Tag Archives: Life

My Adidas

 

Sometimes your stride pattern is just as important as your shoes. The worn soul of mine meant all I had was my stride. All I had were stops and starts, long presses and short taps, perhaps they were Morse code to the universe, calling out for a new pair.

From the miles I have walked, the only thing I would wish upon anyone is the beauty of acquaintances providing rest from the intense heat.

Having made many strides, in recent times I found a formidable adversary that challenged me to dance down treacle-filled streets with concrete blocks strapped to my feet.

Even with two shoes as two sides to a story, my truth in all of this was that I had to Get Out. Clearings that energised me to walk a certain way were blocked or simply no longer existed.

I’d been here about 14 years ago yet I’d forgotten what the storm felt like. I forgot the scar caused by the lightning, I forgot the days of darkness and how I would have to keep my eyes open, fighting with the same fingertips I was holding onto my sanity with.

Every now and then my eyes would mistake a candle for the sun, yeah… I’d been here before. How many more strides could I get through?

Ask a friend, ask an adversary?

She sipped tea like Miss Piggy proved Kermit was cheating.

Stirred it now and then to keep me in a hopeless place.

My records laid before her showed my performance was ace

12-and-a-half years a slave, I took my calls and beatings.

When Liberty shook her bell I ran away, to freedom

The universe stopped re-healing my shoes and sent me several new pairs. The equilibrium has changed, I drive instead of walk, I have new scenery to take in and understand.

Even though lightning left a deeper scar from the second strike, I know that the path I am on is one that is made for me.

New shoes, my strides, in the words of Nas….”Whose world is this?”

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Filed under Non Poetic Blogs

Frankfurt 2: Hey Jude, Judas

The photo below was taken in Hauptwache, Frankfurt, click here if you’d like to see a few more from my trip. Or scroll down and read on

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I know nothing of falling in love.

That tripping up, or a bit of a jigsaw.

Maniacally exclaiming life reshaping.

I stumbled over desperation until my chest demanded rest for its people.

Now salty for a taste of freedom

I grieve with ten thousand reasons for why we’re here.

What’s real talk to convenience?

Stores of obedience host underground shows.

Soon there’ll be no difference between breathing and blows.

Avalanches will flow.

Demons with god intentions only ever change lanes

Truth is loyal and destructive, it devastates and remains.

Where the sun sets the moon gains.

We all want the light without pain

We all want to know the 4-2-5 yet Judas gets in the way.

What are you a discipline of?

What’s your price today?

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Filed under Relationships

Frankfurt 1: Reflecting

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Take a panorama of paradise

Divide it into 36 perfect 10ths

Is every pixel filled with the same shade?

Are black spots dangerous?

Would you break up if you found one?

What’s your flavour of danger and damnation?

Are heaven and hell real? Do cycles turn a corner?

Are you a moving star?

Are you right stationary?

Gallant souls and wisdom court before the marriage.

Is defeat an ex in waiting?

Can we feel your nakedness through your layers?

Does your drive need to pull over?

You’ve been playing musical chairs with your best moves.

What will it take for you to stand up?

Scrape the barrel or the sky, the deep and wide or the high.

There’s a choice to be made. Black like lemonade, or lack to the fade.

Who will you be?

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Filed under Random Poetics

BGM

Little Girl boxing a box of trials
Life tessellating
Future soul spinning records and tales
Wagging tongues tales dogging you
Walls won’t wail like untuned ivory
When tinkled ebony stands alone
Abseiling from the stars
With memories of Mardi Gras
Moribund artisans tobogganing through torpor will want your fuel
You better stand while you bus so they can have a seat
Sew stars seeds of street lamps
Grow in the light
You’re Black, whole
Hot tar cannot be touched
This Black Girl magic is just.

Pure.

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Filed under Race, Random Poetics

Potters’ Arf Marathon – My Story

Potters arf Race no.

