This Is Me

SOCIETY has a problem . Children are waking up to newspapers open on the table baring breasts. The All Seeing Eye is certainly seeing all. Children and teenagers are growing up surrounded by "the perfect body". It is degrading and generally just unnecessary. I was thrilled recently to hear of the No More Page Three campaign regarding and surrounding a large national newspaper. The portrayed use of the female body is wrong. Women are not objects, and we certainly do not wish to be regarded in such a way. Newspapers have been producing texts for as long as we can remember. They circulate news and provide us with necessary information. Though why, I wonder, do perfectly wonderful admirable newspapers and magazines find the need to cheapen their product with "free breasts and eye candy"? A newspaper is for providing news, not for bringing children up in a world obsessed with the human body. The body is personal. We cannot avoid sharing our beliefs

                         - Music Notes   You can enter a world of music. Let it become a part of your blood, let the lyrics overtake your soul and tie them delicately with spider silk around your heart. Or, you can let them drift through with nothing of a second thought. You can enter the atmosphere of a bar or a club, feel the magic of alcohol consuming the energy of your body, feel the heat of the moment and allow the treasures of instrumental and perfect voice rummage through your deepest memories, or you can let the moment pass you by.   Music is a magic within a dream. I have a particular love for local music though, and unusual music. It seems such a regular time-consuming task looking for such unique qualities. I admit I have a love of R’N’B. A love of rap. A love even of the ridiculous lyrics that somehow make a song popular – a natural following of modern, up-to-date songs, yet there is nothing that can help you to escape, nothing that can inspire your own deepes

This is a piece of my own reporting. Events and names have been changed, and events are NOT true to life. This was purely a reporting exercise. Charles Francosa began the day by drinking alcohol as he always would. Since becoming an alcoholic three years ago his violence had increased and he began to feel violently angry towards his ex-girlfriend whom he had been separated from for only a short period of time. Francosa, currently living in the Grimsby area of North East Lincolnshire, had only that morning entered his local supermarket and purchased a knife, with what he claims to be ‘for only cooking intent’. That morning Charles Francosa purchased extra belongings including a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka, as well as other violent weaponry, before sending his ex-girlfriend a number of abusive text messages. When he did not receive a response, he began to consume excessive amounts of alcohol and became apparently ‘un-responsive’ to the advice of family and frie

I watched with every piece of my heart, Two world colliding to Create a piece Of Earth. The sun began shinning The rain fell and With it came a stench Of purity. So forth he placed then, The figure upon the sand - Gave it a breath in order of Speech and meaning. It was here I saw a loss. A gain, And a creation of absolute Insanity.                                                                    - Boneata Bell  

She is a memory to me. Alive with time, Rhythm and rhyme. Decoration in this bubble, Of mine.   She is creative. Her gold hands speak, Of meaning so deep. In a practical dream. She is to keep.   She is lightweight, feather-effect, With personal thought. A present bought. A gift sent. A message lent. Not borrowed.   She is vinyl, to all ages. And all times. She will not fall or knock, Down. She is strong in soul. She is the clock. Containing ‘timeless memories’.                                                                                                                       -   Boneata Bell I have written this review for Vinyl Clocks see: ( http://www.vinylclocks.com/ ) I love their products, there is something to suit everybody. Creativity is an art form, an art form is a way of life. My poem says it all. Enjoy! @VinylClocks @BoneataBell

= + = If somebody decides they do not want to be with you, you are left facing two options. ONE: You can chase them. The consequence of this being either that they a) Finally understand the depth of your feelings for them and you 'get the guy', as it were or b) They feel that you are slightly obsessive and that you do not understand the meaning of the 'killer word', leave - further decreasing any chance of becoming a part of their life. ... And just as exciting as this option is, TWO: Accepting their decision and moving on. By taking this road they can then assume that either you are mature enough to accept defeat and accept that despite your pain you have strength enough to continue with your journey through the depths of Hell, whilst respecting their wishes... Or they will simply feel that you never really cared if you can disappear out of their life as quickly (or slowly) as you entered it. You are therefore not worth their time. You never really loved them. If

Dear Mum. You have been there, Whenever I need. Held my heart, When I've forgotten to breathe. Held my hand When I have fallen down, Been a clown When tears have stained my face. Mother of crystal. Guardian of grace. Dear Mum. You have been there, When lightning strikes, And the wind isn't rough enough, To fly this kite, When bruises show, The extent of my fall. You are the one, I always call. Dear Mum. You have been there, Making life complete, Making life up-beat. Making life worth living. So let this Mother's Day Be one of much love, To show you how much, You mean to me - I want you to see How special you are. Boneata Bell March 10th 2013

It speaks in riddles, does the heart, With graceful, heavy footprints We leave markings in the mud. It was only yesterday I learnt, Yet so long ago I understood. It speaks in morals, does the mind, A burden to the loving heart - I left scarring in the handsome blood. Only yesterday I smiled strong, Yet today the tears flood. So many words, white so black, Locked and left with doubtful strain, We left marking in the mud, my love And it is I, I take the blame. So many thoughts, with ruby hearts, And green-blue knowledge free. I want to run into my mind, And wait for you to come to me. Perfection is the figure of a man, I smile and you smile away, I wish I could tell you, I want you to stay... It speaks with sorrow, does the heart, With highlight lips and Words that part. We left markings in the mud to stay, I'll bury them with you someday. They speak with tears, do my lips, Of love lost and driven far, It is one last word to you I speak, In fear o