Tag Archives: soul

Words are my moonshine

When you  feel you’re hanging on the vine,

Remember- a seed push forth a mighty sign.

You must  take the sunbeams and treasure what’s thine

Wild Kansas City is but one destination on the sign.

Take hope, light and lose the animosity,

for inside  you, there is no monstrosity

Get caught speeding in high velocity.

It’s not a train smash —  nor a catastrophe.

When you’re stuck in the middle of time.

Jump off the fence ‘cos that’s doing yourself a crime.

Don’t you let commoners  think your words cannot define,

Your value, worth and dreams are not benign.

Take it from the apple tree

He allows fruit to aid in his victory.

Oh don’t, hide like a willow tree

Cry, but remember you have a destiny.

Everything will start to — lookup —  allow the clouds to throw some shapes.

Open  them wide , mind expand — understand the lessons from life’s true greats.

You’re already one them-slightly chipped — still most valuable of porcelain plates.

Never doubt  what you can do —   take a leaf from natures golden ratio

You radiate when you guide the fates.

Lets’ lasso this  up and keep your spirit wild

Grow tall — never lose your inner child.

A silly poem  to spread to the crowd

Accept her quirks  — light-hearted, silly sap —  never lose a day when she has smiled.

*I Iwas inspired by the song ‘This little light of mine’. live, love, don’t hold as grudge. Remain true to who you are and you won’t stand alone for long.









Today’s not your average music GOAT review is by Parisian hip hop/Afro-funk /soul/electronic music producer  GUTS ( Fabrice Franck Henri)  new album’ philanthropiques'(March 2019). It is the Mama Makeba sizzler for this year (to date).


GUTS  started out making hip hop music before branching out to experiment with further genres of music.

GUTS  started out his career in the 90’s as a beat maker. He has collaborated with Common & De La Soul to name a few artists.

I call songs like this #goatbahs   or G.reatest O.f A.ll  T.ime ( or another translation dope songs) because I  think music like this in a league of its own.

 It is a song that reminds me of my childhood in Africa, Barcelona, Miami and all places tropical.  I’m a huge fan of French hip hop/electronica/genre.

‘Kenke corner’ has an infectious beat, rhythm & is guaranteed to take you to another place. A vibrant place  full of soul. A place to lose yourself & soak up multiple cultures.

This has got to be one of my fave songs for spring/summer 2019.

Guts-Philanthropiques album is clearly influenced by his love of the Balearic islands, Africa, Brazil, the Caribbean.

It’s like taking a trip to al the best tropical destinations.

GUTS called on a diverse bunch of global music artists to infuse this afro tropical album with an array of instruments-trombones, saxophones flutes, drums, bass & guitar, keyboards & we have an album that scintillates with celebration for life.

This experimental album has been labelled as  Afro Tropical.

Grab your virtual ticket and soar over jungle beats, bass & funk.

If you like this song or album then I would recommend listening to his ‘Les Bienhereux’ album to show how diverse his music is.

FACT: This is the first album to be recorded & released by wax on records  music ( Nightmares on wax label)

It’s fresh, funky, soulful, vibrant, and full of flavour.

#NYAMR Foetal Zulu

I’m quite taken with my latest find. Foetal Zulu- a brilliant name (in my opinion) as I was born and raised in Durban, South Africa. Home of the Zulu nation. YEBO!

Kick back and enjoy the meditative visuals and soundscape.

And he is based in my current home town – Halifax, West Yorkshire.

I was dubious to start with & then genuinely impressed about the quality of music as I always am when I find an artist from a small town I’ve lived in.  I enjoy being surprised. Challenge your perspective.

His style (incorporating multimedia) reminds me of music mixer/ producer & photographer from my hometown of origin Durban, South Africa-  Dane Detox Evans.

Though they have two different styles, I grew up in Durban, South Africa & sometimes we judge the person /associates rather than the quality of an Artists creative endeavours. Be it a production/ experiment/mix etc.

I am a huge fan of his style but I was sceptical of his stuff. LESSON: Keep an open mind, folks.

Yeah, but I can’t deny when I hear music that takes me out of my current state of mind (for the record absolutely shit, to be honest- (best policy)

Music is therapy. It does heal the soul.

There is not a lot of information about this artist except that his name is Loui Binns and he runs regular workshops in Halifax, West Yorkshire. I think it’s cool that an artist chooses to share his knowledge and techniques so that other people can be inspired to develop a creative outlet that is positive.

Creative outlets are (as we know) crucial to maintaining positive mental health and wellbeing. Something that I have always been passionate about. Whatever that outlet may be.

