Photo's of the Live Lounge at Rumi's Cave!

Some photo's from our monthly live Lounge at Rumi's Cave, Photography by Isa Sulaiman 

Poetry Jam and Live Lounge

Words Apart and Charity Ulfa Aid presents...  A CREATIVE REVOLT AND SHOWCASE OF LONDON'S TALENT. 

Poetry Jam and Fundraiser for East Africa Famine... On Friday 26th August 2011, From 5:30pm onwards!

@ London's premiere poetry cafe.... Rumi's Cave....
Enjoy the live spoken word of London's best young poets and Words Apart...
A chance to unite the youth in a night of creativity.  

Featuring Poets and Musicians:

Edgar Da Silva
Sophia Thakur
Adil Hossenally
Crucial
Manuel Josias
Fauzia Amao
Alaa Kassim
And More!

Hosted by Zain the poet

Rumi's Cave is:
26 WILLESDEN LANE,
LONDON
NW6 7ST


Any young poets who want to perform, please contact Zain, email him at mohamedzaind@googlemail.com or @Zainthepoet Via Twitter. 
 Only £2 Entry, all proceeds go to East Africa Famine

Be part of the Biggest Youth Film to Hit the UK

Anyone who missed the initial meeting still has a chance to be part of the Poetry - Parkour Film.

The film funded by the Royal Society of Arts with a £2,500 grant merges the art of Parkour with Poetry (Free-Running, Click here to see the Parkour group working with Words Apart for this Film!

The concept will be Britishness and what we identify as being British.  We NEED YOU, THE YOUTH to add to the film as POETS, ACTORS, WRITERS, BEAT-BOXERS, DANCERS, ARTISTS, PRODUCERS, DIRECTORS.

Be part of London's biggest youth film this summer and attend the premier afterwards, it's also something great to put on your personal statement.

The first two days are like this

MONDAY  18th JULY - Planning and writing 

TIME  12 - 3pm  at East Finchley - Noble sage Art gallery - 2A Fortis Green , London N2 9EL 

Directions: come out East Finchley station turn left. Walk to the hilltop and turn right at the lights. It's there in front of you!

TUESDAY 19TH JULY - planning and writing - @ the Noble Sage Art Gallery again. 

TIME: 2-5PM

On Tuesday, Locations for the filming will be confirmed.  BUT if you want to take part, you MUST ATTEND the sessions on MONDAY AND TUESDAY. 

Any problems tweet me or ring zain and get my number

Ring me on 07852337369 if you have any problems! 

Arji and Zain

Words Apart Film Project: Get involved!

Ladies and gentleman... 

Stand by for take off For... 

A great opportunity for young poets based in London to work with Words Apart first film project 'Twisted Tongues.'  

Just a little reminder first... a couple months ago we won a grant to make a short film about young people in Barnet. It would interact with local services and shopkeepers and attempt to understand the problems and issues facing us in this age. In the application we spoke of different cultures, ages and heritages coming together to explain how hard it is for minorities in this 21 st century. 

SO now the time has come for us to raise our game up and take WORDS APART POETRY to a higher plain. We will have music and sound added by Goldielock sand two young people from Rithmik Youth Centre. This project will also bring in the local parkour people into the mix.

So now we come to dates.

THE PROJECT WILL OCCUR IN THE WEEK OF THE 18th JULY. AND THE WEEK WILL BE SPLIT BETWEEN CANADA VILLA AND THE NOBLE SAGE ART GALLERY. 

Two Days planning and two and a half days shooting. We have a professional film maker in charge of the shooting and an editor who'll knock it out within two weeks of the final shoot.

The earlier  session will be a two hour meeting and planning session ...

that is 14TH of JULY 6-8 at CANADA VILLA YOUTH CENTRE IN MILL HILL.

For more details or to get involved please email the following details to this address:  

mohamedzaind@googlemail.com

Please outline: Your name and age

2 boxes, 1 window

she's so self-righteous
he's apparently pious 
Driven to a false truth like two flat tires,
Kwik Fit, but there's no quick fix.

He enjoys sitting on his window sill, still.
staring.
judge.
The Street has Talent.
Judicial law got him thinking,
Election,
fit chick walks past.
erection.
Reading Maya Angalou, with no clue.
The caged bird is really just a bird in a cage.
for him they should stay caged
'SANDWICH PLEASE.' he shouts
Kitchen.

