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April 29, 2007

The Blue Lady

With a lick of her lips and a slight swivel of hip she blessed me.

With her pinkie finger she anointed my forehead with honey.

With her whole hands she scooped Shea butter from a calabash and oiled my body

from a small jar, she covered my shiny skin with cinnamon

and dabbled cherry juice into my navel and goats milk behind my ears

She took a honeysuckle vine and braided it into my hair and laced cowery shells around my waist.

She kissed my feet and painted them with vanilla

Never speaking, never uttering, she pointed to the ground which showed a peacock feathered path

that I was to follow..

Naked and alone, scented and damp, I walked along the path, passing through trees, and sticky

pines, walking up rock and through muddy ditches. Stumbling and sometimes falling, but steady

on the path that she laid for me. With no sounds, no rustling of leaves, no birds

flying, just complete silence, and me.

I walked, and walked, hours on top of hours, naked and sweaty, sticky and tired, I walked...

then, like a whisper, she appeared, she smiled, and put her arms around me

she gave me her shoulder to lay my head, she held me close to her as we walked...

we walked over peacock feathers,  dirt, and bone. 

We walked and walked until we reached a clearing..

The river..

The river..

She rushes in, and pulls me along, tugging me into the water, 

tired and hurt, I hesitate, She beckons and I follow

Gently she pulled, deeper, and deeper, we go

My toes grasping the bottom of the water.   Walking, deeper and deeper

We go, until water is covering my head...

Stretching to keep my head above the water, struggling to stay afloat, 

hopelessly it covers me.

She comes behind me, and pulls me backward, i fall into the water,  underneath I reach, and whirl,

my thighs hit the river bottom, my heals scrape the dirt, in anguish and desperation

I try to pull myself up,  with no avail, I fall deeper.  I try again, and I still fall deeper.

Afraid, I seek her, I feel for her, I cry out for her, through blue, I see her, smiling.

I reach, she takes my hand and lifts me.

Now, facing me, she kisses me, and washes my eyes,  She holds my head close to hers, 

then blows air into my mouth, with her hands holding my cheeks, she squeezes and blows, blowing

cool air into my lungs.  My chest rises and falls, and she still blows until I am calm.

 Gently she grips my shoulders and pushes me again into the water, but this time she is holding

me, she soon lifts me out of the water and pulls me close to her, with necessary ease she

embraces and holds me, lovingly she takes my hand and leads me out of the river.

As if I were fragile she helps me to sit,  while seated she dries me with banana leaves, and

with her fingertips she traces my wounds, and blows warm air on them. 

As the wind blew she

disappeared just like the whisper that brought her.

 

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April 26, 2007

GLORY

 

GLORY

 
Like stepping stones all along the paths to my awakenings

You step lightly with soft toes

Gentle taps 

Tender pats

Stepping around me
 

Sending chills at my lower back

Tickling my belly

Blowing at me 

Whispering

Pacing in circles that surround me

Penetrating without penetration

Stimulating me without any physical stimulation 

Making me sweat when it ain’t hot

All around me

All through me

This way and that way

Touching here and pressing there

Feeling me up with words Making me dance when it ain’t no music
 
 

Glory
 
 

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Sweet Symphony

 

SWEET SYMPHONY

It is an anthology of soul-loving Black Folk


Giving and receiving of spirit


Bestowing Gods blessings


Breathing in love


Tasting Sweetness


Bottom to top loving


Shiny and Nappy


Smooth and Course


Loving our way


Redeeming and revolting


Sista’s speaking in tongues and Brotha’s seeing visions


Black Folk soul loving


Empowering and inspiring


OO’S and AH’S


Top to Bottom Loving


Slow and Speedy


Sensitive


Gentle


Firm


Big thighs   little thighs


Small Breast   Full Figured


Hairy Chest


Baby Soft Backs


“The BUTT Bodacious”
 
Grooving, B-Bopping, Singing, and Church humming


Sweet Symphony


Halleluiah, Thank Ya, Asante Sana and OH God


Oh Yes, Yebo


Asae


Gods Spell to the fullest


Loving deeper than deep


Way past skin and bones


Emancipating


Proclaiming


Remembering


Praising


Thanking


Blessing


Healing


Strengthening


Meditating


A Sweet Symphony of


Angels Singing


Deities Whispering


Ancestors praying


God Clapping


Birds Humming


Trees Whistling


Water Dripping


Earth Shaking


The Universe honoring Black-folk loving
 

A sweet symphony


Coming together in the way that only we know how


Coming together with the purpose of revolution


Coming together for the purpose of nation building


Coming together because our Ancestors told us to


Coming together because some other folk think that we can’t


Coming together because that’s what creator blessed us to do.
 
Come on and do it, do it, do it, Do it to you’re satisfied
 
 

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MY ....

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April 13, 2007

YOUR SEXY THINGS

NO.       NO.        No.  ....

"I'm sorry".... please don't let me disturb you from your sexy things...

Your provocative things,

your forbidden things,

your secret things...your childhood dreams,

your adult fantasies....your hollow and muffled sounds buried in your "secret" place

Those things-- that you sneak too....

Those things-- that you creep too...

Those things-- that you finger thru, ogle at, gaze at and awe with jaw dropped mouth,

glaring eyes, and suspended look...

Your hushed whispers, your blushes, your sweaty palm things....

-those things.

I would hate to interrupt you.

How could I dare be so precocious to try to cut into the dance;

(the dance between you and your sexy things)

Your tantalizing things, your daydreaming things.... Your hidden things....

-those things....

However, it would be against all that I am, if I did not wonder and question if I

was one of your "sexy things".  "Am I one of your sexy things?"

