Selected poems will be published in an anthology and an e-book. Writers of all selected entries will receive two free copies of the book.

One poem will be chosen as the overall winner and its author will be able to eat free at one of Manchester’s top eateries, or receive a prize of £75.

DEADLINE FOR SUBMISSIONS: 31 MAY 2012

How to submit and conditions of entry here

The 6th National Black Writers and Publishers conference: an informative and thought provoking day drawing on published writers and industry professionals from the UK’s most innovatory publishers and agents.

Get an in-depth look at how key black and Asian writers got publishing deals, and how major spoken word artists developed their careers. The day’s programme includes panels, Q&A and informal ‘salon’ sessions looking at social media and writers, and Reading Habits of Writers, as well as lots of opportunities to network.

Followed by an evening’s entertainment featuring the Speakeasy band, Young Authors and Poets and special guest Kei Miller.

Find us on facebook here

Venue:

Zion Arts Centre
335 Stretford Road
Hulme
Manchester
M15 5ZA

The programme for the day is as follows:

11-12pm
Spoken Word: What Next? The Way Forward
Poetry Futures

12pm-1pm
The Book is Dead. Long Live The E-Book
Ebooks and social media

1pm – 2pm
Salon Session
Salon Host: Segun Lee French

2pm-3pm
Writing For Children & Diversity: Why Are So Few BME Writers Published In This Genre?

3pm -4pm:
How To Get Your Novel Published

4pm-5pm
Salon session
Salon Host: Jennifer Makumbi

Evening Show begins 7.30pm

Tickets available here, prices as follows:

Standard : Conference only £20 / Conference + evening event £25
Concession (unwaged/student) : Conference only £10 / Conference + evening event £15

Standard : Evening only £10
Concession (unwaged/student) : Evening only £5

For more information contact conf@cultureword.org.uk

Red blue green. Black. Red blue green. Black. Red blue green. Black. White flecks of light gliding like perfectly choreographed snow. His arms around her. Yvonne leaning over her shoulder, pulling her close, singing yelling, “Feel so real! I feel so real!” She yelling back, “And I owe it all to youuuuuuuuuuuu!”. Mouths open like empty fish bowls. The ceiling spinning, a pleasure dome, dripping condensation. The elastic bass tight against the beat. Synth chords floating on clouds of spliffed up joy. Heads of glossy wet curls bouncing front and back to the right and left. Maybe she’d just had too much spliff, but she could swear every head was bobbing in perfect time, even the White guys.

Oh yeah, and this guy, Byron, rubbing up against her, or trying to at least. Not easy, when the riddim snapped so funky like. He was alright though. Not pushy like most yardman. Cute eyes, what she could see of them in the flashing lights. He knew how to lay off too, when she and Yve needed to do their diva thang. Just moved back and shuffled his lickle two step.

“I feel so real! I feel so real!”

Riding higher on bubbles. Yvonne like a flamingo mirror, both their necks shimmying in unison. The ventilator’s sudden blast, cool perspiration. Mouths like baby birds singing hungry words. The lights above spinning faster now. And there, the trumpet defying the gravity of gated snares. The synth skipping like a dragon fly. Steve Arrington’s high note elevating her heart, evaporating her pain. The riddim, always, the riddim. Red blue green.

Black. The mirror ball’s blessing.

***************

He was standing at the bar with his back to her. The smoke was stinging her eyes now, but she knew it was him. She pushed her way through the crowd, oblivious to the cusses, sucked teeth and deadly cut-eyes she left in her wake. As she reached for his shoulder, he passed a glass of black liquid to a blonde with blood red lips and skin like porridge.

“Daddy? What you doing here? I thought you were…” Charlene’s voice trailed off as he turned and she saw Byron’s face in the yellow barlight.

“Who’s this?”, the blonde spat, digging her nails into his forearm. Gazing into Charlene’s eyes, Byron shrugged off her talons.

“You got your drink, innit?”. He glanced down at the blonde, “So, go drink it somewhere!”

As the blonde flounced off, Charlene backed away, stammering, “Sorry, thought you were… someone else.” Wasn’t just that he was tall. He even smiled like Daddy.

“No problem, sweetness. You save me from de vampire kiss. Wait! You look like you need a drink.”

“No, I’d better get back to my friend.”