Bitchin' as usual,
Piff girl walked by,
critiquing what she wore,
she's got a sketty face that whore
staring down as she swore
But a pseudo personality is pure she assured herself.
Cos' all the dirt's on the outside she told herself
be true to thy self-righteous...
she read it all wrong.

Words Apart at the Royal Society of Arts!

On Monday Words Apart were invited to the Royal Society of Arts Youth Awards for Innovation for winning a 2 and a half thousand pound funding application. It was a great evening with 3 groups being awarded funding too. This year, the RSA received a lot of applicants across London so Words Apart have done incredibly well to get the award for our project. A special thanks to our mentor/poet/musician Arjunan Manuelpillai for leading Words Apart and being an inspiration to all of us.

The evening started with a session of ‘mingling.’ We showcased our poetry with a laptop and different pieces on our table. Everyone was quite new to the concept of networking but includes repeating the same 5 minute speech until it becomes integrated in your verbatim.

We were then presented the award, fellow Words Apart poet Edward and I gave a quick introduction on Words Apart. Edward O’Garro Pridde performed a fantastic poem which blew everyone away about the nature of Youth Centre’s and their importance. Edward also explained the concept of our film project which will screen in Barnet in the near future and will be based on youth identity.

The award was for our project called ‘Twisted Tongues.’ The award given to us was for a film we will be making this summer, it will be a 10 minute drama written in verse incorporated with parkour. It incorporates our youth poetry group – Words Apart and another Youth parkour group. Parkour, also known as Free-running is the art of going from A to B in the most extravagant way. So walking to college would mean doing back-flips, running up walls and jumping off the top of a bus-stop. The parkour group is run by the recent winner of a Sunday Times Film competition, Lish David.

It was an evening which rewarded the efforts of everyone in the group. Words Apart have made great strides this year having performed at the South Bank Centre in the Royal Festival Hall supporting some of Palestine’s best poets. As well as performing at the Finchley Youth Theatre, the Harrow Arts Centre and the Rumi Festival. We were even invited to the Albany Theatre in Deptford to see the incredible theatre production: ‘Krunch.’ We have also increased our on-line presence with our YouTube Channel: WordsApartPoetry and our blog site: www.wordsapart7.blogspot.com ( a website coming soon) 

This summer heralds some exciting projects for Barnet based youth poetry collective ‘Words Apart’ with the film being made as well as the continued weekly Monday night poetry jams. There will also be a monthly live lounge exclusively for young poets to be held in the ‘Rumi Cave’ – A café in Willesden Green in tandem with community based charity Ulfa Aid.

The Power of Words

I took the words. I loaded them. Took aim and FIRED! but there was no sound. I cocked back my pen, fixed the jam, took aim again and fired! but again nothing happened.

The words that were once my private passport to another world seemed empty. 
I once commanded the verbs, the nouns, the adjectives, the adverbs like my own private army completely loyal to me and willing to be strategically manipulated at any time - day OR night. 
Able to strike fear into an enemy's heart and nourish the soul in the same poem and all that was needed in the middle...was a full stop.

What I thought flowed from the soul, through the heart, took a right at the brain and exploded from my right arm onto the paper.

I didn't write to topic or to please an examiner and I didnt care who liked it! I wrote for ME and if someone happened to like it then the more the merrier.

The ideas of rhyme, form, pentuplets, sonnets were nice but rather like being told to pick certain sweets at a pick and mix...the final taste just wouldn't be what I really wanted.

The concepts that wordsmiths had struggled to define in rigid formats for millennia came easily to me.

Love wasn't love. 
Love was a demonstration of compassion that held A beauty so unique that only the beholder could perceive it.

Hate wasn't hate. 
Hate was a manifestation of the souls response to its own misgivings - to the moments that felt like a lifetime of torment - to everything wrong in the world.

I was one. Heart, body, mind, soul and pen. 
My own musical instrument. 
My loudspeaker. 
My comfort and my real voice. 
The "like"s, "blad"s, "bruv"s and "fam"s of everyday life replaced by words of infinite majesty and terms of blinding greatness all wrapped in a sheet of A4.

