Interview

I was blessed to receive my first ever interview (thanks to Naomi)

http://cursesandriots.wordpress.com/2010/12/17/keep-learning-an-interview-with-photographer-rob-covell/

Roots Manouver

Roots Manouver

Is it morris dancing

Or kids prancing

To heavy metal, banging heads?

Is it skinheads

Or bowing to the Queen?

The Union Jack that once dominated the world scene.

Singing Rule Brittania at the Proms,

And no one thinking its wrong.

Love of a pre-war "white" England.

Ruling with pain but claiming it as Jerusalem.

Stiff upper lip and stifling all emotions.

Transporting Africans across the Atlantic ocean.

Forcing guilt on the defeated, for the victor the spoils.

Ruling in God's name, justifying slaves' toil.

Muttering under breath at the sight of darker skin.

Saying one thing. Thinking another within.

Writing history books for the self-righteous.

Murdering those whose truth is contagious.

Justifying a system of wealth,

Its ok, cos poverty happens to someone else.

Thinking superiority over all other people,

At the same time claiming that everyone is equal.

Seeing suffering as something Africans are used to,

Only when it's British deaths is the pain perceived as true.

Black deaths in detention.

And no one giving it a mention.

And people ask me why...

How easy is it for me to defy

My ancestral line,

And stand for a revolution not seen as mine?

Read all the above again.

You want me to trust English white men?

Photography

I wouldn't normally post my photography on my poetry blog, but I'm just so pleased with this latest set that....well it's all poetry to me, and the model is a world renowned poet!!

2 four letter words

If

Love

Were

A Poem.

She’d

Have

Been

Written,

By

You

Leamington Spa Station

For those who lovingly suggest I diversify my poetry portfolio... here's 2 things I wrote while traveling home from working on location today.

Leamington Spa Station 

Poem 1

It’s the usual poet’s poem…

Sat at a station.

I’m cold.

Trying to think

Of something profound to write.

I can’t.

(then I perchanced to look upon the ground)….

Poem 2

The station’s concrete floor

Seems to have set.

But while wet,

A dog must have trespassed.

Now her legacy imprints platform 3.

The fast train to Marylebone

Sits and waits.

Blank stairs oblivious…

But I noticed.

I wish I had my camera.

Hold On

Hold On
by
Sloetry

Cuffs tighten on shaking wrists.

Tears drip off trembling lips.

Feet bondaged in metal chains,

That lead to arms, neck, and down again.

Whips and sticks beat heads to pulp.

Women and children scream for help.

Tropical heat in free air, breathes ice cold,

Compared with death, stench and suffocating oven of the hold.

90 days of swirling ocean.

Home gone. To hell in motion.

Vomit and faeces between toes whose worth

Once embraced the love of African earth.

Some hold breath

To cheat with death.
Head injuries self-inflicted,

Rather die than be constricted

In sailing ships from slave stations,

Filling holds to alien nations.

Cuffs tighten on desperate wrists.

Fear stutters from bruised lips.

Feet flail and pound van doors.

Blooded noses crack onto floors.

Batons rain on heads to pulp.

Panic induced cries for help.

African faces distorted against floors of cold.

Uniforms pile on top to secure the hold.

Minutes seem like hours in a struggle for life.

Metal eating into flesh, cuts like a knife.

Bodies clench in death throws,

Buffeting sideways to escape the blows.

Weight bears down on prone spines

Lungs expel air, feared for the last time.

Head injuries inflicted, its black and blue.

Longing for mothers slips to unconscious view.

Four wheeled ships as transportation.

Filling holds in alien nations.

Body Beautiful

The camera never lies?
But who and how you take
Predetermines results,
And photoshop fakes.

Like freedom... It’s said
You get answers in a free society
But the control comes from
The questions you’re fed.

I’m told that beauty’s norm
Is blonde and blue eyed
Sized 8 and no muscle.
The “gorgeous” weakened form.

Females encouraged to be the fairer sex,
Frail enough not to resist
And be down trodden
From anything males suggest.