He works in electronic music and digital art incorporating found sounds, soundscapes, abstract /geometric visuals and setting visuals to music.He hosts a bi-monthly event called Hyper Fauna for ambient soundscape music at the Grayston Unity in Halifax.


It’s awesome to find local talent to listen to. I don’t get paid to promote any artists.

I will never play a track of my choosing that I don’t connect with.

I would recommend checking out  this EP  for the full experience.

Genre- nu- jazz french music

Hugo Kant , french born hailing from the port city of Marseille. A smelting pot of culture.I am unavoidably drawn to french french electronic music and Marseille has a special place in my heart. My home for many years.

Surprisingly ‘gold‘ is his highest rated song. Its sexy and slick but not my personal choice..

It doesn’t compare with the dramatic narrative ‘Dr van helsing ‘‘ unfolds with its dark chasing twists & turns. It’s meowskies in the dark. Stealthlike.

I appreciate the song more after reading Bram Stokers ‘Dracula.’

Degiguigi , another french artist captivated me with ‘quand de te vous de moi? .

He mostly plays downtempo , future jazz. All these subgenres

Quelle h’ orreur! 😛Modern jazz.

I’m drawn to degiheuni as he’s is not afraid to improvise or fuse all that jazz ( hands 👋🖐📯🎺🎙) with traditional hip hop music.

Every poet has to appreciate hip hop as being the influencing genre of music that used spoken word in a beat..

Everybody. 😀😆

My petals are curling inwards..

Club duvet here I come…. 🌼🙈🙊👯‍♀️👂


I’m kicking back & tuning out to astral travel to degiguigi ‘s entire album taken from ‘Endless smile.’

Its one of my top drawer albums ever. 👌🎩

IT’S dope, infectious, I have a thing for French electronic music.

Some One has to….. I’m sure I’m not the only one… 🤔😏ENDLESS SMILE

Spoken. Word!

Write  to recover and then perform to recover. ;D

I’m moving forward again.

‘Fight the good fight’ as Charles Bukowski said.

Go big or go home.

The video isn’t great quality but I’m. sharing it more to reaffirm to myself that I have just as much to bring and give as the next person.

Something I jotted down last night. I’ver  lived in big cities and   many  small towns in different countries  (maybe some people can relate) and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m done trying to show others (especially people who live in small towns)  I too have my own ideas and share similar interests etc…

It doesn’t mean I’m better or anyone else is better than me  It means I am  who I am and the world is bigger than where I currently live.

I’ve been looking for a genre for the kind of poetry I do. I couldn’t find anything that I fit into. So I introduce ‘in yer face ‘poetry.   Inspired by ‘in yer face’ theatre.  That’s me and that is how I write and I’ve found a niche and I finally feel okay. with not being everyone’s favourite read  or person.  ha ha!

IN YER FACE POETRY –  first coined by me, Daisy Willows  aka Natasha Bodley – taking 100% full credit for it.  ha ha!


My definition of in yer face poetry 

‘ poetry that is blatant, honest, provocative ,emotional and not pretty or fancy or written to hide reality.




‘ Don’t be disappointed if you get rejected especially if you have made an effort to fit in. Farms are driven by human chains to contain. It’s highly unlikely that an animal bred to serve will accept you , especially if you are an animal who was born in the jungle or the savannah. Adapt , be resourceful and keep your spirit wild and free.

March to the beat that allows you to walk side by side with others, to lead others, be led  or walk alone. Acceptance is but one way you feel secure and shouldn’t be a reason to stay in one place.

Remember those who wander and drift out of their comfort zone will always find kindred souls who get the idea that acceptance can be found in those who know security comes from within. Choose to roam and meet other spirits who remind you why you live life

. Don’t stick around waiting for people to get you or accept you. Keep moving and you will never be far from those who accept your different attitude, culture and traditions.

Embrace the misfits . They are the most intriguing and loyal spirits who will make an effort to teach you their ways and be as eager to understand your ways.’


 Daisy willows

The one word summary  to the above is this.

ROSA park

  Thanks to those who have been so supportive.

I’m still a newbie at doing open mic but what a great crowd and I’m so honoured to have had a chance to share a space with so many incredibly talented singers, comedians, poets/artists  who welcomed  this blooming weed into their little home and embraced me like a friend who had been away travelling.

Apologies for the poor quality video. Will try and upload a better one but tbh all you see is the back of me ha ha!  Not very exciting.


Queen of Trisetess

Stone cold.

I sit in silence.

Tears betray the death of another beating heart .

Distant to my heart ache.

Love is meaningless

accented by meaningful nuances.

Hunger strikes,

I’m alone with the pangs,

Unsure if I want to feel the caress of familiar hands


if I’d rather escape to a nether land.