And yet here I sit, words on the paper, life displayed in the ink and the death of my poetry seeming evermore fictional.



By
Eddie O'Garro-priddie - poet and part of the Words Apart collective! 

The Quest to Peace

This poem was inspired by a book called: Purification of the Heart translated by Hamza Yusuf.  The book is based on a poem called purification of the hearts translated from Arabic by Imam Mawlud from Mauritania in West Africa.  

'If you want to change the world, do not begin by rectifying the outward, instead, change the condition of the inward.'  Hamza Yusuf

The Quest to Peace

On a quest to peace,

Wearing a superficial fleece screaming: ‘free my people!’

But who are my people again?

I’m trying to change the world before I change myself

I’m trying to change the world before I change myself

How’s that gonna work?

I told science I’ve seen a black hole

Bigotry is contaminating the soul

Arrogance and ignorance going

Hand in hand forming something called an ego, ready to expand

Socially conditioned like moths hitting the same flame,

Rust on our minds like a broken bike chain.

The path to truth will get me that peace

Fire missiles with wordplay I’m acting in self-defence

No sense, your two cents is not appreciated Regev

Trying to maim verbally a political Rumi

Leaking like a WikiLeak or a spiritual Sufi

He Put a knife to my throat and said ‘gimme your inner gold.’    I said I just have a blackberry, and its not even the bold

Trying to steal my soul and hold my heart hostage

Trying to steal my soul and hold my heart hostage

Language spoken in the dialect of hate not love

crimes of war and humanity influenced by envy, anger and greed

as politicians plant the neo-colonialist seed

Tyrants say its for your own good

they say: War is peace and slavery is freedom

They say: there is truth behind the lies and lies behind the truth,

They say: Shallowness is in, Modesty is a sin
 and burqa bans are soooooooo 2010

Now days justice starts with a conjunction and its ‘in’

In ‘justice’ like a sickly cough tickling our throat, and the medicine is in our hearts.

Before I find my mirror I need to find myself

I’m trying to change myself before I change this world,

Im trying to change myself before I change this world.

 ..............................................................................................

 By Mohamed-Zain Dada - Poet and Writer: www.times-series.co.uk/blogs/mohamed_zain_dada

Twitter: @Zainthepoet http://twitter.com/#!/Zainthepoet

Pearl in the Shell

Aint it funny

How a cut of fabric can shape your mind

Cloud your judgement

Fool your eyes

Failing to look beyond the medias lies

Branding me as oppressed 

But you fail to see what's inside

My body is under lock and key

But my soul?

My soul is free

You see

I dont know what's got you believing what you believe

If freedom lies in wearing skirts about my knees

Displaying my God-Given beauty

For hungry eyes to seize

Then what more than an object of desire does that make me?

When i pace the room

Its not the sway of my hips that have them looking

The stroke of my hair

Or the way i'm walking

It's the composure as a muslim woman I'm holding

It's the way I express my faith through my clothing

I let my personality do the talking

Responsibility?

Nah

This was given as a blessing.

By Zibz Hilwa, photographer, student and poet.  Also member of youth poetry collective 'Words Apart' 

Get out, get lost, you oxymoron!

Father you have been my mother
My all, my everything
My none my nothing
You’ve really gone and done it now, father.

Rather than admit and quit while you were ahead
Now I’m too tired to sleep
As you put me to bed
I’m too sad to weep
So you cry instead, father.

Father, we’ve been through so much together
Chelsea’s blues are our colour
No matter the weather
You pretended you’d be there for me.
You send me mad, father.

Father, what’s your problem
Probably, you’re mine.
But what? You’re not.
We’re not complete us too. You are
A cripple who is whole. I’m too subtle for that.
You cripple me father.

Father, at times our connection feels cut.

All clutter and clatter

What's the matter?

Can't cut it? Cut it out

Don't utter, because you'll stutter

It's a pity, now they don't glitter

Epitomising the staccato pitter, patter of my mettle

Words no longer melt and dance for you

Like butter, father.

Father, I’m not getting to the cause
I’m just spitting out the symptoms. Don’t
Doubt, rather know, those names you called me
Hurt, like the worms eating holes in my heart, father

Father, why do you hate me? I’m not a boy,
I’M NOT A TOY. No boys. But I’m close
I tried for you, rather, you just destroyed me.
It’s touching . Our relationship is like a malnourished
Tramp trying to steal a car. It’s not going to work.
So much love for you. I just want
To love you, father.

