Stubbed my toe, it throbbed for a while.
Seemingly the only thing to bring a tear to my eye.
Superficial pain that dulls in a minute
Colour me weird but I wished I lived in it.
Inside lives a hole that consumes all but produces nothing.
No hurt, no joy, squared styrofoam in a bucket.
Still waters feeling no rain, no creatures life to proclaim.
A desert with no grains.
Still the mind wonders, trying to comprehend
The physiological experience when one feels upset.
In its otherness lies beauty that stays inaccessible.
A lion in a cage, its pride oceans away.
This black abyss all consuming.
Thoughts of feelings pass through me.
Reality in its glory, to be numb.

28/04/13 RBM

Response to Dean Atta & Carol Ann Duffy in the form of poetry

This was an exercise in a class, a response to Dean Atta & Carol Ann Duffy in the form of poetry.

A blade held with rage.

The ignorant can not be saved,

From themselves.

And thus follow suit,

Whilst they try to refute

The truths that they’ve been taught.

The hatred based off of fear was taught.

And yet as in life, unlearned lessons

Are set to repeat.

A young man, future bound

Lifted off of his feet

His soul now gone.

His essence must flow, cause people Don’t learn, how precious life is.

Not one more important than the other

And yet are still to discover the subliminal lies that some are…

Quote, more important based on race

Have the right to displace,

Anyone that proves their agenda wrong.

But still people walk blindly, talk blindly

About individuals as groups, like cattle.

Among the cattle are those that will fight to transpose, the ideology put upon them.

Yet it’s not enough, to rebuff a generation of those, with their intended history locked sullen behind closed doors.

Within factions there is dissent, towards

Those who dare to bare their eclectic souls.

Not follow the line, to death or decline.

Enraging all those who stick to the mold.

Dismay at death, none of the good ones are left.

Infighting, outfighting, twisted bible phrases agendas.

Very little has moved forward, but to believe such is to resusc-itate hell fire, that bubbles under surfaces.

To acknowledge the mass hate, in hopes of debate,

Is to be percieved a fool.

For as long as everyone remains in boxes

It shall all be ‘cool’.

RBM 28/01/13

Lilah Chapter 4 Excerpt

Genre:Dark/ Gothic/Fantasy

Logline: Tragedy strikes removing a close friend from Lilah’s life, unleashing her inner bloodthirsty beast. On her quest for vengeance, she must also battle her demon, before it assumes full control.

Chapter 4 Excerpt

The city darkens. The pace, slowing down from its usual hustle and bustle. Lilah, attempting to clear her head, takes in the cool air brushing against her as she walks.

She watches as people walk by, rush by, talking, listening to music, all engulfed in themselves, their own lives, not taking notice or turning a blind eye to the evils that surround them. Evils that announce themselves in many ways, through the tiniest of acts that people commit in everyday life, opening the door for more seductive evils to fester and make themselves known. Deviant acts, from the old lady being robbed down the street, while people face the floor or change direction. To witnessing a beating and remaining silent.

The same people, who she believed would all proclaim to be good. Citizens, who would claim to hold no prejudices, yet slay people with their fork tongues when they believe themselves to be in safe spaces. Those, who readily point fingers in a crisis. So concerned with self, they will lie and place blame on others.

The people she passes along the grey city pavements make her feel sick to her stomach. They would all hang her for saving them from the evils they love to pretend they hate and then declare her the devil.

“Weasels.” She mutters under her breath.

