“in the car park a young father whispers weed smoke about how his life feels, like that burnt-out car that never moves, the one with the shattered windows leaving diamond tears in the asphalt.” SummerBeing BlackBrixtonAshes To Fire Book:A Portable Paradise Source: A Portable Paradise
“How is it I'm begging you for housing, when you burnt my building down? You all ain't even playing fake-nice, like those other murderers. You are all cut-eye and snarls, all straight jargon, and nothing but the jargon.” MurderHousingHate CrimesRacism In BritainRacial ViolenceOvert RacismRacism In CanadaCitizen Ii Book:A Portable Paradise Source: A Portable Paradise
“You fooled us. Render your work, not your lives. This seems like the newest answer to an old question. Cheap muscle and blood to build you an Empire- that we can't stay in. Gran's gone missing from Saturday morning. Brixton Market? No one is frowning at the quality of the yams, or asking how the snapper's eye so cloudy. There'll be no Saturday soup tonight.” BritainEmpireDeportationImmigration ExperienceRacism In BritainBrixtonEnoch PowellRacism In CanadaCitizen IWindrush Book:A Portable Paradise Source: A Portable Paradise
“You’re running away from your calling. Your gift for words is meant for church and not for that skeptical head of yours.” PoetryReligionChurchPoemCallingWordsSkepticismPreaching Author:Roger Robinson
“But all my life I’d remain a questioning man, choosing debate over faith, sparring with mystery, claiming logic over belief. But in the funeral parlor, the grief of seeing the shell of my mother’s body bereft of spirit brought death to my inner cynic, with her words, my god, my god, being stuck in my throat as I stood there, her broken son, preaching.” DeathPoetryReligionBeliefLossGriefPoemMourningSkepticismPreaching Author:Roger Robinson