Am I one of those antique things? 

Those treasured classic things?

Those delicate, delectable tender, sexy things of yours?

Am I one of those things that tiptoe into your day, that blocks your thought?

Am I one of those things that disrupts your sleep in the middle of the night?

Am I a remembered forbidden sound from long ago?  An undeniable and unforgettable

delightful smell? like your "sexy things"?

If not, what should I do?

What can I do to be your deep tucked away treasured thing?  That thing that's at the deepest part

of you?

 

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WE RIDE

   
 

WE RIDE

 

 

We ride on the backs and breast of those that have come before

On ancestor’s shoulders and great, great, great, daddy’s toes

With drops of frankincense and myrrh and rows of gold around our necks

We ride on ocean waves of blue blackness on top of undersea ancient temples imprinted

of our blue colored faces

We ride on Congo drum beats

with dancing moving hips and

breezy Blowing dreadlocks

on cowry shelled waist bead covered bellies

We ride on lion’s mane and canine teeth

On Elephant tusk and Zebra stripes

On library book covers

On wall filled Art Museum canvases

We ride in church,

in-between church pews and in the lines of church hymns

We ride on Egyptian tombs encased in limestone adorned with

(Us riding) in hieroglyphic text

We ride on guitar strings and thumb machines

In Paris, Korea, Alaska, and of course Mozambique

We ride through Southern towns pass southern trees

In Submarines, Rockets and Purple Ford Cadillac’s

with hydraulics and wheels that float on air

We ride on the lips of poets and the high pitch sounds of Opera singers

On the laps of Authors and the laptops of professors

We ride on the cheeks of babies and the smiles of playground playing children

We ride on the thick skin of plantains and the sweet of yam

We ride on lilies and bumblebee stripes

We ride on the baobabs trunk and in Kapiti plains playing peek-a-boo through high grass

We ride on internet webs and crowded emails

We ride on white-gold Aunk wedding bands with matching anklets

On Milan fashion walkways jet black and bald even at the nape

We ride in fubu, and Rocka wear, Baby Phat,

Green converse chucks, and Alonzo Mourning Jersey’s

We ride on corner store newspaper stands

On billboard fonts and 8 track cassettes

We ride on veggie burgers and spicy chicken wings

We ride right past death, right through heavens gates

We ride on waterbeds, the backs of futons, canopy ropes and hardwood floors

In  Ma Ma’s basements, and Granddaddy porches and Uncle Eddie’s barbecue

We ride in Kitchen stews and Afua’s “Heal Thyself”

We ride on double-dutch ropes and pebbled filled hula hoops

We ride on Panther fists and Tupaks rap

On Afrikan Liberation Day and at the Million man March

We ride on Shaggy’s Bombastic and Michael’s “Thriller”

We ride on Kush’s thigh in Shiva’s arms

On Buddha’s Nubian Knots

With Rasta purple smoke and bouncing booty

and swinging ankle bells

We ride deep

We ride full

We ride high

We ride low

We ride tuff and never ending

We ride deep

  • We ride Black and deep
We ride black

We ride black

 

 

 

 

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April 10, 2007

WHAT IF?

What if loving brought about freedom?

What if touching brought about change?

What if a revolution started because of a kiss?

The act of deep down loving, has to be more than what the T.V. makes it out to be.

It has to be more than T&A, doesn't it?

The essential element of love covers all barriers, doesn't it?

Are all Human Beings capable of loving? instead of acting? 

Something deep inside of me, wants so badly to believe in the simplest form of love.

That simple love that our past "Saviors" needed to cure the world.  The drops of love that Mandela

watered us with, the love chains of Sadat, that tried to close the gap of nations, the pure sprinkles

of the Dalai lama aimlessly spreading love crystals worldwide.  What kind of love is that?

Is our nighttime love any different than 'Our" daytime love?

What if love didn't have to a defining standard?  Just simply love, no conditions, no expectations,

and no justifications.

Loving at the deepest part, the simplest forms,  with undeniable conclusions, with unbreakable

results. 

Loving effortlessly without stipulation.

Loving genuinely, loving generously, loving easy.

What if the thing that we want and need the most,  the very thing that we strive hardest for, flees

because the mere conquest is just to rough, just too much, just too forceful and spoils the flow.

Maybe (IT) has to be free flowing like atoms, like water and air, easy, and breathable.

Gentle....

 

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April 07, 2007

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April 01, 2007

MY WAY

Is it my eyes that hypnotize you? 

Is it my speech that wakens you?   Is it my touch that arouses you?  Is it my thigh that attracts

you.  Is it my thoughts that enlighten you? 

Is it my walk that distracts you?  Is it my dance that entices you? 

Is it my breast that nourish you?  Is it my poem that sings to you?  Is it my fingers that guide

you? 

Is it my smile that humors you?  is it my backside that makes you dream?  is it my neck that

motivates you? 

is it my face that wonders you.  Is it my chin that sparks creativity.

Is it my hips that allow you to think of tomorrow, the hips that reflect greener pastures and the

"birth of a Nation".  The hips, that rotate on albums of "i know I can, do it, be what i wanna be,

timeless anthems, Minnie rippleton, Donnie Hathaway, Coltrane, and Puente beats.

My hips.  That move and spread, and glide.  Like a futuristic glide, a matrix, a change, a growth, a

seed, a cypher.

                   OR....

Maybe, just Maybe, it's just my way.

The way, i sound, the way I sweat, the way I cry, the way I sing, the way I sit, the way I cross my

legs, the way I bathe, the way i sleep, the way i eat, the way i stare, the way I "humph", the way i

stand.

the way i choose, to be just Me.

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