The street grows quieter the further she walks. Corner shops are closing for the night, streetlights lay claim to the dark that covers the rest of the road. Cars lining the curb become sparse.  Lilah’s walk of frustration has taken her to an area of the city she’s unfamiliar with. The road ahead looks bleak, screaming at her not to continue. She hugs her stomach and stares into the darkness before spinning on her heels. Her thoughts play games with her mood, presenting a pounding in her frontal lobe. She has upset herself. All she wanted was to clear her mind, but her mind was now anything but clear. Heading back to the strip of the street by the shops, she passes an alleyway from which she hears the weakest of squeals, followed by scuffling and deep breathing. It sounds both far and yet near. The thumping picks up in her head. She turns to face her lit path, stretching out her foot to head back from where she came. Her stomach begins to knot. In the silence she hears the scuffling lessen. The rhythmic thumping in her head picks up speed. Anxiety takes hold as her eyes begin to burn. She draws her foot in and turns towards the alleyway. There are no lights to mark the path, a gangway between two buildings. The stone is wet from the day’s earlier abrupt showers. She touches the brick wall to reassure her steps. As the pathway curves, the sound of scuffling grows. She edges her way around the corner. She holds tighter to the wall, trying to control her breathing, right shoulder grazing the moist stone.

Scampering out of the blackness runs a small bulk. A rat. Lilah grabs hold of her mouth as she throws herself back on to the building. A scream is trying to work its way up her throat.  She squeezes her acidic eyes shut and counts backward from twenty. She exhales, “Delightful!” Lilah takes a deep breath. “You can calm down now, just breathe. ” She mutters to herself. Shaking it off, Lilah peels herself off the wall to head back towards the road.

A scream encapsulates her, making her heart rocket. But the scream is not from her. It came from behind her, in the darkness.  Lilah glues her hands back to the wet cold stone as she urges herself to walk further into the darkness.

“Shut that pretty little mouth bitch.” A gruff voice demands, echoing from further inside the alley.

Lilah, on her toes, braces herself before creeping around the corner. Two men are there. One is standing, facing the gritty ground wearing an orange beanie hat. The other is crouching over something, wearing a man bun.  Thin legs are stretched out between the crouching man’s. Lilah’s eyes are on fire, her earthy brown irises slowly being engulfed by her spreading pupils. Her stomach tightens as a swirl of vicious hate attacks her system. Sobbing escapes from in front of the crouching man. His accomplice in the orange hat, kicks one of the legs sprawled along the wet ground.  A bundle of fabric lies across from them.

Lilah steps into view, hands free from the wall, shoulders rolled forward, eyes a blaze with large jade pupils and thick black irises.

The men do not notice, until the standing man turns to face the exit.

“What is this?” Orange Beanie Man says, “Want to join little girl?”

The crouching man rises, eyebrows furrowed one hand balled into a fist. Lilah’s gums bleed as they tear, allowing for the sheath of teeth to cage over her human pearly whites. Her fingers cry while the claws pierce their way out of her cuticles and over her fingernails. She looks at her hands, then to the men in front of her.

“What the hell is this?” Man Bun snickers.

“Halloween is over sweetheart.” Orange Beanie Man retorts.

Lilah slowly walks forwards. The men mirror her movements, spreading out as far as the pathway will allow. They laugh looking at the young woman boldly walking towards them. She walks up to the man with the bun, who’s standing guard in front of his female prey on the ground. He grabs at her, drawing her in with both arms. His fists wrapped up in her top, driving her back towards the wall. The man wearing the beanie walks around to stand behind her. She stares into Man Bun’s eyes and relinquishes a smile, revealing her sharp spindly ivory teeth. His eyes widen. Using his shock to her advantage she wraps her hands around his fists, before plunging her claws into his skin. Sinking them deeper and deeper in the tissue. The man screams. His friend grabs Lilah by the hair and yanks her back tearing out some of his accomplice’s flesh. The man screams again as rage consumes his face, blood trickling from all ten wounds on to the gravelly ground.

Orange Beanie Man, wraps an arm around Lilah herding her away from his friend and the woman on the ground, dragging her towards the neck of the alleyway. He attempts to choke her. Her hands fly up and pierce into his neck before prying herself free. The man behind her shouts in pain, stumbling backwards, hands erratically clasping at his throat.

Enraged, his friend charges at her.

From the depths of her stomach she musters up power. Enough to launch the charging man into the far curving wall, with an earth shattering screech. The impact shakes the surrounding buildings. Lights fly on behind vibrating windows above. Man Bun crumbles to the ground in a heap. Lilah turns to face the man cowering behind her, grasping at his bleeding neck.

“Who do you work for?” She says in a sickly sweet voice.

