I am just a story teller….walking with jazz to reconnect with her beginnings. To her first love. I fell in love with a genre that has evolved out of the sorrows of slavery and predated the times of slave ships on the African plains. The roots are deeper than generations I count on my fingers and solid in its ability to connect symphonies with the spirit. She tells a story without words and she is understood.
Continue reading “Something New…”Category: Coffee
River flow….
Some seasons have left me dry with no time for myself or others but in them I’ve learnt the importance of being alone in time with the King…it’s refreshing. The Living Water washing me daily until I am made over.
Familiarity…
The couple sitting opposite were cold in their familiarity. He sat beside her, gazing at his ink stained paper through his Continue reading “Familiarity…”
My funny valentine….
Valentines Day has always appeared just as any other, and this year, it wasn’t any different. Why does everyone get so worked up about it? I hear it’s like Christmas for some folks. Whilst I am here eating my budget pizza and watching an out of season series there’s somebody out there maxing out their credit card for the sake of cupid and his hazardous arrow…can we have a moment of silence please. Continue reading “My funny valentine….”
Light…
The day the devil forgot his armour he met a warrior,
She was clothed in righteousness and cleansed by the blood of the lamb
She bore the whole armour, helmet, sword, breastplate, belt, sandals
The demon appeared on a train, eyes pierced and transfixed on her
He tried to overthrow her stand
He presented his cards of fortune and deceit,
She spoke words that brought life and praised the Almighty Father, Continue reading “Light…”
The drunk evangelist…
On the central line on the way home from Westfield shopping centre I encountered a man clutching a can of Stella Artois preaching about Jesus. It wasn’t how he had almost stumbled and lost his balance on the way to his seat which was next to mine (ironically I was praying he wouldn’t sit there). It wasn’t the fist bump he shared with the man sitting opposite or my unwillingness to engage with a man my father would’ve told me to cross the road and avoid. Continue reading “The drunk evangelist…”