Paleness so revered yet salons
And beach leaches
Risk skin disease
Just to get a tan on.

For those who's skin goes
Red from suns rays,
A darkening cream perhaps...
You know, when you’ve been Tango’d.

Please excuse my disquiet,
But there’s nothing
Appealing in a no body
Coming from a yoyo diet.

The female schism...
Is thin and fat debates
Get the attention,
What of health and athleticism?

Venus and Serena...
Europeans love to mock
Their form as manlike,
But it’s a no brainer.

Healthy norms
Ridiculed by those
Who can’t look in mirrors
To face their own form.

Feared empowerment.
Let strength be a facet
Of femininity,
Not the butt of comedians.

Female suppression
As God’s words are manifested
By men
And female circumcision.

Too many rapes unchecked,
From bars and clubs
To Congolese villages
That the UN uninspect.

Where “No” in multi-languages
Is the most understood
Yet least heard word,
As men force fuck anguish.

There’s no escape.
And still society
Beautifies stick women
Who can’t fight off rape.

And me a man.
I’ll not define
What is the beauty
Of woman.

But I’ll fight
Those that debeautify
Her true essence
To diminish her might.

European children nullify the form,
Yet they forget
It was from an African womb
That they and humanity were born.

Adoption

1st draft of a piece that came to me this morning, following a TV programme last night on chidren from Haiti (many with parents) being adopted by French people

Adoption

Let me deny your parents

The resources to care for you,

Even though I could support them

If I really wanted too.

Let me imagine your voodoo evil

Was not your West African heritage,

And baptise you into the religion that

Enslaved your people.

Let me change your name

And indoctrinate your young mind

That white is the colour of your saving grace,

Yet your ancestors had to fight us in the first place.

Let me talk to your mother

To understand your loves and wants,

And watch her cry as I prise you

From her loving hugs.

Let me justify my need for offspring

Of a fashionable colour.

I’ll look so good in my community

As other white people stop to talk to me.

Let me touch your beautiful hair that I’m seeing.

We’ll laugh together as I try to pass

An afro comb through mine that’s fair,

Or maybe I’ll just make yours resemble European.

I can teach you of your culture,

While you live in mine.

I’ll teach you to treat all as equal

But you’ll be special, not like other black people.

Let me be that band aid for your happiness

And let wounds fester

As I put my needs first

And ignore solutions that could be better.

Come here my child.

Dry your tears and be loved.

Welcome to your new western nation.

Let’s pretend you’re not black and Haitian.

Mother land

Mother land

by

Sloetry

Many years ago

My African ancestors strolled

From the mother land.

A band

Of men, women and children

Whose looks over time and descendents

Paled to cope with cold.

And as we weathered,

My people became coloured.

We settled many places

And became many shades of white races.

Our character carried this pioneer spirit that didn’t recognise

The rights of others. We named this trait “civilised”.

Our link to nature lost,

We invented religion at the cost

Of forgetting the earth

Is bound in spiritual worth

With She, our ancestral Queen, the Great Mystery.

Instead, we worshipped ourselves and called our faith His-story.

We proclaimed a God in our own image

And invented in Him our desire for rage.

Ignoring His son’s life of Peace. Without shame

We bestowed gifts upon ourselves in His name.

Gifts of green, but not of nature.

Instead the colour of ink on white-like-us-paper.

Our beliefs in God, ourselves and greed

Were able to justify that others should bleed.

Journeys began across land and sea.

Found old places and called it “discovery”.

Indigenous peoples viewed as a different class,

Yet we hadn’t recognised ourselves from our past.

What should have been a family reunion

Instead became butchery after Sunday communion.

Ships that should have united all in ancestry

Stole kin from lands and transported them to slavery.

Spread Christian beliefs across African nations,

A Caucasian Jesus inventing racial discrimination.

Beauty took form in what was white and European.

De-beautified Queens raped among sugar cane in the Caribbean.