“No, n-n-no.” The horrified man stutters before turning to run.

Lilah digs her claws into the building, all teeth bared as she propels herself forward. Catching the man in an instant. She lands on his back, plunging her claws into his ribs forcing the screaming man to the ground. Before he can move she grabs his head and smashes it into the gravel.

Everything is still. A pool of blood swells around Orange Beanie’s head.

She wipes her blood stained fingers onto the man’s jacket, teeth still bared. Humorous, all is humorous to her. She kicks the man’s legs apart before playing hopscotch with them, smiling to herself. A groan echoes from down the path. Her eyebrows furrow as she goes to inspect this new noise. The woman is there, leant against the wall, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Lilah crouches down to inspect her. Her jade eyes show no sorrow for the woman.

“Pathetic.” She mumbles.

Grabbing the woman by the arm, she drags her past the bodies of her attackers to the neck of the alleyway. There she leaves her, making her way back into the lit street.

“We all have our darkness! It’s how you choose to deal with that darkness that makes you.” – HKZ

End of excerpt.

Hookz the Writer

Childhood Monsters

Have you even woken from a dream left scared and seeking comfort from a creature long lost?

I have.

I found myself scrambling to awake from a dream that haunted me many years ago

I stand at a door that isnt my door, a house that isn’t my house and yet I feel like im home.

Behind the door lingers a shadow,  a shadow I know but don’t want to believe.

Shaking, heart racing the door is opened to that smirking face and black and pink horns.

Her voice is blood curdling, her eyes insight fear.

She enters as if she belongs here.

The house is dark,  in the room she chooses to sit , a front room…

That’s not mine and yet is.

On a sofa,  deep red.

The horns are hidden, in its place is flowing black hair.

She wants something from me, something I’m not willing to give.

All the fear resides in my throat in my nerves.

She seems bigger than life, with no light to bathe in.

No quilt is thick enough to hide me from the sin that has crept its way in…

To my mind.

The demon more threatening trying to appear human, but no quite succeeding.

In a tower a body lies, I who am me but different, crouches above it.

She walks in, intimidating malicious and happy.

Awake she still marks my mind, looming darkness in my frontal lobe.

Heavy she stalks my thoughts as she did the dark corners of my room by my door.

When i was young, a melancholy being, a harbinger of pain.

Come to bother me once again.



Cafe de Paris London posted review

Now for something a little different. I recently had a very uninspiring experience with one of London’s clubs Cafe de Paris. I would love to believe that we as a society has made a lot of progress when it comes to race relations, yet it is abundantly clear we still have a way to go when establishments such as Cafe de Paris feel they can behave in a blatantly discriminatory manner. Please find a review I’ve posted on a few sights with regards to this situation below.

The club itself is nice, i’d been a few times previously and so decided to go for my birthday and book a table, now there was a little something that bothered me, some of the staff were rude but that can somewhat be ignored. However that wasn’t my main issue so I wrote to the Manager Ellis for an explanation…till this day I’ve had none so I thought I’d share my experience with others.
I sent Ellis the following email: 
Dear Ellis 
I had booked one of the tables on the mezzanine this past Saturday 21/04/12 and had paying guests come to the club. Looking on the website I couldn’t help but notice the pictures of the predominantly white crowd in the gallery and nothing else. 
My table was quite literally next to the host from The only way is Essex as well as another table of white customer who might I add also get well represented. 
Firstly I was wondering why so very few pictures were taken of my table in comparison to the surrounding crowd? With that said as there were very few pictures taken of my table I would like to know where they are since the young lady who took the pictures stated they would appear on the website? As not a single one appears on the website. Even on the dance floor you show no diversity, even though I witnessed plenty. I can’t help but wonder why that was? As its not an accurate representation of your clientele. 
I would really appreciate a response within the next two weeks. 
Now please understand whilst they had a guest host I’d expect her pictures to be everywhere, but it did concern me however that, they purposefully seem to be hiding the full essence of the crowds the club attracts which is disappointing and in my opinion and doesn’t show the club or management in a savoury light. The tables on the mezzanine are not cheap either so I found it quite distasteful that the club was happy enough to take my money but not represent people that look like myself or otherwise (as my group was mixed) in the gallery on the site. Perhaps this is just something to consider when looking for a club to attend.
What is also apparent is that the disregards by the clubs manager regarding the matter, clearly he believes that his clubs undercover racism being brought to his attention is nothing to take notice of as he ignored the email, he also ignored the reminder sent a week after. When will this type of behaviour change? When it’s confronted? When it’s exposed? Never? As the club is prone to having celebrity guests  I had to wonder had I my group not of been regular citizens would the view on presenting us as clientele be different? Celebrities draw attention after all right? Is it then that maybe my group and other groups not represented in the gallery may shock horror encourage in the clubs view a larger assortment to the establishment? Note the crowd generally has, whenever I’ve been, been an array of beautiful people and races enjoying themselves together. So is by the gallery only showcasing a certain group trying to discourage other groups from attending in an attempt to adhere to their marginalised idea of being elite? 
I really don’t know, but whatever the excuse, it isn’t on.


