REDEBONY'S BOOK BOUTIQUE

image from babyandblog.com “ What does black attack mean?” Josiah asked his mum one day as they strolled amidst the organized orchids in the park. The sun was low and full in the sky, too arrogant for summer, yet too polite for spring. “ It’s a word you should never use as a black person. Along with, “ she paused, then took a sip of oxygen. “ when I was younger my parents said everybody looked like animals in some way,” Josiah laughed at that, his mum was known for her quirky sense of humor. “ Then one day I told a black girl she looked like a monkey,” Josiah was silent for a while. Was that good or bad? Her tone was heavy. “ That is how I got this scar.” Josiah shook his head he knew his mother was quite animated so the teachers at school described her, each parent evening had them casting a look of dread upon his docile expression. The look meant your not as innocent as you seem, look what your mothers like. She tugged the blue chemise cardigan she had on, and dr

I love the way he says my name, it rolls off his tongue like a soft wet kiss, I am his ocean, as we dance divine, all the answers to the questions I seek unravel, he is my cocktail, I am his hourglass, and in the midst of this chaos we are nothing more than naked people. No more two left feet, where the whole world is a compass. How do you like your scrambled eggs, I say in my head? How do you like your pancakes? What's your favorite movie, the one where if you really need to use the toilet, you'd pinch your hips just that much longer, bite your lips that much tighter, for one more scene, then you sigh, and everything peels like an orange, relax ed in the chorus of all your emotional messes. I read the psalms a few times, I'd say to him, I have naughty eyes, but I'm a good girl I promise. At that he'd tell me about something unfinished of which he's practicing on. I hate things unfinished, loose threads, yet somehow I yearn to fix everything broken and i

Let your Earphones Explode!!!!! Raw culture. Olamide Turn Up

Let's not play hide and seek with our Cultural identities, in the words of Shakespeare if music be the food of love play on.

I love this track. One for the ladies!!

                                                                                   This is Talent!!!! Ted xeter shows us how its done.

The Open door Of thoughts we've seen but once before We search for our future Quest for ourself In this time There is nothing left But the trident thoughts which betray our minds the sleepless shadow wandering blind Reflections which our eyes see with contempt As we hearken painfully descent I was Horizon once before Again i will I'll stake my claim For on this land I write my name Glory rests here It is the promise of the Forever child.

It was the cockpit, she called it. The emotional dreggs of falling head over heels, over feet over Skirt, over shoes, in love with a feeling she couldn't even contemplate. She was the Horizon and his smile was her Sky. Elias pulled a string of Chestnut hair laced with it's beading behind Elfish ears, she pursed her lips like a Blowfish, waiting to engage in the Kiss that shadowed her through the day. " How was work?" " The usual, me and everybody else's agenda," " Spill." She dragged a wooden seat beside her Husbands Giant frame. It was three in the afternoon, the room was caked in the scent of Cinnamon Pancakes, the Oven was at low temperature and a glass of Chateau Monet stood like a Mannequin at the counter top. " I have a new division manager, who knows nothing...." he paused and smiled coyly, " but she touches my hand a lot." " Like this?" His wife ran slender fingers along her Husbands Wooly arm. His

My mother is beautiful warm and kind blessed in Spirit Righteous in mind A gem in the eye She sparkles For us, and the none of us that are those Who try to take her place Understand you dont have her face have her smile and have her touch My mother is far too much A royal one the world must see That's why you have So much Envy This is my mother Her home is her sight An  immitator has no right.

He was a shelfman. Life was in neat boxes and tidy rows, everything was organised and well kept. Everything had to be, because she was here in his home, amongst all his things, amongst a smile and paperwork that was usually unfinished. He'd done the dishes this morning, first thing, 50 clock. It was before she woke up, and he'd even baked the lemon sponge cake she enjoyed so much. Though her face was round once more, he ached for the simplicity that came with being their team. There was an ease which came with Joyce, a flow, routine even, that didn't happen with the other women he dated. Though not as striking, she was beautiful to him, and warm like a mug of hot soup, she warmed his insides out. She made him not afraid to Love again. " Happy 64th Harry," "and a merry one it'll be ," he toasted with the glass of cider. His Irish stronger on the it'll. He smiled a broad smile, and waited for her to lean in and give him the kiss requir