Heart-carver, how is it that you can hurt me
And be a better person still. It’s ill-advised to cross you
So I cross you in style. I have become an eternal doom
In your eyes. The gloom in your surprise,
Shows how hard it is for soldier not to die
But to love, father

Father, I wish you could see me now. Bearing
The semblance of regularity. Breaking the
Mould. Stretching, polarity raging here with
Unbalanced power of this icy inferno
You stink now or rather you smell.
Well, I think it’s time you get out
And get lost, father!

By Poet, Actress and Playwright and member of youth Poetry collective Words Apart: Comfort Nwabia

Like the snow in Britain, he came too quick

And I was not prepared for the scale of his bits

And no grit could help with this shit

So I’m stuck with his seed, while his out with some chicks

And he’s up in the club, and I’m watching a flick

And I swear, an abortion is looking so good right now

But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all of this, is that what looks good

Hell, it ain’t

And it leaves you messed up like carpet and paint

You can wash it away, but it’s still shit after

They tell me that the best medicine is laughter.

And so I,

Turn on the TV to try to block it out of my brain

Until I realise it is that same device that got me giving brain

All the things I have seen I cannot retract

I was too caught up in this box to educate myself with the real facts

And I’m looking at nappies, sitting on the shelf, man

I’m not ready to be a mum. I’m just a kid myself, and I’m

Not ready for this responsibility.

Shit, I’m twelve

I can’t even vote, I can’t even smoke, I can’t even drink and of all the

Illegal shit I had to do it just had to be this

The one thing where I’m not just responsible for me, but also this

But this isn’t how I envisioned it

Where’s my husband, my dog, my house and my picket fence?

I guess it’s where my virginity is, gone, torn

It has died, and now this must be born

It’s a vicious cycle, but I drew it

I had a decent life, but I threw it

And all cause all the kids on the block ‘do it’

The lack of love I was given I thought I could find at the end of a man

I wish I knew that no man deserved me, that no man could desert me

Because I could never be alone if God is with me

Now I am focussed on my seeds

That I will raise to be mothers and fathers

Helen Kellers and Che Guevaras

They might not have a dad,

But I will be their Father

Their sole providers

Their soul riders

And I will love them with one condition

That they love each other

And they will never treat another

How their dad treated their Mother.

By Young, Talented Poet Samira Musa based In Islington. WATCH THIS SPACE!

My Country

How many lives were lost?

The ground bled red

With innocent blood

Slave masters, governors even king and queens

Orchestrating mass murder in their serene scenes

Imagine a mother,

wife and daughter’s cries of pain and frustration

Over bloody wars fought for the freedom of a nation

But not just on the battlefield politically as well

The appearance of this land epitomises hell

so the urge to progress independently

and become a country that can stand on its own

I speak critically for those who died before me

Their injustice were never told only

Because of an unimaginable tyranny

Trying to take one people’s hope to be free

I can never know

How many lives were lost?

The ground bled red

With innocent blood

I refuse to shun

The unimaginable truth

That whilst innocent people where being slaughtered

It made the wicked more financially supported

National heroes tried to defy this

And some executed in the process:

Samuel Sharpe, George William Gordon and Paul Bogle

All were men born in slavery and are notably noble

Who contributed to its abolishment as a whole

Where their stories and their role will forever be known

Den ova to de wuman, de Obeah wuman known as Nanny,

She herself freed over 800 slaves

her ferocious Maroons, feared by the British for what they displayed

they were untamed lions strong as mount Zion

whilst Marcus Garvey renown as he fought to outline

The abuse of Africans at the time

Norman Manley and Sir Alexander Bustamente

Involved in the struggle against colonial rule

Fought using their political tools

Took advantage of an empire going downhill

U see dem yout mi a talk bout

Mi av’ nuf respect fi dem cause

fe dem role in a de liberation of a country

that belongs to me

I will never know

How many lives were lost?

That turned the ground red

With innocent blood

Can warfare be used to release the oppressed into peace?

This dilemma we discuss on the news and the street

But the truth I believe is not in what we perceive

but in what we do

Like heroes in Jamaica did for me and you.