Have you ever felt if you’ve lost a sense of yourself? Like your waiting for the real you to come floating back…but it seems to be never coming..lost in a sort of abyss??..I have and it isn’t fun..So i guess I felt like writing a little poem about the coming to stages, as we all at some stage manage to dig ourselves out from under these gloomy periods which I imagine happen to most at one time or another.


It is kinda of like stupid o’clock right now so, so please forgive any mistakes made, I’m sure they will be worked out when I’m more lucid. :))






More liberated than I’ve ever been 

Connected more now its a beautiful thing
To self, earthy-er like the ether intended
Better equipped to see full truths
Strengthened by leaving certain ties behind.
Two strand twists one tightly wound the other slack
Billowing are the strands of realisation.
Moving forward is its own prestigious reward
Gone is the sinking quilt of despair, desperation, solitude
The drowning in fortress in an endless ocean
Surfaced is the belief that progress is made
Healthier a transition, a period, while mute toxins do fade.
Malachites reflextion has karma unfold
Days to come blooming, adventures fourfold.


One and only

One and only

Hollow is the world with this being amiss
Most important warrior,silent and strong
Wisdom not lost but appreciated more.
Ethereal creature presence still felt.
Genes attempting to do you well.
Guidance and spirit never taught to judge.
Rhythmic beats were your hearts impulse
Disease ate it through, leaving only a shell
Your strength shone though, toughest time,brave faced.
With a smile your heart protected those who saw
A pillar so sweet, always giving never to ignore
Everyone else came first, not many can say the same
Door ,windows and eyes locked floods back searing pain.
Struggle over no one and nothing can replace
A beginning so rich, friend, guardian, protector
My one and only.



A man falls to the ground, can’t speak no sound,

Bound to the earth, heart palpatations out of sync.

Passersby flutter eyelids in directions to not see.

This soul on the floor, in a position to not plead.

Crass thoughts are perceived, their organs don’t bleed

Compassion from most lacking, angels are a few.

Sparkle like a ray of light, diamonds have come too.

Through the fog, the shine so bright a lift in temperament does see.

Their eyes sorrowful, carrying the burden of a world.

Made unfeeling, untouching ominously dead.

The angels beauty befalls the fallen, desire just to help,

Restoring faith in some of those not able to assist themselves.



Inspired by a programme I watched yesterday. It’s crazy how much people just don’t care about others and yet know that if it was them in situations being invisible at a time of need would be crushing and incomprehendable. Bless the truly well meaning, good people all over the world. It would seem they are in this consumer driven world few and far between. Have an amazing week people. Xoxo


The minds inventiveness all hails from some truths
Things seen, things felt, experienced, observed
With twists and manipulation editing makes a new
A creation so different, a thought altering muse.
To see it is to own with meaningful strokes
Be it writing or drawing beauty disperse
To honour ones mind is to set free ones heart.
A plethora of opportunity behind your eyes does lurk
Paint the earth with your colours and set your speech free
A part of you legacy your art forever will be.