Conjuring Magicians ready to sell inconspicuous  potions.

Allowing me to flee from my skin.

Threaded by veins

Morose in temperament.

Aloof to the consequences of escaping this reality.

Complicit to the sadness that shrieks in my gut.

Pierced spleen.

It’s not nearly as stomach able as watching the chambers of my heart  in my hands


For the moments tangled in lust.

The desire to be a part of some one else’s sun.

To inhabit their orbit.

Study the stars,

share butterfly kisses,

break free into a wild run.

Freedom is a state of mind.

Release me from the bonds of this exile.

I am the hunted.

I am the hunter with the blade ready to attack,

For this is my vessel.

My only means to move forward.

Cut the strings

for this puppet will not be coerced to dance nor sing-

until I find a simple hymn.

One to attest that another mortal respects I am more

than my sin.

Words hurriedly  apologise to re capture that soul;


In the glimmer of dawn — it cowers fearful

deep within.

Have a piece of my heart.

Have a piece of my words.

Sully not my thoughts to taint my heart with more leacherous poison.

I am breathing-

merely existing to find out how to win.

This  is Life’s charade.

the cards dealt to each hand.

Thanks to Allah for I have both in tact .

I’m able to use my body,

I’m able to use my mind to forgive.


Not give in.

The melancholy of my aura glitters like a Midas collectible  when he touches the man I call my king.

The weight of this gloom

Thunders over me.

Cajoling me.

Repressing my desire to quit killing myself.

Smile authentically — blossom again for it’s not time to hide away under bed sands , muted enough to make me think I’m still not thin-


These words don’t do justice to how I truly feel.

I lose people I love and gain friends who form a circled ring  around me.

I have to reach out and allow a hand to bring me full circle.


I contemplate.

Fighting  for the thud in my  heart

Fighting for another hot flushed blush.

Wondering if I have already died.

Is living not for the likes of my kind?

Am I here to exist glibly in a ruin of poorly constructed pyramids?

I sit here in silence , blowing out smoke rings made  out of my woes.

I’m the queen of Tristeness.

My position is to not give in.

Something about mortality

I may be known as an entity

Fear not for your soul – though you may be left with a serious case of dysentry.

It’s hard to tell if truth is what people want.

Franchement, I think it’s a habit conditioned by the school of the hard knock.

Supposed to mellow with age

wildness happy to forage

My abode is where it chooses to graze.

I’m not a sheep

Nor a bear

I’m a goat.

my thumbs oppose falling into line with most folk.

My every day hustling makes me wonder

if Beetlejuice would called his aside ‘everyday scuttling’..

That’s just some thought exhaled from an after toke

Time to get Kaned with Sarah




I’m craving for a skin

to inhabit.

Youth taught my body lusts after your version of sin.

It Could be a human or another entity

from within.

Perhaps the rambling has walked me in into

a Constable painting

Dear lord – nature is so fascinating.

Take me somewhere closer to my element

prefer to bathe in baskets of oceans.

I startle my self with the ability to form words

Genius ?

Nah – Apple found Eve – awoke her next of kin.

Mothers living with C.O.P.D.

need to breathe -allow the light to stay a little bit dim.

Not a metaphor for simple minded grey matter

Genuine love for those I lose to mortality .

Life is closer to Death than a rattle

snowed under morphine

garbling spit.

Is it painful to choke on your own saliva?

I admit it looks grim.



I’m not a fan of a cadaver.

I’ve applied make up to my dead grandmother

wondered if she was ever alive or if I made her up

Parchments of a book – I supposedly read.

The get-down

is hopeful

The break down is hurtful.

Hold my tongue

the insults pierce my heart

Trample it for being a erratic , thick skinned heretic.

Words fail me – I drift from the moment.

I pray to a god I don’t believe in.

I chant Allah’s name if it heals my mother from Death’s protege reaper.

Naive – I pray for the book thief to recount what it feels like to take a soul from this world.

Life is never easy

Oddly I thrive from suffering.

Maybe not all of us are meant to couple up

Some of us are here to show how to strive as one,

give hope to those who think a partner will make life easier to swallow.

I prefer to spit – mind my manners

Words are my only defense mechanism.

Call me a dreamer

but make sure you top up my grave with grains of she knew about reality .

Authentic chants – rise

Her passion stirred

shreaked from her initial gestation.I have a heart imprinted with carbon loaded memories

I don’t answer to the various names about my failures.

I’m the fallible one – who let a doctor murder my 5 month old son;

Then gave life to a child

She reminds me to breath again

How to end and begin?

Take it from me not all females can multitask.