By Tajhame 'TJ" Jackson a poet, playwright and actor

Tajhame spent his childhood in Kingston, Jamaica until the age of 9 when he moved to North London. This poem was inspired by Jamaican history and his experiences there.

A clip of TJ performing this poem will appear on the blog soon!

Hypocrisy

In 1945 the US arrived.
Bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Killing thousands upon thousands.
Now i fast forward 65 years
Still bloodshed in the political sphere,
By the military volunteer,
Hearing shit through the vestibule of his ear.
Everyone hopeful of peace but we aint nowhere near.

The mission, the repetition, obama deception,
The western Influence and the Eastern resistance.
The Saudi King and Arab word's puppet pittance.
Sucked up by America's New World Order,
With Karzai saying "I'm just protecting my borders",
Bullshit, he is sucking his people dry,
Like the Indus River in the month of July.
All slaves to the bureaucracy, open hell mutiny.
A chance for Taliban to execute their battle plan,
But the War isn't over cos they still curse the city man.

But you notice all this cos of BBC news,
On repetition slowly moulding your views.

2/3 of the world has deterring education,
Constant striving of 3rd world nations,
So the rich can fulfil their gluttony,
They should be locked up for 1st degree felony,
Smart suits but no intelligent policy.
I turn to Mali, world's lowest rate of literacy.

99' they deploy the British Army to Sierra Leone,
Where kids die forever searching the shiny bloodstone,
But that's what's on the hands of America,
Till this day expanding military bases in Africa,
To deter violence and uphold the UN resolution.
But 2003 you invade Iraq, how is that a solution?
You say it was to bring democracy,
Don't feed us that bullshit it's all hypocrisy.

Time travelling but our views may disagree,
for a moment of peace but there's no guarantee.
You may run from honesty but can't hide from the truth i speak.
Open you eyes cos your mind is weak,
So now you see there is more to life than your Prada and Burberry,
I do what Malcolm X said, "By any means necessary",
cos I believe.

By Poet, SOAS Law student, part time model, writer, actress, and playwright Azkaa Hassam

Act*Sane*But*Outstand (A.S.B.O)

More drink
More smoke
Crack a another joke
Take another toke
All got money
Yet all broke
Paralysed is being a bloke
Making people glad
If you act like a lad
More to decanter
Cause its just banter
Smiles on faces
Looking for new places
On a saturday night
All wanna shine so bright
We need a flashing light
Let us be emotionally
And socially epileptic
Text message talk
Leaves us dyslexic
But do you think we care?
We care
About swagger and hair
And if we walk with flair
Without a doubt we'll glare
At the boys on the estate
With no debate
To show we're hard
Eating reshaped lard
The time is no sign
As we shape another line
Make every crime
Till we feel like grime
Noses bleeding
Condoms needing
To be deseeding
Females are our feeding
Impressing the peers
With fake jewels in ears
Loudest music
Is amusing
Not knowing what drugs we're using
What drink we're boozing
But we're never loosing
With a text
With in for sex
Come and go
Nothing complex
Worship the man behind decks
Next morning blues
Vomit on shoes
Must have a been a good one
Yeh really fun
Throat like sand
No money in hand
Inpregnanted a girl
Which was planned
By she was peng and tanned
So fuck it
Front window shatters
Nothing ever matters
Pockets filled
Of un-billed
Broken joint
But that's the point
Living like dirt
But make it grand

Remember act sane but oustand

Rebel generation
Binged out nation
In need nothing lended
Left broke nothing mended

Russian vodka in throat
Left on the same boat
As all her girls
Who are the best looking in the world
And with another drink
She'll sink
To the floor
And left raw
Tongues behind the door
She wants no one to see
But everyone to know
That for him she went low
And made him a man
For the start that was he plan
Sober she's prudent
An A star student
But she wants to act stupid
So she can exploit cupid
But we just laugh
Love bite hidden by a scarf
Sucked till a cut
Called a sket, hoe and a slut
Her slates been painted and tainted
And she can't wipe it
But deep down she likes it
Party girl
Little miss rave
To be left in a daze
For days
Under her allure and haze
That's the mission
To get boys wishing
And dreaming
To get them flirting
And scheming
Until she starts screaming
And masscara starts to run
But she'll make the boys come
And speak highly
The objective is grimey
To find the stimulant
To get intimate
In for the kill
And she's on the pill
Fumble in the dark
We don't need protection
Fake hair, nails and unreal complexion
Never happy at her reflection
But let the party go on
One night we'll forget where we're from
Dance all night
Till the morning light