Imagination is the tide We strike the balance Between whats within Carve the chaos from our sins and weave the soft threads of what once was We are the condemned ones hungry for the love of a womb that bleeds segregated from ink and paper  Chapter verse We are the lines. If you look for me you will find me between the gaps of salty tears within the knots of crows feet behind the scabs of a Tramps dusty disguise or a brat that harrangues her mother I am an Ocean of stories, and the questions with the answers we cannot find

image by nemesis Her promise to him, was to love him. She would covet all his hungry needs, be loyal beyond belief, for she loved him, and her brown eyes told a story. Jacob stared at the loose threads of his Shoe laces, wondering what would happen if say one day, he told her the truth, that these beautiful shoes, didn't belong to normal feet. That this loving man, wasn't human. He stared out at the Vast Ocean view, the Fish that dipped, and backflipped into a sea of  Green. It was the water that made them so free to live, so free to breathe, so free to love the way they did. Angela Ross stood on the banks the golden sea shore that danced between her toes, and the sun the Orange sun that baked their skin like two hot potatoes. "  I am very different to you," he spoke it quietly, as though it were Oxygen. " We have different personalities," " It's more than that," he stooped low, his hand raking through the water. He gazed at his reflecti

image by chris weeks "You're an evil woman," i piped. " I hate you, and i'll hate you for the rest of my life." I shot daggers at my mother as she stood opposite me in the La Costa De Ca, shopping mall. Why did everything have to be all about her, she was so self involved. " I'm just trying to look younger," " Younger whose looking? i hate these clothes on you. A mini skirt who wears that at age 53?" " I can't afford plastic surgery so i do the best with what i have." Mum joked. I threw my hands up in exclamation mark frustration. My mother looked like a Movie star, A gentleman caller once told her she looked like a young Diana Ross. My mother beamed at that, ignoring the insecure daughter beside her. I have always been compared to my Mother, i look like her, but not quite. " He's not coming for you you know, he comes for me?" I wanted to make sure she understood. I quirked a newly plucked brow,

image by aurorawienhold (deviantart) Red Eye to the wind You thrill me My polka dot princess All your spots and all your prizes Many a time they mystify me All your words and those free thoughts A soul like this cannot be bought For we are one's with polish Token to a jedi king Fighting what rots within the garment Of our tattered flesh Lend me your eardrum Pipe in my ear Whisper the song i'd like to hear For the chill of winter's wonder soon may come and here i sit still holding on You are the blue of this Red eye Jedi where's my kiss For we are different to all our stars Planets like us know what we are

Check out Kamal Saleh he is a phenomenal poet, an inspiration, and his words speak the truth. He is Epic.

image by kegriz It was true of this, true of him, the lies he told lefty me riddled in confusion. Every syllable left me questioning myself, asking deeply what was it about us that made him tell so many lies. Each breakfast date, each luncheon, a new story was spilled. I'd clink to my coffee mug, unsatisfied with a new pitch about a life that never existed. " I went to Barcelona last week," i nodded aptly, already bored. " How was it?" I supplied. " It was incredible, i saw the," then he went into a steely monologue about all the beautiful things he saw, i felt myself clutching the green in my stomache. Maybe i was Sea weed, maybe i needed to believe he was such a liar because i needed to believe these things weren't real. This him, that Patrick was, the exhibit of an explorer. It made me feel like an ink stain on an A3 sheet of paper. My family are extraodinary people, but we've never ventured beyond our local Cornershop. My mother h

image by bloody pencil This was how i saw us. It was you i said to myself. I blamed him for all the hungry kisses and the sighs i experienced in the Sixthform Cafeteria. I'd shadow him, lurking in a river of my own quiet anticipation. I was hopeless, i was gone, and he was just living his life. In my head we'd had a million different conversations, i'd say i'm a Libra, i know your a capricorn, i can teach you things about my starsign you never would have thought. He'd say in return, the lonely boy in the corner. Something,something, along the lines of how his last two girlfriends traumatised him, and then there was me. I study him regularly, the smoothe sophistication of his height, the lashes that cover soft brown eyes, and a crown of chestnut hair like a halo around his head. He reminded me of a cherub. That innocence that was afforded to him. Today he stood outside the bins in the open doorway, his fingertips framed by a sillhouette Ciggarette.  "

This is poetry at it's finest, loving her style, her flow, this woman will move you, shake you, and make your body melt. Akua Naru Rock on.

image by Claireveiler It means the slip of a tortured soul A pool of wet As we loose control The sunken dreams and hardened flesh the phone box chimes As we ring collect A call to the outside world Fingers pressing the dial hands jittering like a christmas tree with lights "hello?" he say's. I melt like i am my own Cocoa butter Chew the gaps between supposed words Pose on a foot "Hello?" Outside the streets are micro chipped Inside this hub i am animal "Hello?" his voice melts me. I shake the quivers For i am his little jitterbug I think of conversations lost Conversations missing blood from inside my mouth rushes to my Teeth I am a mass of paperclips he is my Wizard of Oz "Da.." i gurgle a sentence; Then remember why i left. Reciever is oil in my hands i am slick with my own near miss.

