Category: Poetry

Guest Feature – Exerpt from Ntozake Shange

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For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow is Enuf Copyright © 1975, 1976, 1977 by Ntozake Shange

i can’t hear anythin

but maddening screams

& the soft strains of death

& you promised me

you promised me…

somebody/anybody

sing a black girl’s song

bring her out to know herself

to know you

but sing her rhythms

carin/struggle/hard times

sing her song of life

she’s been dead so long

closed in silence so long

she doesn’t know the sound

of her own voice

her infinite beauty

she’s half-notes scattered

without rhythm/no tune

sing her sighs

sing the song of her possibilities

sing a righteous gospel

let her be born

let her be born

and handled warmly.

 

Spoken Words for Silent Wars

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I speak for the people in places where hope

hangs its strings in the crack filled streets of Harlem
where iron style floors and bronze heavens

are polluted with “I told you so’s”
morgues loitered with toy soldiers

who died believing

defending a street corner

was keeping it real

Poetry’s Sorrow

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Poetry’s a soldier

a collection of Spoken Words in Silent Wars

rarely do you see it pull back

retreat

it is no coward

it’s weapons are raw

yet healing

but there is pain

hidden behind the curve of personifications,

alliterations

and similes there is sorrow

if poetry has one weakness it is this:

that most won’t understand what they think they know

 
for many, poetry’s just a quick fix for that euphoric feeling

 
like good sex coming from your words

but poetry is wise

and it knows  those who will never conceive

in order to give birth to a revolution….

Language of the Broken Hearted

beauty

Felt it was my job to hold every heart in my hands like responsibilities so I cradled you….
until our tears became waves of passion too deep to carry in a bowl
so they filled up our futures like child play
did we let deception play its numbers on our skin?
did we let it gamble with our bones…..
did naiveté captivate our common sense…..
did we know that our mission had a reason too deep to find within the contours of our childlike smiles?

 

 

When Death Gives Birth to Humility

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Have you ever felt guilty trying to console someone who has lost a loved one even though it’s not your fault? Like, why do we say we’re sorry in the first place? What have we ourselves done? We apologize because we’re sorry for their sadness, and also because somehow, their loss has humbled us:

“It is apparent, that death, it’s sting… produces a humility powerful enough to find itself a home even inside the heart of the one who holds the cup of “I’m sorry’s”

hoping our voice is somehow gloomy enough to produce the kind of sympathy that peels back the brick that found itself a place inside the gut of the bereaved.”

Let’s Make Music

Retro microphone on stage in restaurant. Blurred background

I wanna make music
tonight
I wanna sing
for you
Don’t ask me to metaphor into bunny rabbits
cause I ain’t up here to do tricks for you
I am up here to sing
for you
I am here
to make music
to make
melody
you ask me
why I don’t show my face
why my performance can’t be seen by yo physical eyes
but this here aint no show
I got no tricks of the trade to show you
these words aint cropped to fit your opinion
they aint photo shopped to enhance your feelings
but I know how visual you people are
how you wonder about signs and wonders
so you wonder
why I won’t baptize my poetry
behind the lens of your cameras
have I fallen from the horse of couplets and closed forms?
maybe
I’ve just C-sectioned my Spoken Word to reveal my insides
besides
I’ve got to have some kind of gut
to stand up here and strip for you
just let me be real for you
let me calm you
let these words heal you
and let’s make music
a cleft
a time signature
a note
a rest
a song
a stepping stone
to play just the right scripture
to guide us back to the music sheet
just let me stand here
let me be here
and
just let me sing
for you

Grown Enough

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Photo by Pixabay
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Photo by Pixabay

She has a secret

that she just does not want to grow up

If she could just make it to 21

drink her liver half-dead

and tell Hennessy he’s the one

he makes her forget she’s had too much

but maybe she just hasn’t had enough

to make her realize that her friends are gone 

when nothing’s left

and the taste she feels on her tongue

is the Similac on her breath

telling her stomach to cough up the dance 

she just had with death 

Look sis, I know you think it cool

but your stomach’s not fit for this kind of food

and that boy on the corner ain’t in love with you

You are just a lot more convenient than McDonald’s

cause he can have his way with you

and you’re probably just hearing this for the first time

cause nobody’s ever told you it always hurts the first time

This

grown-up stuff

She said she just wants to be

grown enough

Her ambition is for time to sit still

Never reaching the point of crazy debt 

and large bills

If she could always stay somewhere between 

Dora the Explorer and pink heels

maybe this lump in her throat she would’ve never had to feel

If someone could have just told her that growing up is over-rated

And in this world without YAH you’re a nobody 

who’s never made it

Your childhood crying away cause you played it

Cause you rushed yourself into a place 

that’s not so puffed up

Trust little girl when I tell you

You’ll never quite be just

grown enough