SmashWords' Read An eBook Free Week Offers Cries of Redemption Through March 9th

Cries of Redemption is free on Smashwords through March 9th as a part of their Read an Ebook Week. You can now make my book,part of your digital collection. Cries of Redemption illustrates the struggles of maafa in America and the Caribbean; it celebrates the African Diaspora, the Black Experience, and pan-Africanism. 

"A new #Caribbean voice from the diaspora who, 'Now wants to flutter throughout the world, dipping and dashing and lifting up with rhythm of the winds, the winds of change.
This is a masterpiece of literary writing that draws on [his] experiences... The writer is 'writing to keep warm' but he keeps us all warm with his intelligence and keen observation of the broad sweep of life."
Jan Augustin
Lecturer (Language and Communication).
Antigua State College. Eastern Caribbean


"Cries of Redemption" is a travel guide to consciousness. It is a beautiful rendition of the author's journey through life, his observations, and his reflections, all captured in prose and poetry that reflect the influences on his life. K. Omodele takes us on that journey...revealing relationships between the freedom of the mind and the imprisonment of the body, the rebellious child and the wizened adult, the unconscious instinct and the focused mind.
This is a book for minds seeking the intervention of truth and beauty in the midst of social and political chaos, confusion, racism and ugliness."
Kojo Nnamdi,
Host,
The Kojo Nnamdi Show,
WAMU FM,
Washington.

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The Cries of Redemption Meet and Greet Party

Cries of Redemption Meet and Greet Party at Blush Couture 

The Cries of Redemption Release Sunday, the 11th, grew into a beautiful day even though the skies were gray. Made some wonderful new sistren and some old bredren and family came through. The day began a lil hectic, and just true I strive for perfection, as 3 o'clock approached, I worried cause things were running late. 

But I must admit, Andrea and Theresa and Lia and her crew had everything under control; so, 'Baby don't worry about a thing 'cause every likkle thing is gonna be all right.'

So thanks to those who came out, all in thru clouds and thru rain. I really had a ball with you all.

Bless up. See you next time.

Kaya Omodele

              

 Purchase Cries of Redemption and support Kaya and The Abeng and My Conscious Pen, an independent author and publisher.

More Photos of The Meet and Greet

Caribbean Poetry: A Rain - Season Morning in Georgetown (a Tritina)

Want cuddle you up this puddled up morn
as raindrops TINK-ing 'pon zinc roof top sound
like dreams DINK-ing in empty Milo tins.

Cozy; senses tingle from steel-pan* sounds
strummin' like fingers, breaths stickle** on pins
drops titillate we up this Georgetown morn.

I stir; your moans drown, rain-coins TINK in tins
Thru sprawled windows breeze caresses our morn-
whispery touches pimple skin to sound.

You never cuddled to the sound of rainfall on a zinc-tin
roof one rain-season morning?

*steel pan (aka steel drum) - a West Indian percussion instrument made from oil drums
** balance

©2015 K. Omodele

CARIBBEAN TRADITIONS: Ring Games (Small Days)

CARIBBEAN TRADITIONS:Ring Games (Small Days)

"Now when I was a little boy my favorite ring game was this...winey, winey/winey, winey..." /

~Peeny Peeny by Shabba Ranking

As a youth in primary school* I had a rough time concentrating on defending my wicket, or bending a cross from the corner, whenever the girls formed a circle in the school compound and started chanting and, ahhhm, dancing. I can't count the amount of wickets we boys left stranded, or footballs rolling lonely on a sudden-emptied field, as we rushed to join the girls in the ring. Full of mannishness, we sang

There's a brown girl in the ring,
Tra-la-la-la-la....

Whether she black or brown or surnamed Singh never mattered to me. The girl in the ring would prance 'round the circle of boys and girls while eyeing up a partner. Whenever we got to the part

...'cause she sweet like sugar 

and a plum, plum, plum...

she'd stop her 'lil false-shy self in front of whosoever she liked and pose up with her hands on her hips... anticipating...and as we sang

Now, let me see your motion, Tra-la-la-la-la

Show me your motion, tra-la-la-la-la-la...

she'd buss a wine.** Bare Precociousness. Listen, nuh man! I was a force-ripe pickney*** myself; so, I had no problem wining back. Worse yet if it was Miss-what-she-name, or Miss-you-know-who.

My favorite ring game went like this

Gypsy in the moonlight, Gypsy in the zoo/ Gypsy never come home till half-past two/So walk in Gypsy walk in, walk in thru my door/And turn to your partner and show them what you do...

By the time we got to this part, Miss Gypsy in the ring would done find a partner and with that last command, she would show how she could get on bad; indeed, rolling she hips and singing in response

I do not love no-bo-dy/ Nobody love me too...

When you check it out in truth, future dancehall queens learned to bubble right there in them ring games. Notice ladies! In protecting the not-so-innocent and bare precocious, I never called no names. I just fling stone in a pen. Whichever goat bawl out, is she get lick.

 Small days, still on my mind....

* Primary school is grade one to six (elementary school in the US)

**wine- also, wind. As in winding the hips and waistline

***force-ripe pickney is a child who acts "fresh", too grown for his/her age

CARIBBEAN POETRY: Coconut Tree (A. Haiku)

                                                          Coconut Tree (A. Haiku)
                                                                 copyright 2013 K. Omodele

 

                                                                          A coconut tree

                                 bends and bows in hurricane

                                        winds but doesn't break.          

 

CARIBBEAN POETRY: Withering Dreams (A. Haiku)

                                                 Withering Dreams (A. Haiku)
                                          copyright 2014 K. Omodele

             Withered dreams are streams
              trickled to motionless ponds.
              Stagnation is death.