Open letter to Eric Clapton

Dear Eric Clapton,

I write this as an open letter to you in reference to your apology for ‘semi-racist’ comments in the 70’s.

I was born in 1976, the year that you made your speech about how good white British folk should vote for Enoch Powell cos you didn’t want Britain to become a ‘black colony’ and how you wanted the ‘coons’ and ‘bastard wogs’ to go back to their own countries. I was born to two immigrant parents, one from the West Indies another from India. I grew up in an environment that was not only racially tense but also dangerous. Cos people like you, who held positions of power – a power that came from your birth right of being white more than your talent – used that power to disseminate racist ideologies… No, Powell and you and all the other’s who believed that Britain should remain white and that People of Colour were somehow lesser than you and a stain on your social fabric did not get your way, but the legacy that you have all left is something we still see around us today and in fact has had a massive resurgence of late.

YOU and many other white musicians used black musicians and black music to build an empire. You literally stole that music, put a white stamp on it and made yourself rich and powerful. I don’t care that you fetishised a black woman and called her your girlfriend. I don’t care that there were black people in your social circle you called friends. I don’t care that you were drunk, off your face and that it was 40 odd years ago. Saying the word ‘sorry’ does not quite cut it.

Here is what i, as a woman of colour who has had to endure not only out and out racism throughout her life but also the gentle, slow, drip drip affect of othering that comes from the ‘us and them’ rhetoric that what you and others like you have said, here is what i think is fitting for a man in your privileged position – if sorry is anything more than a cheap PR trick from an old man who has had his cake now and can spare some crumbs – to do.

1. In the name of transparency release the video footage of that speech from 1976… if you are unclear what speech i am referring to, it is the one in which you state this;

“I don’t want you here, in the room or in my country,” Clapton declared. “Listen to me, man! I think we should vote for Enoch Powell. Enoch’s our man. I think Enoch’s right, I think we should send them all back. Stop Britain from becoming a black colony. Get the foreigners out. Get the wogs out. Get the coons out. Keep Britain white. I used to be into dope, now I’m into racism. It’s much heavier, man. Fucking wogs, man. Fucking Saudis taking over London. Bastard wogs. Britain is becoming overcrowded and Enoch will stop it and send them all back. The black wogs and coons and Arabs and fucking Jamaicans and fucking… don’t belong here, we don’t want them here. This is England, this is a white country, we don’t want any black wogs and coons living here. We need to make clear to them they are not welcome. England is for white people, man. We are a white country. I don’t want fucking wogs living next to me with their standards. This is Great Britain, a white country. What is happening to us, for fuck’s sake?”

2. Using your sizable wealth and power, actually DO something to make amends… fund organisations that aim to promote black creatives or fight for the rights of people of colour in the UK like BLMUK.

3. Make yourself seen and heard as an advocate for BME issues. Speak out and urge others in your position to do the same.

4. Read up on ideas around white privilege
and structural racism and be open about how YOU have benefitted from these things.

One last and perhaps insignificant point but i loved your song Layla as a teenager… it was almost my song of choice to lose my virginity to. You were a talented man in your own way but i hope you understand that the platform you were given was based upon doors being closed to others by virtue of their ethnicity and sometimes gender. That makes it doubly abhorrent that you have been part of the fabric of racism in my country. I hope you are suitably ashamed.

Thank you for your time


A new leaf (Spring)

This is a dance interpretation of the song playing in the background (Diminutive by Tin Hat Trio)… A new leaf (Spring) is my poetic/literary interpretation…img_5746

And this nostalgia
(often set to break me)
Seems loose at my edges
Frayed n weak at the seams…
This previously intangible facet
(of mine heart)
Is gaseous beneath me so complete.

The rain
The rain
The rain

Comes in so many forms
(these days)
Takes me by surprise
As i release my inner pause
Which is gaseous beneath this me…
No longer incomplete.

I still stand small beneath
The stars
And the sun
And the moon…and

The rain
Yet now i know my placing
As i move with (unseen) grace
In sun, wind and (the) rain

Which beats down and showers me
With perspective
No longer Ms Elective
I feel it all
And consumed i empowered

The rain
The rain
The rain

Turning gaseous beneath this weight
Poetry in motion complete.

À rebours


Last night i had a dream
That all previous head/heart fux
Had gone unseen
A bit like Eternal Sunshine
Although less spotless
Just a bit more clean.

Maybe somewhere deep deep deep
I’m a wishing i didn’t have to feel
The rise and swell and tumult
As i work hard for focus to keep
Hold one atom fast –
Setting the rest free.

