I wrote the following two poems after attending Commonword’s three very informative Ghosts Project workshops (celebrating Moss Side and Hulme night clubs of the 50′s to the 80′s and the local community life), skilfully led by Yvonne Mccalla.
Any constructive comments are welcome.
(1) Staying Power
Gotta make a way out of no way
(Traditional black saying)
Wishful thinking brought us here –
we thought you so rich, you would
embrace us with your song and dance.
Instead you colour-barred club doors to our face
and fenced us out with your pale arrogance.
But we learned not to care
we’d given all for the fare,
since we’re already here,
we’ll make ourselves at home.
That’s why we set up the Reno and the Nile
we made them so good with reggae upstairs
and funk, jazz, soul down the basement,
the velvet, wistful songs balm to our exiled hearts.
Though you tried to exude indifference,
we were a phenomenon, each new song took six
months to copy in your Plaza and Ritz.
Wishful thinking brought us here –
we thought you so rich, you would
house us in homes like yours
with postcard-pretty gardens.
Instead we were shunned by many landlords
and there was no way to get a mortgage;
the Council put us in Crescents
where mushrooms grew on our bedroom walls,
cockroaches so diligent they choreographed
through the nights; sometimes they didn’t spare
our faces, danced across our mouths.
But we learned not to care
we’d given all for the fare,
since we’re already here,
we’ll make ourselves at home.
That’s why we formed our co-operative
and began slowly, slowly, to move
away from those lousy decks
to small, terraced, clean houses.
Wishful thinking brought us here –
we thought you so rich, you would
feed us with food lavish as a banquet
satisfy our hunger with things delicious
we’d glow for days on the buttery juice.
Instead all we could find were crumb-crusted
fish and lard-greased spuds.
But we learned not to care
we’d given all for the fare,
since we’re already here,
we’ll make ourselves at home.
That’s why we opened Belle Etoile, Albino’s Café,
syruped lives of our families, friends, passing beggars
with yam elixir, with hot curry - fiery insulation
against cold English days, with dumplings and patties
that cost pennies but seasoned with Afro-Caribbean traditions.
Wishful thinking brought us here –
we thought you so rich, you would
be art-lovers, appreciate our finely-sculptured bodies,
with our kiss-inviting full lips, our wiry Afro hair,
our strong study legs and pronounced buttocks.
Instead you showed a corseted mind and viewed our dark skin
with disgust, banned us from your dance halls and churches.
But we learned not to care
we’d given all for the fare,
since we’re already here,
we’ll make ourselves at home.
That’s why we enjoyed partying and dancing
among people you saw only as black, while we saw
caramel, cinnamon, ripe peach, rich plum …
glad to be such stunning people. We shook
our bums, tossed our heads, threw our hips, shaking off
your umbrage; we bantered, laughed, swayed, tapped,
twirled … living our lives with each rhythmic step.
You see, we’re like regal peacocks
in full display - hard to ignore.
Maybe you could be kind to us, you might win
our hearts, your children would be Manchester
mulatto, parading proudly in their creole skin
saving you tan-money for sunbeds and lotions.
But we learned not to care
we’d given all for the fare,
since we’re already here,
we will make ourselves at home.
(2) An Early 70s Love Song
On Monday at All Saints Town Hall,
my tall black lover and I tied the knot -
after voicing our vows to love and cherish
to Alexandra Park we went for photos
the open-handed trees showering confetti on our heads
the smart wind stirring all to a hearty dance
the ducks in the pond tickled by our happiness.
On Tuesday at All Saints Town Hall,
my tall black lover and I tied the knot -
after sealing our first kiss as man and wife
to Stockport Market we went for a day trip
some people were friendly, some were not -
`nigger-lover, whore…' were some taunts offered,
but oh the love in our hearts barraged the lot.
On Wednesday at All Saints Town Hall,
my tall black lover and I tied the knot –
after both signing on the line
to Aunt Phema’s, Royce Road, we went for a party
her makeshift table sagged with soda bread, crubeens,
dumplings, yams… the house was full with warm faces
of our Jamaican and Irish relatives, friends, neighbours.
On Thursday at All Saints Town Hall,
my tall black lover and I tied the knot –
after making ourselves legal to all
to Nash Crescent we went for our honeymoon
the corridors might be dark, the rooms damp
the druggies be an unwelcome bother
but oh the bliss when we found each other.
On Friday at All Saints Town Hall,
my tall black lover and I tied the knot –
after thanking a witness, who had to leave,
to the Reno, Moss Side, we went that night
the music was funky, the DJ was funny
friends applauded, laughed and teased,
offering well-wishes with each dance step.
On Saturday at All Saints Town Hall,
my tall black lover and I tied the knot –
after a day of eager celebrations
to bed we went and lay in wedlocked caresses
seamlessly love-joined as day and night.
Paired, double-dared, and ready to face
tomorrow’s every glare with such bliss.
By Sunday, at All Saints Town Hall,
my tall black lover and I had tied the knot -
he, handsome in a hired three-piece suit
I, pink-flushed in ivy veil and satin dress
tiara twinkling in my flaming tresses.
To St George’s we went in locked hands
and thanked God for our blessing.
Please can anybody advise me how to make lines indented, use italic and bold font here. The layout of my poems is wrong once copied in this place. Many thanks.