“You mean the one behind you?”

Charlene turned. Yvonne grinned past her at Byron.

“You gonna introduce me, then?”

The Commonword Children’s Diversity Writing Prize welcomes submissions from unpublished children’s authors whose fiction embraces ethnic diversity either through their own ethnicity and culture and/or in their writing. The winner of the prize will receive a £500 cash prize, professional mentoring and £100 worth of Puffin books of the winner’s choice.

The closing date for entries is: 29 February 2012.

To enter, please read the terms and conditions here or you can download the pdf here.

A Night At The Reno

I first visited the Reno nightclub when I was all of thirteen years old. A little young to be going to a club you would say, but the Reno was like no other club I’ve been to, then or now.

I was Moss Side born but not bred, having left the area a little under a month after I was born. My mother was white, from Manchester, and my father black from Sierra Leone. After they divorced I was raised by the white side of the family, living in various areas of Manchester which were then all predominantly white.

In those days my brother and I were called half-castes, the term being ‘legally used’ to explain mixed race people. I knew next to nothing about being black. Most of the schools I went to were all white, and I had no black relatives in England other than my father. My last comprehensive school was entirely white, me being the only non-white there.

However, as I got older I would visit Moss Side regularly because Manchester City’s ground was situated there. Usually I’d go with friends who were white, and whereas they felt at odds in the area I didn’t. My having an afro hairstyle lead to me going back there to a local barbers. I’d travel almost twenty miles on a two pence bus ticket, then pay fifty pence for the haircut.

In my early teens I ended up playing for a local football team in Moss Side. It felt odd having team mates who were all black compared to the teams at home. At first they called me Two-Tone, a mix of my name and my parentage, but that soon stopped.

I spent a lot of time in The Moss at that time; I felt comfortable there compared to home. At the time I was living on the outskirts of Manchester, which whilst it was exactly rural had hills and the countryside on one ‘side’ and built up areas on the other. It was the 70s, a time of the National Front, which was an issue in places like Derbyshire, Lancashire and Yorkshire, and as I lived in close proximity to all three I felt it most.

At home it was all niceness and pie during the day but at night-time you’d get abuse from drinkers and passing vehicles. It was not quite the sundown towns of America in the years of racial segregation but I continually had to be alert once it went dark. Moss Side was the only place I felt safe after dark as a teenager.

***

The Reno was different. I wasn’t scared as I was with my black football mates, who were local lads. At the time the place had the feel of not being legal, it felt run down, and the mix of people there was eye-opening! If I recall correctly it cost me about a pound to get in – put it this way, I put my one pound note in and got no change!

Once inside it felt tight, there were bodies everywhere; men, women, lads and girls; and it was all mixed – black, white, a few Orientals, even Asians. We got there about 2 a.m. and it smelled of sweat, smoke, perfume and aftershave. The pungent sweet sickly smell of cannabis was everywhere – it wasn’t new to me but to have so much in one place was different, it was as if that was oxygen!

We thought we were dressed cool in our Levi cords and Slazenger jumpers , but inside I was blown away with what I saw. People were dressed up, and down; men in suits of all colours, designs and materials; women in dresses and skirts. There were hat galore, especially on the older men, and the women all had various hairstyles. To be honest it felt like a cross between Saturday Night Fever and Shaft because of the shirts, shiny, opened to show off medallions, and the leather coats, long and short. To me, I’d only ever seen stuff like it at the pictures or on TV. Everyone looked so cool, while one or two looked like pimps off Starsky and Hutch.

And the music was so loud it was as if you had to shout to be heard, and it was all black sounds- – from disco to reggae, and soul to early hip hop. It wasn’t what we listened to at home, nor was it in the charts as such. The thing is everyone was moving to the music, either vigorously or just rocking, and most were drinking at the same time. I didn’t drink at the time, nor smoke, but trust me, it felt as if you were doing both as the fumes seemed to be everywhere. I felt so light headed it was unreal, like I was riding a wave of sorts. The whole experience, that first time was surreal. I was in another world, literally. It wasn’t all love ‘n’ peace but it had a stressless atmosphere. You were aware of who was dealing, or who was ‘dangerous’, so you avoided them; and, for me at least, it felt as if I’d only be in any trouble if I went looking for it – which at the time was a novelty as it usually found me!

