity.
We took a moment to remember
those who lost their lives and
their land to the invaders
euphemistically known as settlers.
We whispered muted prayers
of thanks to those who lost
their lives and liberty to traders
paradoxically called masters.
We mumbled appr...
Wednesday 25th November 2020 9:49 pm
I wrote this two years ago, long before the Windrush scandal hit the headlines.
When them set sail on Empire Windrush
Them leave behind sun, sea and sand
Yes, them set forth upon Windrush,
Them a tropical collection of hands,
When all them set foot on Windrush;
Next stop, the promised Motherland
So, them all on board Empire Windrush
All four hundred and ninety-two...
Wednesday 10th April 2019 8:32 pm