Bob Marley had the wailers


I have my thoughts , emotions and chaos.


I move

I get through –


close my eyes

wake up to a

another day –

face to face with my never ending pile of litter to get done.

Squwark Streams on a sound byte

Shake it

… shake it baby

It’s prompting




Keys to unsilence the drama



 a  happen ing in my  Soviet Russian impersona

caricature is classic!

Say what is on yo mind…

why don’t ya.


too many interests’

Too little time.


I can’t rap

But I do

got flow

70% water — can’t make this shit up…

Scientists don’t discriminate-

unless this  stream  is already  filled up

by yesterdays


outtuned’Ed by the  original televised  chooners


the premier

First and foremost a clickity clackety mandated muse.

Take  note — one way to scale down the itchy  scratchy post

lude blues.



it gets a bit cameras in your face-

Porno time ?

These nuts ogle for a trace.

– Streaming


Mind seemingly souring to this distaste.

Vinylise –

cos  she has no form

 other than to

intro- apple -genuisly feed

 a draft

 One day worthy for the First Lady to perform ?

It’s not all in my head

Shucks… Big up,Daisy  noted

‘mo brain mo crane’

Fly to the East

Sigh to the West

side with the South

 Hustle with  the  true north.

Whatever get’s  her typing

It’s all a bit willowy

Throw in a hillbilly (?)

if it gets these words making some…



doo wee

doo wop

Guess what?

ain’t apologising for being  an invader of my own space.

R. iveting



ha ha when you cha cha.

It’s dead.

‘it’s gone,Gym’

Giblets strutting down this street

Shaking their tail feathers to  those with the Harmonised feet.




vitro –


chiming  Dutch bells



Her the time is for her inner She-era.

The mice may be chasing  that scatty cat.

She speaks fluent meow-skies — knows a few tings concerning species ruled by the  One Count-Ah! Ah!

Give this a ball a  bat.

If you’ve caught up …

Tell her where  she lost the plot.

hint Where is she at?

doing the wiggle worm  , 8 years  young?

thinking ,

‘ maybe I’m a kid ‘—  kidders  rights to think

‘maybe I am shit hot.’

Child hood is bliss.



Impervious to the  nonsense .

Tolerate her apparent nonchalance.

she winds down




Scratches for more.

grasps the idea of throw your hands in the air 

Hit, publish — these  words

have  no shame, in saying

I don’t care.

Be content to have your own flair.


Sometimes you gotta groove the ghetto to let up some get up and get some get go.


I had fun writing this.

7X7X7 = creative reciprocation

Art,’he said, ‘should offer the viewer the chance of merging with the creator.’

Colours explore emotional Integrity – encourage the oft skittish after thought.

His rainbow palette unlocks the blueprint of his makers true motives.

Reasons for his restless soul ; to convince us to pause; then walk away appraising transformation.

Change in notion pollinates – an opportunity to conceive to full bloom.

Open minds connect to open hearts .Creation over rides desire- Fosters survival.

Existence is impassive – Life becomes a conscious act of fruition.

This writing prompt came from the the seventh sentence on the 7 th page of the 7th book my bookshelf .

The task was to write a poem starting with the sentence from my book and make a seven line poem. Almost did it 😉

the sentence comes from the book ‘Screenplay -the foundations of screenwriting by Syd field

Hi Lo Perspective

*If you want to find out more a bout the inspiration for this piece and raise awareness against all forms of violence and abuse-Trigger pictures of me looking bruised -HEAD OVER HERE

share #It’sok2talkaboutabuse

If not read below.

It’s not Saturday and I’m feeling non-conformist. I guess its kind of my way.

Haven’t done much this weekend — except nursing bruises, swellings, scrapes and downright painful blisters on the mouth.

I’m fuming.

The lows of last week found me beaten to a pulp like a survivor from a war jump.

Didn’t get no gangrene or scurvy-I suppose that’s better than dying on a row boat at Dunkirk – on sheets of ice.

Spinning around not a La Kylie Minogue mode.

I’m over the worst of the beating-

I “secretly” hope these two bastards get their come( t)uppence.

It would be easier to get high and escape from the downside-

Look out my window and the skyline is blocked by housing estates.

Crumbling – it’s always a better view at low tide.

Three a.m. wake up calls for months-every  time.

The creative freaks come out so, I suppose I’m in good company and I will be..

just fine. 😀

Physical strength is the only thing that let me down in this fight against the Alphas.

If guns were legal I think I would use the second amendment to plea —




S.ierra –

Give at least one of the limp cocks a belter.

Only one would be laughing — this bruised weed — always making sure her brood is out of the firing line;

Standing in the shelter.