After leaving at about 6 a.m. I recall hitting the street feeling as if I’d visited another world totally. In time I’d only go about four or five more times but it still had the same effect and appeal to me. I could never persuade my mates from home to go though, they had that fear of Moss Side that most outsiders had if they weren’t black.

I felt lucky because although I was raised mainly in a white community I was able to cross what was at that time a sort of social and cultural divide, kind of getting the best out of both worlds.

Antoney G

Best Club

It was probably the best club ever -
Let’s not forget the Hacienda,
I’m a B-boy for life, won’t be no other,
I would break-dance on the floor and attract Madonna,
The early eighties, those were the years
When I would spin on my head,
Do a backspin, then a windmill and literally cause an atmosphere,
The bouncer would say, “Easy Mike,
Ya takin’ up de dance floor
Doin all that spinnin and flippin,”
I’d say “Ya betta just chill, cos I’m still trippin!”
Then at two in the morning at the end of the night
It was straight to the Reno,
We be skankin to pure rub-a-dub,
Hulme and Moss Side came alive,
It’s five in the morning and we still there givin it the jive
“Where’s the shebeens? Where’s the blues?”
The police – ‘dutty babylon’ – wanted clues,
It’s 6.30 in the morning, mi ‘ead’s still spinnin around,
Can’t believe I was only 15 and
My top night, it only cost me £5.

Mike M

Alien Samaritan

Excuse me, but I’m new here,
I feel like an innocent in this land…
Could you help me, lead me,
Possibly guide me with a knowing hand?

It seems like I’m walking through a fog,
A man blinded, with no use for sight…
I’m afraid to step one foot forward,
Confused, do I go left or to the right?

You seem to know your way around,
So firm of step and very self-assured…
If I’m right then you know the answers,
So surely, friend, you’ve been here before?

I promise I will not be a burden,
No monkey resting upon your back…
Just don’t leave me here a-wandering,
I’ve come this far and your help is all I ask.

Everyone so far has closed their curtains,
And I’ve no light to guide me home.
You’re the first person that I’ve met
Who’s stopped to listen on this strange, lonely road.

Antoney G

Dad?

Didn’t meet my Dad until I was fifteen,
He went out for a paper…
An’ didn’t come back!
Where did he go;
Why didn’t he come home;
Was it my fault, didn’t he love me?
That’s all I asked.

He came out of Africa,
Right after a war,
Settling in England, to find love,
Build a life.
Yet what he had, it wasn’t enough.
He became a bigamist,
With numbers two and three ‘wife’.

The price of which?
Well, I got cast aside, as did my mum,
Just one more broken home with no father in sight;
It was hard yet we made it,
We battled through,
With me swearing if I met him we’d fight.

That day finally came,
But I had troubles of my own,
Didn’t feel love,
Nor like fighting, all my anger was gone.
We talked like strangers,
Or adults, if you like, then I walked away,
At least he didn’t call me his favourite son.

Antoney G

Sundown Town

Being raised in a kind
Of sundown town,
Where blacks weren’t welcome
As night came around;
By day, being half-caste,
I was kinda ‘alright’,
The locals only became bigots
With the fading of the light.

It wasn’t all that hot,
No rural Mississippi,
Yet old habits die hard
In their place, their country.
People you knew,
Polite an’ decent by day,
They just burnt deep inside,
The bigotry kept at bay.

Drink played its part,
The courage it gave;
Though it was only a factor
In the way they behaved.
Being mixed-race back then
Only brought cursory glances,
In the sun they let it be;
It was only as dusk fell
That they thought with white hoods…
Of long burning crosses,
Of black fruit dangling from trees.

Vicious abuse, regular foot-chases,
Sometimes a lot more,
It kept you alert, on your toes,
Seeking out well-lit places.
Aye, as the sun went down slowly
In that quaintly quiet northern town…
You soon knew you were different,
Whatever shade of brown.

Antoney G

Complex Society

Hey there, World, don’t be afraid,
I’s the same as you ‘cept I’m a Moss Side boy.
The only gun I’ve ever seen is plastic,
Used for games, we called it a toy.

Hey there, Neighbour, don’t look so alarmed,
I’m not a danger just ‘cos I’ve got locks…
Don’t be judgemental, just give me a chance,
It’s just a different cover on the front of my book!