Isolated a people that rose and beat us

So that now we even bus

White tourists onto Haitian segregated sands

Denying distant relatives the riches of their lands,

As the wealthy bathe away from poor,

More Africans hit with an apartheid law.

We created empires that butchered a family,

Then called it a Commonwealth in the name of equality,

But to member states I’m humbly suggesting,

It’s like a child staying with the father who molested him.

Wind back our evolution to the start of the tree.

Truth of the matter would f*ck up the BNP.

From Africa our ancestors were born,

And now, as white, we pass scorn

Over brothers and sisters we don’t view as equal.

When we left our Mother, we were infested with evil.

Of the worlds nearly 7 billion population only some 1 billion people are white (Wikianwers). The same article described the majority of the world's population (nearly 6 billlion people) as "people of colour". Now let me revisit this. Let’s take it back.. Humanity began in Africa and spread around the globe. Europeans turned white because they couldn’t absorb sufficient vitamin D from the lack of sun. So this 15% or so of the earths population changed colour…. So do we need to revisit who is termed "people of colour". If something is different to a norm, is that the basis for when we use adjectives?… something is small if its smaller than normal etc., so if we are applying adjectives to complexion, surely those that are different to the norm should get the adjective….europeans are coloured?

Peace and respect

Sloetry

Aid rage n' see (agency)

If music is the food of love

Then sing to my soul, the dove

Of peace is the only tune we need

To hear. But the world bleeds

Tears instead. Nations

Want donations

Yet they pay for nuclear weapons.

As Haiti waits to be wetted on

In the rainy season and God forbid

Tent cities are got rid

Of by hurricanes. Yes I still call

On every one and all

To give to families still suffering.

But this year has seen me questioning

How my money gets spent.

Is it lining pockets or making a dent

Where it’s most in need.

Parents plead

To help children survive

And we have to act, that can’t be denied.

One to one we’re the people on earth,

Politics and nations have no worth,

They’re just designed to destroy unity

Of our species. The difficulty

Is unravelling our differences. It’s a shame

We can’t seem to embrace each other as the same.

I’ve got to be honest when I saw aid still boxed

On a Port Au Prince runway, the Red made me Cross.

Sending money to the D.E.C.

Now makes me uneasy.

Our responsibility shouldn’t now stop at making that donation.

We have to hound the politicians and aid organisations

To prove accountability for what they’ve got.

We must ignite hope for those they forgot.

Light a fire under government inaction and fan it.

Fight for our one family, on this, our one planet.

Anonymous Artists

Artists harking on how the system is so wrong.

Blue eyes seeing with vision that’s so strong.

(Yes like mine, but this is the point,

I’m trying to view what should be right from an historical standpoint).

Yet the system you say is so corrupt,

Is what gives you props that’s hyped up.

It’s red lips spitting brown lipped words

And my white ears can’t stand how much it’s heard.

For all the love I see Europeans getting,

The same system is vetting

Success to talent in white packages.

The system treating “black arts” like it’s average.

Like me, you’re a product of European heritage,

And the first thing I suggest is to undo the ravages

Of time that still steals respect from where it’s due.

It’s your inheritance that’s supporting you.

I dedicate this to the artists I’ve seen,

From wordsmiths, beatboxers, singers & MC’s

Whose talent isn’t as respected, promoted and as seen,

As much as the copiers who are European.

Union Jack'd

 

For every one who loves their Queen and country.

Swears allegiance to their white realm.

Honours their army’s achievements and campaign medals.

A name for every battle won on regimental flags (and peoples lost.)

For all who see their soldiers as English pride and glory.

Right wing liberalised lovers who would still send those unlike them back home.

Take note that from one of your vanquished oppressed nations

Came the last living Victoria Cross awarded… to a Grenadian.

Elvis was a hero to most...

So when did it suddenly become okay again

For Europeans to imitate the voices of Africans?

We’re in a world where white liberals think racism is dead

Then sleep on privilege and rest their heads

Easy knowing they don’t see colour...