Last night i dreamt of the typa beauty
That doesn’t present with a clause
That which doesn’t require
My angst ridden inner pause
À rebours
(To not take this shit neat)
But in a world pock marked
With distress
Dreams of Eternal Sunshine
Is where I’m most free…



I am a…
Sexual terrorist
Non-white unapologist
Agnostic nihilist
Working classed feminist

I am bored fuckless of the…
White middle classed liberalists
The spoon fed anarchists
The self indulgent manarchist
The intellectuals, the theorists

I love you…
Working classed activists
Single mothers, heroines
Those marginalised, who still persist
Despite the climate they live amidst

Fuck you…
Right wing political careerists
Polite motherfuckers – scared to show they are bigoted
The heartless, the nimby’s the refuse to acknowledge their privilge ists
You are the reasons that we statistics are in this shit
Wake up and smell the coffee bitches
An uprising is imminent…

Whose revolution is this anyway?




My liberation was not built
As a play pen
For your dreams
Don’t give you access to my pleasures
Ad hoc and duty free
Do not think my heart and mind
Are not important, secondary
No, remember this sweet nothing
My liberation’s not for thee

I wear my heart and my sex

Draped upon my sleeve
Yet some of yall seem to think
That i am brash and too fiesty
Until you want it for yourself
In whatever ways you feel
Touch it feel it hold it own it
But only momentarily
Cos deep down
Where truth resides
I think that what this really means
Is that i am but a dolly
With a button and a key
No, remember this sweet nothing
My liberation ain’t for thee

Wanna fetishise my freedoms
Lick the flesh of fantasy
Eroticise – the vessel
That you see
You see that lionness, sat regal
Yet without the claws n teeth
You see that goddess, in me able
Yet compliant with your needs
But you failed to see the woman
To respect me
Didn’t bother reading the book love
Don’t get to watch it on TV

No, my liberation was not built sweet love
For he or thee….

109 – Mt


Slowly, gently, quietly, less
Are things with which i struggle

My half-life stands at 7.6
Ms One Speed at the double

Easy, calm down
Ms Little Corvette
You’re driving way too fast

It’s not a race
So slow down your haste
Sometimes, it’s better to be Last…

Sous la langue (Of Goddesses and lovers)


Sous la languE

Capillary action
Sous la Langue
Fatal retractIon
As I lead thee aloNg
Dancing half drUnk
To my inner drum

Yet it is YOU
Detaching my retina
With a spoon and your finger
Letting my love burn
Like hot ice
As I linGer
WE know I’d fuck you first
Tis I, the auditioNer
So hold me fasT
Hold me tiGht
Mr ‘action grip practitiOner
Doused in salty cyprin
De la langue to your fingers
Not sure where you’ve beEn
Or where I’m coming from
CloSe your eyeS
Take my hand
Under covEr
SouS la langue




Dancing out of beat

With thE music

Can’t help but Feel

That thIs is what we always were

Our Broken records

Playing loud, lest we foRget

Self-fulfIlling prophecies

So very hard unLearned.

Wanted to breathe new Life

Into your heArt sweet nothing

Take you far beyond the realms of your estate

But hOrses only drink when thirst it does dictate, love

Your Reticence it leaves a sadness in it’s wake…

Pain(t)ing by numb(ers)ness


On the tips of silken whiskers
Upon the shadows of our hearts
Crawls a low and tender whisper
Hurling pain lest we depart

From the light that hangs so brightly
Eery, stealing life from we
Every step, it feels so kitely
Love could kill or
Set us free

Even though we cannot listen
Aural notes all disappeared
Up above the pain is searing
Taking hold of all we hear, but
If we change our line of vision
Focus sights until its clear
Underneath the hurt, hope glistens
Love resplendent through the tears…



Rape. Rape. Rape. Rape. Rape.
Such a dirty word
Rape, raped, rapist, the rapist (rapes).
It’s taboo status, so absurd
Raping, the rapist, the-rapist, rapes’.
How 4 letters can so unnerve
Rape/rape/rape/rape. RAPED.
Ergo the victims, exist unheard.

Rape. rApe. raPe. rapE. rape.
Is it really any wonder?
Rape, raped, rapist, the rapist (rapes).
So few victims seek out justice
Raping, the rapist, the-rapist, rapes’.
Surrounded by the low tender thunder
Rape/rape/rape/rape. RAPED!
Of slut shaming, victim blaming culture.
Rape. Rape. Rape. Rape. Raped;
Ladies, be demure and drink responsibly
Raped. Raped. Raped. Raped. Raped.
‘Non consensual sex’ is born of culpability.