Coffee and Biscuits

It had begun. 

The obsession. 

Less than two weeks of consistent conversation, earnest questions and giggly exchanges

and I was lost.

I didn’t stand a chance against his folds,

so plush and inviting were they 

that before I could think I had sipped

on him.

He smelled like strength, magic and beauty. 

I wanted to wear him on my skin.

We hadn’t met. 

But our minds had been in attendance with each other.

He felt clean and pure and he sounded like coffee and chin chin, and sugar and mint.

I really wanted to know him. 

I had to sit on my hands to keep from ripping his layers off. 

Prayed for patience and perseverance’s caress as I learned to be content with the slow unwrapping of him. 

I had never before hungered for the imprint of someone. 

I wanted to give myself to him.

I wanted him to hunt me down and claim me as his bloody spoils. 

I wanted an impossible eternity with him.

I needed control. 

Yet I sat pliant, docile in the lap of submission. 

Each night as I fell, into sensual carnivals of fantasies and carnal love making between us I realised I was slipping into what couldn’t be. 

I knew

That if I let him,

He would see me.

Grandma Smith

I’d like to meet the author of the beauty moles

under my mothers eyes, 

The one from whom she inherited her sweetness, her grace and laugh lines 

I’d have all sorts of questions

Like did romantic movies make you cry?

And how did you live through the  50s with all that patriarchy and male pride?

Grandma,

did you find being a woman really tough?

The egoism, sexism and racism must have 

been rough.

Grandma,

what did you do when you became weary and tired of it all?

Who wiped your face and gave you encouragement in those times when you felt small?

Grandma what about pregnancy? 

I have to admit that I’m scared. 

Because the thought of going through childbirth,

Is one of my biggest fears.

Grandma,

 Do you ever think about me,

And wonder who I am?

Whether your daughter had her own daughters 

And whether their lives are going to plan?

Grandma,

I wish you could have stayed alive for much longer,

A dynamic and beautiful spirit such as yours would have surely made her stronger 

She needed you Grandma, 

to face this worlds cruelties and wet blows

A hug, a kiss, a prayer from you 

Would have helped during those lows 

I miss you grandma, 

even though we haven’t formally met 

I gaze at your picture on some days 

And tear up to know you’ve left 

Grandma, if you can hear me 

Know that you are remembered 

I didn’t know you 

But from what your sisters tell me 

We’re connected through our resemblance,

Two women that love dressing up and delight over jewellery 

Two brainy women that love fiercely 

and watch out for life’s beauty. 

I love you Grandma 

And this talk has been a balm for my soul 

It felt like you were sitting next to me 

Reassuringly warm and ready to console, 

I hope you don’t mind Grandma 

if I seek you out from time to time 

We’re forever bonded 

Through memory and family, you and I 

The author of my mother’s beauty moles 

Under her eyes. 

The woman with the beauty spot on her chin, 

Just like mine. 

Our Fingertips

A celebratory poem, that both uplifts and affirms the layered quilt of black brilliance.

In order of appearance:

Marsha Hunt
Big Daddy Kane and his barber
Claudette Colvin
Nina Simone and James Baldwin
Madam C. J. Walker
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Maya Angelou
Alice Walker
Zora Neale Hurston
Frederick Douglas
Wole Soyinka
Viola Davis
Josephine Baker
Dorothy Dandridge

Dayo’s Djinn

So, there’s a writing room/group that I’m part of on Clubhouse, and each week the moderator gives us some images which we can use as a writing prompt.

This was the image I picked last week:

The following is the story I began based on this image. It doesn’t exactly match with the scenery, but it was where my mind took me.

I think I’m going to call it ‘Dayo’s Djinn.’

After twenty minutes of walking through the woods, Bemi was tired. Her feet felt stiff and uncomfortable, and the tips of her toes were straining against the rigid leather of her boots. “Where could this boy have gone?” She muttered to herself. She had only taken her eyes off of Dayo for two seconds, and in that time he had managed to disappear from her view completely. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself an inward sigh of frustration.