Even though they remember to call their black friends “brother”

And hit some handshake they had to practice in a mirror.

Songs some of them deliver

Breaking out in “Rastaman” mode and talking quick…

No thanks, I’ll listen to music that’s authentic.

Personally, I find this shit offensive,

Like comedians who give

Race jokes in the name of equality…

The camera flicks quick to the black guest to avoid controversy.

It’s just one big happy family,

Racism defined by white people happily

Using Caribbean and African actors in adverts

That pervert

The stereotypes to jovial images.

When did you last see such an advert that promoted serious

Portrayal, and not funny faces or mocking the Afro?

Just a sanitized version of the Black and White Minstrel Show.

Take it away Chuck D:

"Elvis was a hero to most

But he never meant shit to me..."

Mother's Earth

In the dead of night she births a son.

Prays he won’t do evil unto one.

The product of her body’s nurture,

Will his innocence go further

Than his juvenile days,
Or will he take his father’s ways?

Even when she was racked with violence

Her body betrayed her fight for sense.

From such an act of violation

Her womb converted to creation.

Gendered roles, for when men take,

A woman can still make.

If desecration is the prerogative of he.

Earth’s blessing is pure. It is she.

For Whoever...Whenever

wow....just shocked myself looking at some of my old poetry.
All I can say is that since writing it, I have been truly blessed.





To the one.
Wherever you are now hun.
To my saving grace
To one who’ll look behind my gaze.

To the one.
Here’s to sun
Blazing down where we both had rain.
Love demolishing both our pain.

To the two.
You know that’s me and you.
Standing tall together
Strengths combined forever.

For the two.
Hold tight through
The down before the rise
Holding sanity in each others eyes.

For us both.
Past lessons causing growth.
Life before not regretted
But most certainly now much bettered.

For us both.
This time a certain oath.
Not born from youths naivety
Experienced hearts are speaking freely.

For two souls
Combined til old.
Never judging.
Forever loving.


For two souls
Fully whole.
No matter what strife is waiting
Locked together no hardship we’re taking.

So how will I know when I meet
The one who’s gonna make me complete?
Is it someone I already know
That out of friendship things will grow?
Or someone round the corner waiting
That I can only dream of dating?

I’m cool just knowing for the first time in my life I’m worthy.
If she plays ball, I’ll wear her jersey.
If she writes poetry
I’ll know her next line before she.
If she sings to me
My mind will hear every harmony.
An entrepreneur
I’m gonna love her.
On the dole
I’ll make her whole.
A single mother
I’ll be a father.


Yeah….there’s things to do before I reach you
But know my heart can’t wait to greet you.
Been pained too long to deny I meet you
Responsibilities in my life to introduce to you.

So be cool with things in my welcome pack,
A few things from years living on my back.
But know when you accept all and everything about me.
My love, trust and faith in you will surround you completely.

My personality is what you see.
My emancipated soul runs free,
You see it in my poetry,
A man who learned to love he.

From no stronger position can I offer you
Love in its most complete form….true.

Cuts

Funding cuts but whose excesses?

I still see a nation that oppresses.

Before government dictates a cure

I’d like to know for sure

Who took the credit?

Did the poor debit

The rich?

Did we wish

For bankers, war mongers and politicians

To steal futures from children?

So many questions unanswerable,

So many with power unaccountable.

A war that can’t be justified,

Civilians die, I’m mystified

That we can’t see ourselves as a foreign invader.

The cross of St George: from Crusaders

To football fans to zealous patriots,

But it’s the same flag that was waved a lot

In not forgotten Christian onslaughts

From times that school history taught

Richard the Lion heart’s hero tales,

(That’s the same education that paled

Slavery to insignificance).

And where is Jesus’ relevance

To fighting violently in His honour?

Would He have held sword or dagger,

Assault rifle or sat amongst sandbags

Behind a mighty machine gun?

(As seen by Prince Harry and David Beckham).

We make boys to men from PS3’s

To the same games with killing machinery.