Rebel generation
Binged out nation
In need nothing lended
Left broke nothing mended

Its all about the nightlife
No strife
Weekend fun loving
Clit strumming
Girls cumming
Kind of fun
So we can snort and bun
And never repent
To our hearts content
The aim
Is to make our name
And let it ring across the land
Remember we gotta act sane but try and oustand


Seri Kholi also a hip hop artist and emcee by the name of Seri Skay and member of the Poetry collective: 'Words Apart'

Desperation

When the doors close in you feel trapped, unable to breathe.
The most spacious place in the world, yet your heart is being crushed.
The taste of salt streams down your face insistently, unwittingly, fittingly. Tears!
Tears.
Strange how they can embody happiness yet represent heartache and turmoil. Desperation.

To be free without constraints. Who are you? Who am i? Who are they?
To break free?
To be the causation of shattered expectations and disappointment.

Oh to break free.
Oh to be me.

By Zena B, a new and very skilled poet!

'The Scars I Try To Hide'

Watch how long it takes for my intentions to be misread,
My words are screamed over and theirs begin to encroach my head.
Watch how quick their anger blows up and finds a fight,
My emotions begin to catch alight.

Their words cut me like a knife
It soon begins to hurt someplace deep inside.
I leave the room as they scream and shout
So I can scratch the pain on the surface until I zone out.

The sting brings with it a false sense of relief
So much for trying to turn over a new leaf
Everything stops for that moment in which I'm now stuck
The place where I truly don't give a fuck.

I've heard them say some things are a little too late
I guess this is one of them, a fact I truly hate
It’s done now and there's no going back
No chance to gain the strength which I so desperately lack.

Numbness takes over and hardens my heart
I dry my tears and dream of a new start
But as I open my eyes it suddenly hits me
These dreams will never ever be my reality, I am simply my own worst enemy

As the days go by I slowly try to figure it out
Questioning myself, what is it really all about
I need to let go of these demons that haunt me
I just want some peace; I need to set my mind free

I’ve had enough of the tears
Sick and tired of fighting this battle for the past four years
Enough is enough, I’m done giving in
It’s too self destructive living with this sin

I pray for strength, I pray there won’t be a next time
My skin doesn’t look too pretty with all these confused lines
So for now I hope that the scars inside
Will fade quicker than the ones I try to hide.

By The talented poet Abiha B

Abiha also has a blog: http://stuckinthemoment46.wordpress.com/

'Words Apart' Free Poetry Workshops.

Tupac was a

Poet,

Kanye is a

Poet

.

And YOU too can be a Poet.

JOIN

:

WORDS APART

This Monday at Canada Villa be part of

the poetic revolution sweeping across London.

Be part of a thriving community of poets, exchange ideas, create new work and work towards a performance at The Rumi Festival (London’s most famous Poetry event). As well as performing at regular poetry slam’s.

Hosted by The Leano and Urban Poet.

With Guest Poets coming in too!

What to bring: Your mind, a pen and any poetry you may have to perform

What time? Every week, Monday Nights at 6 – 8pm

Where? The Canada Villa Youth Centre, Mill Hill, Barnet. (Next to Mill Hill Powerleague)

For more information contact: M.Zain in college or email: mohamedzaind@googlemail.com

Every inch of me is screaming for violence

Every inch of me is screaming for violence
Fists clenched and fire flowing bitter anxiety
I wana punch kick and wrestle
Blistered bloody knuckle
Beat my knuckles
Pound some flesh

But I don't wana hurt anybody
Least not myself
I want to fight this world and put it in its place
Yet I can't even seem to fight myself
And its myself that beats me down
My own rusty halo is what cuts me
I can't be good
Even though its who I am
I still hold on to the evil that makes me weak
I'm not who I used to be
Nor am I strong enough to be whom I want to be
I'm stuck somewhere in between
A place where there is no light
The darkest place I could ever be
And I'm about to lose this fight

Why do I cause myself to suffer in this life
Only to burn in hell?

By Adil Hossenally