Ever since Bemi’s mum had married Dayo’s dad, her life had transformed into what felt like a series of interruptions. First had come the intrusion of her stepdad; his arrival seemed to have diluted the close-knit relationship between herself and her mum, which she sorely resented. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’d then had to adapt to being a big sister, a role that she hadn’t asked for, which seemed to come with a copious amount of responsibility. “Bemi, make sure you collect Dayo from school on your way home.” “Ah ah Bemi, are you not going to share the sweets with your brother? That’s not fair now.” “Bemi you’re too old to still be watching these cartoons, Oya! give the remote to your brother.”

It was never-ending. Still, even though she couldn’t stand the brat, it didn’t mean she wanted anything bad to happen to him.

And after searching the woods for thirty minutes with no sign of him, she was beginning to feel scared.

The Compass 🧭

What are we doing with our time? I often think about how much time we spend thinking about doing things, instead of doing them. It’s normal to procrastinate and have moments where we feel demotivated and unable to move forward- but it’s important that we do.

I wrote this poem, because I too was feeling a little stagnant and I wanted to press away from this feeling. I wanted to continue to do instead of imagine. Each day is an opportunity to do a little more. So, let’s keep pushing on and do more. I hope you enjoy this poem.

Cloud Child 🤍

I suppose I wrote this to myself. The poems message is about childhood, and the need for peace and stability in the home, but it’s also about the delicacy of children and how domestic issues can often upset a child’s spirit. Growing up I often wished for a fairy godmother of sorts, some sort of indication that everything was going to be ok. Cloud Child takes us through that process, and shows us a glimpse of what coming out from the other side of that looks like.

We will all be just fine. 🤍

Good vibrations

So, it’s dayyy whatever of lockdown. How have I used the time? Why I’ve written of course, I’ve been in a deep state of expression and creativity and it’s been so refreshing. I’ve gained some invaluable insight into writing and the road to becoming an author, and I feel even more committed to realising my dreams and staying on my journey.

I recognise that it’s been a while since I wrote on here. I suppose I went ‘in’ for awhile. I’m still learning to pull myself out of myself and face outwards. My poetry helps me to face outwards, it helps me to confront my feelings, to examine them and express them. There’s a poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago, which is essentially about falling back in love with yourself.

I wrote it because it’s what I needed to hear at the time. I hope you like it ✨

Good afternoon musers,

I am currently searching for something new to read (which translates to me browsing through kindle unlimited on my kindle). The last thing I read which I really enjoyed was Winston Graham’s Poldark series. I thought he painted a very vivid picture of Cornwall and sharply outlined the conditions of poor Cornish folk, which felt more pronounced when juxtaposed against the rich tapestry of the wealthy. One of the things I liked most about Graham’s series was his writing style.

“There were no tears in her. The wound went too deep, or she was not so constituted to give way to it. Hers would be the perpetual ache of loss and loneliness, slowly dulled with time until it became a part of her character, a faint sourness tinged with withered pride.”

-Winston Graham

Such a heartbreakingly poetic image of Demelza’s sorrow. Graham explains grief perfectly here-it’s a sense of being permanently bruised.

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

A New Year

I’m not really sure where to begin to be honest. I suppose I’ve found myself here because it is time that I actively put my love of writing, reading, and literary creativity into something useful. I finished my MA in English Literature towards the end of 2018 and since then I’ve felt directionless. I find my brain is constantly teeming with thoughts, anxieties and reminiscences and I’d like a place to centre these things. Arrange whatever pieces come your way is one of my most favourite quotes of Virginia Woolf’s, and it’s because it encompasses how life and moments presents themselves to us- as layers and fragments of things that we are tasked with ordering. I hope my blog will be a place where I can begin to order myself, and if like me you’re in need of doing some sorting, I hope this blog is both useful and entertaining for you.

I will also be uploading some of my creative writing pieces on here, among these is a book that I began writing about a year ago, and I’m going to upload chunks of it on here as I make progress with it. I’d be interested to read your comments and see what you make of the story and characters. 🙂

So, today is the first day of the new year. It is currently the 1st of January 2021 and after a significant phone call with my sister (who quite accurately decided I was in need of big sistering), I now feel some of the fog that’s been in my head for the past couple of years beginning to lift. Normally I would consider trying to fix everything at once, which would inevitably overwhelm me, and then of course discourage me from doing anything at all. But I don’t want to do that anymore, I simply want to go forwards.

So let’s have a toast to going forwards. 😉

Goodnight musers,

#firstblogpost #zerotohero #anewroadandanewbeginning