This blood for oil reaches

Far. Ejaculating onto Louisiana’s beaches,

Polluting lives in West Africa,

Choking a planet we should nurture.

And still I wonder.

Who controls this agenda?

She runs

She runs…

An escape to who she is.

A zone that gives

Her time to be

The beauty she is, set free.

Solitary in the moment,

Measured in miles and minutes spent,

Her pace is hers to set.

Stress she forgets.

A life spent selfless

Receives wealth blessed

In what others would perceive as pain.

For her, body and mind gains.

This freedom in her soul,

A catalyst so powerful

It pulled me like a magnet…

Before she ever laced up her Asics.

Slotography

A collection of my photography can be seen here

Anxiety

ANXIETY

A stone of worry drops into a lake of anxiety.

A circle of over thinking ripples across the mind

Until calm descends on troubled water

And you find your true self once more.

This reservoir is not of our own making,

As we are how we were made.

Best not to throw negative pebbles in the first place,

See the good, not the bad

Potential in situations,

And create tsunamis from hurling positive rocks.

Bloody Liberals

1st draft of a piece.....

Let’s here it for the non-racist liberal.

Who doesn’t see colour, cos everyone is equal.

Let’s thank them for their love for all

And compassion that they expect gratitude for.

Stop. Let me burst their bubble.

Saying they don’t see colour denies the root of trouble.

The harm is not only in the feelings that they hide,

But also in what they don’t know of their inside.

White only labels others.

Forgetting it’s just another colour.

An unwritten rule of self-superiority reigns

In side the minds of western brains.

So much goes on within these heads,

Fronted with blind eyes that can’t see the dead

Lining streets paved with the gold,

Minerals and people that they stole.

To learn to speak the truth for themselves

They have to understand that just as meat on shelves

In plastic packaging was killed for them in abbatoirs,

So the profits in their pockets came from lands afar.

But there is no comprehension of this.

As British liberal newspapers dis

France for crimes against Haiti,

It’s like they’re forgetting what made Britain mighty.

Do I have to point on a map of countries?

Not of carved up nation state legacies

From the scramble for a continent.

I’m meaning like Ashante and Yoruba before Christian settlement.

Before they were forced to meet Carib and Arawak

On islands cultivated in blood from lashed backs.

Registers held in Christian parishes

That in Britain dealt with births, deaths and marriages,

But here in a hell in the name of the Almighty,

Languages and names changed to roll more lightly

Off European tongues.

Stand among

The market in towns like St. George

And cast minds back to auction blocks before.

West African forts hold the evidence required

To smack the face of English history denied.

Power gained through conquering,

Turns to peace through assimilation.

Nurnberg hauled German crimes in front of nations,

And until we seriously discuss reparation

Leopard Britain can never change its spots.

They don’t want truth, they want it forgot.

Liberals who claim equality and colour blindness

Are forgetting that their privileges aren’t blessed

But cursed with the souls of many.

Count Britains wealth, every blooded penny.

Quaking

Aid sits on tarmac inside gates.
Haitian children left to their own fate.
Fear of violence is crippling,
But it’s just the minds of white people tripping.
Their stereotype of savagery
Is exacerbating this tragedy.
Soldiers who would risk lives fighting Muslims
Are being ordered to worry about their own skin.
Where is their warrior code that once said,
You have nothing to fear but fear itself.
Every second in crumbled cavities
A life extinguishes to neglect’s gravity.
Beds fill hospital corridors and yards,
Mattresses made of pieces of card.
Medicine, bandages and tape
Cures nothing while sitting in a crate.
Pictures filling TV screens.
Our luxury is we can switch off the screams.
Scaremongering preventing the release
Of the very things that will keep the peace.
This time donating is not enough,
We gotta give and make a fuss.
Hound the politicians and every agency.
And fight for the people of Haiti.

Haiti Earthquake, emergency appeal

Before you read my poetry, please consider making a donation to the people of Haiti.
click here to donate

other organisations to donate to in the UK or US, click here

Thank you.

Peace and respect.
Slo/Rob