Hey there, Society, go take a look at yourself,
You need to relax, ‘n’ show a lil’ faith;
Get rid of the complex, stop the persecution…
Learn to see we’ve a right to this place.

Hey there, Decision Makers, you should be aware,
We’ve escaped the ghetto, we’ve crossed over the tracks…
We’re now a part of the fabric of this area;
You policies are old, relics, things of the past.

Antoney G

A Slice

In a place where the sheep slept
And the dark spirally lanes crept,
There we kept
A generation’s sacred secret.
An unassuming place
Which the bass graced
Sharp and frequent
A loose waist or two -
Unconventional
In its panache.
Between the bedroom and the entrance
Brash outfits which lacked
Material, surely wrapped
In coats soon discarded,
With responsibility and care
The charged dance floor the target,
Feel electric in the air,
Expectant, heated glares
Just steps, no speech in there
A section of heaven
In dis living nightmare.

Dale E

Refund

I count the dues I’ve paid
But the return is non-existent
I turn and look at his then
To learn it’s all inconsistent

He whose dues’ roots
Lay astute and pure
Lead and stem to gifts galore
A floral life which causes awe

I paid my dues
Through suffering and flack
An attack of a past
My parents had

I paid my dues
While he just laughed
I’ve thought it through
Now I want them back

Dale E

Unidentifiable Human Race

I knew I was right
When I said there were aliens
But I’m not trying to stay
Seems their atmosphere is failing them
Some are orange, some are pale and then
There’s brown and black
Have they got a name for them?
Men are oh so strange
Some live in close range
But in another place
They live out of weapons’ range
And I say I come in peace
Fools try abducting me
With their primitive devices
That’s an insult to me
And how am I going to eat?
I don’t like any sandwiches
And how am I going to speak
When they use so many languages?
But with no rocket fuel
And no human cash
I’m stuck in MacDonald’s
Flipping burgers in the back.

Dale E

The Dervish Inn

In this battered caravanserai whose
doorways alternate night and day.
How seeker after seeker with his desires,
abides his hour or two and goes away.

Mint tea and delicious sweets,
served on silver trays.
We talk away the sorrows of
this thing and that yesterday.

The servants clear the tables,
to make room for the sacred pipe.
The hashish is ground expertly,
between the ghulam’s palms, heartedly

The chillum is filled with the precious leaves,
the crown is lit crimson red.
We pass the sheesha round,
the ancient ritual begins.

The fragrance of paradise is in the air,
the place one step away.
As I recline on the silk brocade couch
the wide eye maidens enter and cast their spell.

These harem creatures of beauty sway their charms,
I am a soul bewitched, journeying towards ecstasy,
intoxicated, touched by their poisoned lips,
leave me and let me be, till the dawn arrives.

Afzaal K

Celebrating Clubs of Moss Side & Hulme from 50s to 80s


Windrush Millenium Centre
Windrush Millenium Centre, 70 Alexandra Road, Moss Side, Manchester M16 7WD
1-6 December 2011
11am – 4pm every day     FREE

An exhibition by Commonword of The Nile, Reno and Russell Clubs  – find out about the memories and stories of the clubs and the role they played in building and sustaining communities. Further explore these pasts at one of the free workshops taking place as part of the exhibition.

FREE Workshops

Your Life Into Lyrics
Windrush Millenium Centre
Monday 5 December    1.30 – 3.30
Led by Buzz Rak – Music is life. Your life. Learn how to voice your past as a song.

Writing The Blues
Windrush Millenium Centre
Tuesday 6 December    1.30 – 3.30
Led by Yvonne Mccalla – Explore and create from the memories of the clubs and shebeens, the people and the stories that went with them.

To attend the workshops there’s no need to book, simply turn up on the day.

MANCHESTER DISTRICT MUSIC ARCHIVE

MDMArchive is an online community archive designed to celebrate Greater Manchester music and its social history.

It is a not-for-profit organisation run by volunteers.

The archive consists of over 7,500 digital artefacts including photos, posters, press articles, flyers and footage uploaded by Manchester music lovers from all over the world.

You can add contribute your artefacts and memories to our archive by becoming a member at www.mdmarchive.co.uk