image by Fionarose (deviantart) Pieces of the puzzle Slices of the pie we open apostrophies with the squints of our eyes dot the lines that paint the eyes cater to streets where shadows mourn the crucified self we cry old spirits to sleep Teasing between our teeth The knitted wool Of the fear which plans to Seize us I am short, and tall once more One minute high forever small Inching to the freedom Graves lie where selves once used to be In between A folded me I miss myself Old crooked grin The way i loved the soul within It's simple self The slip of a soul that was denied It's Columbus.

image from chevsy Wisdom Followers slay the dragon of intellect where wise men sit there are foot stools The iron clad rinse the weakness from their souls within I swallow the stones of my fears bite down the bullet these silences swallow you up engulfed in the music chemistry a chessboard for the mind my emotions well they are who carried you with your gloved hands the wounds hidden away behind them  pulsing with blood veins like ropes bumps as volcanoes jumping with sores who carried you to where the layman stood worshiping the pain of Royal mistakes as two fish eyes, polish the floor  It is glue to never move from this pit.

image by sitka Cheque point the narrative for when the soul comes calling we itch fro here scratching the scabs of loose skin and tracks made by yesterday's sin Our eyes bleed forward The memories we hoist on our back Turtle man Torpedo emotions The world spins our seesaw selves stumble to our feet Fingers clotted with dirt lips cornflake dry water is a mirage from here I am quick sand in this chequepoint, my knees absorb the dust Flag hands Siren eyes Help me world i'm falling.

image by destiny kiss He was my room mate, he'd sit by the window for hours, we'd watch the boats dock on the Crystal ocean. He said they made him have imagination, he was jealous of the fish that claimed this vast ocean, and i was envious that the water captivated him so. My water boy. I smiled a wry smile, nervously twitching, with my ballet slippers clutched between my oil slick palms. He made me nervous, and excited, and anxious and scared. When he spoke in that deep baritone, it was like being dipped in a cup full of hot chocolate. " You know i'll miss you when you leaver," I began cautiously, shyness is a poison for us secret social butterfly's.  I had many things i wanted to say, to spill, have my insides laid before him like a platter of desert dishes. " You have eyes like them,"  " Eyes like what?" He recycled back. The way the water changes, reminded me of his eyes, a continental, blue, grey. He was too tall for me, my mo

image by bigfootfantasies we perch on the dots of yesterday's tears counter the fears when courage appears Esteem crumbles  as arrows are thrown an alias self To the shelf self unknown Picture perfect Drapes to cover the eyes of yesterdays failure  and yesterdays prize  Heaven sent Common sense to a land where wisdom has no power Upon the hour Pain leaves taste buds sour We chomp at the bit,  bored with the lies brain tells when we sit for in the daylight there are no shadows here and we light the fuse  to a wayward oblivion

image by Quiccs Vibe with me scatter run disengage you are on the fringes of life teeth gritting barely holding on soul rising dragons roar within The mind seizes Chalk lane Piano street Chalk lane The mighty ones arise Catch my dreams and i'll applaud you my little jellyfish those who prey on anyone who takes bold steps in hot water.

image by renatadogmagalska (deviantart) I chimed in it was two o'clock the stew sat on the boil a century ago women would toil and now they beg us not  to wear laces i drank my juice thought of our common spaces all our in between times ten the who know you know, The why and when The water colour scrapes and the near death misses Empty promises and almost kisses The eyes pinched on me as honey as glue we are forever linked as the clock hums a lazy tick and my eyes  betray the darkest secret the coffee mug, an angry prince say's did you wear this jacket just for him? Paint your lips, and wet your skin, a piece of art you've here become Make sure you are his special one, and the Coffee mug, an angry prince, says did you wear those high heels just for him? As the observers with postcards of my yesterday pain share the memory of my heart once slain Then the waitress climbs lazily towards me as though clambering invisible stairs, flashe

image by dzaet My missing intuition He bites and i bite back clawing through the numb mess and all the skittles in my head, i count to ten bite my frozen fingers whistle at the wind For there is vastness now, the desert is who we become Midnight or charcoal black I am sleek, with the longing for old scents on my skin Tobacco stained teeth that used to bruise my lips and a blast of Antarctica which filled my lungs every time my womb was empty I'd sing myself to sleep The cricket croaked in my throat suffocating me with the pulse of my own inferiorities i am dot next to you you are Ocean i would say then chew at my lips nervously as i stood in corners,  like bulked clotted cream just  popped there, The stain of my anxiety, the pool of wet soaking my watermelon limbs Wishing to God that i was there already