Although I took part in a half marathon 5 years ago for a charitable cause, fitness wise I’ve only recently begun to battle the early 30s bulge.
During the working week, I walk about 25 miles so  walking Stoke -on-Trent’s “Potters’ Arf” (half) marathon seemed a great fit for me.

Having lost a family member, bought and moved into a house in the last 2 months, I haven’t had much time to train. I didn’t know how fit I was or whether I would match the 3 hours and 50 minutes I did 5 years ago. Until the starting klaxon, butterflies were salsa dancing in my stomach.

While my “man in black” attire seemed at odds with the fluorescent offerings by the groups around me, the air was filled with focus and fun. On a grey and increasingly wet Sunday morning in June, I was certainly in the focus camp.

Today I would be a soloist surrounded by small orchestras while others hoped to raise money, my job was simply to get over the finish line in one piece.

Though I started in the front 15, I didn’t expect to stay there. The banter with a small group who would alternate between running and walking through sections of the course made for an entertaining first half.

I would pass them, then 5 minutes later I would hear buckets jangling as they passed me in a blur of pink.
I played pick the pacemaker with various people in front of me until they were too far ahead or behind. As my pace steadied, a 52-year-old guy called “Brian” and I begun a conversation. I’d say he made my decision to do this worthwhile.

Hearing about the cause he was doing this for would have had me in tears had it not been for the rain filling my eyes. Getting to know “Brian” throughout the middle of the race helped this overthinker relax and find my rhythm.
If I’d had my phone I would have focused on it and probably slowed down to check every mile. Instead, through our conversation and the rhythm we found, we managed to reel in and surpass those doing the run/ walk combo.
As the crowds started to thicken at around the 9-mile mark, I was starting to lose him and by the 10th mile when elite runners had passed me, he was out of sight.

From then on the energy from the crowd became my battery. I thanked or gave two thumbs up to everyone that applauded or told me to keep going.I officially crossed the line at 2 hours 58 minutes and 45 seconds.

“Brian” was right, we had hit a quick pace and somehow I’d managed to maintain it.As I scoured the official results, he was nowhere to be found, “Brian” must have been an Angel sent to encourage me, for that I am thankful.

I learned  several things about myself today,  simple as they may be, my 3 takeaways are:

  1. Focus doesn’t mean intense self-talk. Tune into your journey and the people or things that help you with it.
  2. Walk your walk. Your Brian will come and go, you still have to cross the line.
  3. Find the fun(ny) – a smile is a groove that may help you find yours.

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Filed under Non Poetic Blogs

11 / 30 – The switch

Sweet natured berry

Your pain left the world with you.

Love and pain blurring

The cycle pedaled

Your light’s ever bright

Framing you through us

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Filed under 30 day challenge, Random Poetics

9 / 30 Round & Round

I was born with the race card
According to some inhumans

Black power was never skin colour
Sus laws and Edgar Hoovers
Set the tone for my mother’s mother
My father’s father took the bruises

I was born to a game of measures
I suppose my first words were excuses
The race card I never signed, played for me.
You expect me to thank you?

Doesn’t the devil exist?
Black and white stripes aren’t even half the pack of this race card mess.

Is it really a Race Card?
Or is it a gag, a muffler.
Is the code for silence, when it impinges on comfort?

I was told at aged 7 by a white headmistress,
“Just to be average, you blacks have to work twice as hard”
Damn, I just got stamped and handed my race card!
I should build up some credit.
You’ll only teach the 5% of my history that implies to you I’m indebted.
Then I’ll spend the rest of my life fact checking.

There’s just something about the way they use it to abuse you
Like it’s your first and only line of defence.
Before they learn the N word it’s, Miss…he’s playing the race card again!

Micro chipped, programme to speak on it every other day of the week.
Is the race card simply a construct where the foundations are too deep.

Was I really born with it in my system or was it the system’s cordial
Something they can keep drinking to make me look primordial.

 

 

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Filed under 30 day challenge, Race