My street was full of aunties
and full of uncles too.
They weren't the same as family,
but grown-ups who we knew
- parents of my mates,
friends of mum and dad,
people I could trust to share
what it was they had.
- winter parties, summer trips
and massive paddling pools,
loads of music, lots of love
and laughter while we grew.
- common homes and gardens,
a street that was open plan,
family in every neighbour,
one big,
street-long
clan.

Black futures -
not a month
not a meme
not hash-tagged and gone
past in a blur.

Futures built
on the foundation of the past,
but rising past past expectations
and housing future generations
of black lives that answer back
and build better black futures.

The future's bright.
The future's colourful.

It's about GROWTH.
It's about what type of fruit
inevitability grows.
But you don't get to pick and choose,
you don't get to specialise -
You can't specify your choice of variety,
no, it's a job-lot, in its entirety.
But don't get stressed,
it's not about yield or performance,
it's not a contest.
It's about the kind of person you express,
the flavour of person folk taste
when you're most hard pressed.
It's about the fruit of God's Spirit,
the overflowing character of Jesus.
But don't fret,
don't boast -
it's about
GROWTH.

Home is so unmoved.  It stays as recalled
smelling of the comfort of the first and last
as if to harbour memories regardless
of age, refusing to release its hold,
it stands so full of heart, with echoes of dinner

with steam lifting from hefts of potatoes
and withered veg, an adamant replay
of checkered tablecloths and brown orange tableware,
long cracked and stacked. You see how it was
close your eyes and hear scrapes of plates,
the scream of the kettle.  
And that veined mug.

I hate knees
Knees hurt on the way down
the stairs to breakfast.
Knees hurt on impact
when I pray in earnest.
Knees transmit pain
signals to my brain relentless.
I hate knees.
Whether on necks
or where they belong,
on the ground.
I hate knees.

The blue lion applied reasonable force down on the black zebra's neck, his lazy authority reinforced with each passing minute.
And the world looked on.

The black zebra signaled his compliance with a little blood and by changing colour to a curious shade of purple.
And the world looked on.

His black herd cried, but kept their distance lest the blue pride took an unhealthy interest in them too.
And the world looked on.

The para lion checked for signs of death, unhurried under the just restraint of the blue law.
And the world looked on.

Eventually the carcass was rolled aside, deflated, unfortunately losing some of its colour.
And the world looked on.

Then later the black herd stampeded, making a wider spectrum of noise that couldn't be ignored.
And the world looked up, asking for the blue lions to do their job, and corrale the black zebras lest they frighten the white cubs.

And the world looked away.

Just cos you’re smarter don’t mean you’re better
Just cos you’re slimmer don’t mean you’re fitter
Just cos you’re taller don’t mean you’re stronger
And just cos you’re whiter don’t mean you’re right-er

God made us different to make a clear point
just take a look and a moment to think
It takes this diversity to reflect a great God
He glories in difference and angels applaud

when we reach across cracks made by our fear
when we stand against hatred and act when we hear
any suggestion of bias, a smidgen of bigotry
any ill-conceived comment that denies someone’s dignity

God made us each different, cos different ain’t boring
gender or pigment, brainy or brawny
God’s image is found in all colours and sizes
so please do your part to bridge what divides us

My last word must go to the average white male:
acknowledge the privilege our lives entail
no need to apologise, no need to feel shame
just walk with humility and please -
up your game