Ballroom blitz and shammy with my king.

Oh how we will dance!

— cowards should carry around organ donor cards.

On second thoughts, who would want the innings of someone who can’t fight to their  own strength —

Run little boys to your Audi and drunk mommy-

The one you beat up on a regular basis.

You think this is a female annihilation version of the crusades?

I’m low not in mood but my body says — sit down and feel your boo boos

My head says life is for living.

I don’t want to walk out of my house,

like a beast or looking like a victim of domestic violence-

Here comes the freak in an endless hued complexion of distracting tutus

The highs are the times when I hear my child laugh, my husband he bathes me and kisses me tenderly,

loves my sense of spirit when I look bloody unsightly.

In truth I look hideously ghastly—

Green beans and asparagus — home made by La Bonne chef, ma Mere.

I struggle to eat more than ever, but I won’t let two stomped out cans put me off the future horizon I’ve cut out —

The scenic view from here is a — plethora of orgasmic sight sees.

Lows inevitably come with highs.

I’ve accepted a hand

taken that step off the top roof.

The next time I’m up their , I’m going by lift.


To dance and rub shoulders with people channeling the same level — hearing a sub woof.

Clearly better days ahead.

Wasted time on talking pin heads.

Its fine, its mine, Its life.

Yesterdays news is on current recycle mode.

This Mary Poppins has already started making UP fresh linen beds.

A break from the toxicity of incurable idiotism — helps me see far up the winding road.

Perspectives easily imagined —

There goes a heavenly striking stair case.

It may not lead to a conventional heaven .

I’ve already stated my unorthodox ways right at the beginning .

I missed the word that rhyme ending three sentences up,

So, I’ll close SOCs by stating:

I’m recharging my load.

I’ve missed LINDA G’S. SOCs -today’s prompt -High and lows

Good to be back – Take part its fun heres a link!


The yo yo man

Girl bets he weren’t always  so plastic.

Fell deep into a pool of eyes that hinted at a heart full of fantastic .

The world is now a bit colder.

Sun shines even a little bolder .

Don’t know why son  pushed away the  great play to his heart when it only allowed   the   room temperature  to stagnate into a cancerous cadaver

now 30 years older.

Harsh cold facts .

Perspective  bound by smaller minds clouded in a haze of toxic, inner house attacks.

Girl weeps to know two doors down

son and mother abuse each other.

We  were all once innocent.

We all grow up  to the reality of life.

We all make mistakes .

Son hides  behind a pointed finger for a cover

to save face from only himself.

 No-one else

 not even the one he now calls his true blood brother.

Girl weeps

 walls whisper inferior

by the son 

 the pedantic,



passive aggressive

virus carrier.

Girl bets he wasn’t always so plastic.

How many more years is he gonna carry on sucking lemons?

sitting on  a pedestal of empty   cans

spitting out condescending  pips and belittled bits?

A hard,long way to fall


Always taking the moral high  ground.

Amongst  the smudges of smugness

girl saw  a glimmer of  his original fantastic.

Lines crossed – militant gas -lighting to the ones on a lost path.

Characters don’t need to be shouted down at.

raise son’s ego so he can live amongst the Olympian Gods;


Devastation – pride miseducation

can be the  only aftermath.

Girl weeps – reasoned  with her heart – trouble found her passing inappropriate affection.

Misdirected intention.

Hands up.

This time she won’t carry the  burden when she floundered  in son’s manipulation and rejection.

Players play a part.

Games lose all fun when the son only sees  people he can step on

Heighten an evoking,  abstract canvas.

  Draw out a new horizon.

Fickle foe.

A disappointed son

finds he has exhausted all misaligned souls of their energy.

Turns up the abuse and sticks a knife into a beating , drumming heart.

Blood trickles 

overflows the space with shades of reds and blue hues.

Trurh be told.

It’s better to have everything  to lose  and still walk tall with purpose

than to

 live an inebriated lie.

Hoaxing  folk with a demeanour of  nothing to lose.

Eventually,we all have to play our cards.

suffer the consequences of our  enacted desires.

Girl weeps  for the carbon copy spirits

consciously conscious of losing sense of all self .

Grab a hoe

dig for more dirt to throw on  misplaced bodies

 already buried vertically .

son’s light gets  dimmer.

The deities stole their fire back.

Girl  bets he weren’t always so plastic .

Spinning dog – hounding smaller animals with greater  spirits.

Poacher trophy show case

in a house of broken doors,overflowing ashtrays, side way glances.

Specks of dry spit spewed from another night screaming in an accusatory fit.

Close the curtains on the yo yo man – the son that once  shone  vivid, in the coat of arms,  bearing fantastic.