“Books are meat and medicine
and flame and flight and flower
steel, stitch, cloud and clout,
and drumbeats on the air.”
― Gwendolyn Brooks
Tag: poetry
Courage
I know that it is never easy
to wear scarlet letters on your skin
to take history
and C-section her calendars
for the stories
that didn’t make it
until you find the authenticity
of truth
like consciousness
beautiful
but delicate
see through
and cutting
like shattering glass
piercing the spirit
and slicing through flesh and bone
so no one looks at the news the same
but for those of you
who have cherished her summers
kissed her springs
embraced the coldest winters ever
and dared to wear her degradation
on your lips
for your courage to find the other pieces
of her
the parts society is too fearful
of hearing
she bathes in your smile
because you loved her, truth
saw her delicate
and fragile
torn between the additions
and subtractions
that multiplied her sorrows
until her parts were divided
ripping her reality from the pages of scripture
like confused tongues
and babblings
snatching her away
from the breast of wisdom
like coal painted faces
minstrel shows
whitewashed genesis
cream-colored pharaohs
but she is not interested
that you feel sorry for her
history
she needs not of your pride
not of your bonafie hustlers
in prophet suits
not of your street corners
not of your liquor stores
not even of your religion
for her stone coated roses are too heavy
to place upon your caskets
for even in death
you have honored yourself
above her
truth
needs not of your chocolate bars
for history is tired of eating
she is sick
to the brim
with prophecies
and worries
and concerns
and birth pains
over those who wear her burden
like the colors of their skins
but she is thankful
that they have chosen to rather be humiliated
than to deny her
and this poem
is for all
their bravery.
Rest
I wanna turn off my brain. Not completely, just enough to gather my breath and lay it at the head of the bed….a temporary moment to which renewal finds itself back to my pillow; to which I may die, and in the same second be reborn. I want my eyes to bow in submission to my bones, and my soul to fall slowly to the contours of this mattress….and for a second pretend that the world has crumbled around me. For a second, for just a moment, let me lay my body at the foot of sleep’s doorstep, pretend to swim with the clouds, and in the same moment…. taste of rejuvenation’s delicacies.
I Promise You a Woman
I know what kind of girls you’re used to.
I know that
kindergarten fingers on small hands don’t know how to hold you
like I do see
she pushes buttons on your heart like that
cause she’s not hip to the fact that a man can lose focus too
but see she’s just a little girl
so she plays catch with your emotions
cause she feels that if she hits you hard enough
you’ll start coughing up tokens for her to play games with
see
I know that your body to these little girls is merely a myth
And every trip to your mouth is a quiz
enveloped in living water that she ain’t learned how to swim in yet
so she apologizes for getting lost in your kiss
and every vibration of your body simply doesn’t make sense to her
and every word of truth coming from your lips is like a puzzle
that she ain’t figured out yet
and she’s insecure because what she’s selling has failed
and its cause the way you love to her is reminiscent of fairy tales
see
they mistake my trust for you as some kind of façade
don’t know what a real man is so they think you are a God to me
mistaken the heavenly embrace of your arms for wings
cause I told ‘em I’m willing to fly away with you
and they mistakenly discern that you grant me wishes like the milky ways
and the stars
cause they see me praying for you
and your mind they can’t dissect
your ways are hidden from them like the life of tiny insects
so she dismisses you as too perfect and she ain’t ready for all that yet
you’re just too nice for her
yea, I know what kind of girls you’re used to
But what I promise you
Is a woman
I promise you support sweeter than any tea you could fathom
I promise you words of love and not temper tantrums
I promise to be strong so when it comes to bearing my burdens you don’t have to
Because I promise to help and not hinder you
I promise to cry tears on your shoulders so I can properly communicate with you
And I promise to bear soldiers and little soliderettes for you
You see I promise not to walk in your shoes
cause I’m woman enough to know that you’re the head of me
And like the neck I support you
Cause what I promise you
I promise you, not a little girl,
but what I promise you
is a woman.
Guest Feature – Alone
Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
– Maya Angelou, Alone
Delilah’s Responsibility
I wonder if it was a spiritual experience
wonder
if blades covered their eyes against the war to which you had grafted them
wonder
if angels had taken the time to whisper to strands of hair of their coming demise
I wonder if they saw laughter dancing in your eyes
and if they had prepared themselves
with breastplates
and helmets,
and knee pads,
if they held their hands up
wonder if the blade hesitated against the strength of the strands
that rubbed against each other
like
lovers
strands of hair that were intimately entwined
hair that made a covenant with the earth
hair
that had promised to protect him since birth
that clung onto one another
like Samson clung onto you
strands of hair that loved
like Samson loved you.
But I wonder if it was spiritual for you
Did you see them as Kings planted inside the throne of private follicles
and fighting battles there
or was it just
hair?
was it spiritual?
for you?
When you touched it,
did you shake hands with angels,
did truth shoot through your body like electricity,
did your fingers grow numb
Did you feel it?
Did your stomach back flip, turn your tears into rivers
Did your mind leave you
Did it purchase attorney’s to plead mercy on behalf of the war you had begun
the moment you looked into his eyes and said “I love you”
Did the spirit find you guilty of conspiracy
to commit the world’s greatest terrorist attack
or did the Philistines just want their money back
I wonder
if you noticed that at that moment your hands were weapons,
heavy and strong
locked and loaded
weapons of war and your heart were choir directors
and yall played
Oh so softly the music of deception,
you sung ballads on his scalp
And immersed his enemies in your lap
I imagine you had bullets beneath your cuticles
You see, I wonder what your life was like
But most of all,
I wonder about the events that lead up to your iniquity
I wonder
Dearest Delilah… about your responsibility.
Wonder if my brother saw righteousness on top freshly painted nails
I wonder if 7 dread locs are added to your scale
And I pray…
I’m not presented with such a responsibility
I wonder if foresight blessed you with the image of Judas
without his consequence
wonder if his betrayal was your inspiration
to get through this
wonder if you are our warning to learn from the past
so that the present’s truly
a gift.
Give Me Life
Your words are beautiful
the way you paint them.
Tie descriptions around waterfall,
Walk us through frowning mirrors and smothered air,
And then auction them off to our fondest senses.
Touching us gently enough to resurrect imagination,
you have talent and you know it.
Cracking open heaven so that we may feel
what it’s like to sleep on top of clouds
or rightly discern what a teardrop taste like,
for we glide along in the melting pot of your splendor.
But your words do not live,
nor do they bring forth life.
I can hear the sirens of an acrylic woman
drowning in her own salt water…
Can you help her?
Will your words assist her in their beauty?
Your words suck the breath from our lungs with its daintiness
the Picasso of Poems,
A hanging Mona Lisa of walking glamour…
Except what I see
are lynched portraits
pretending to swing delicately
from the trees you attached them to.
A jump rope fantasy of tree houses and hopscotch.
I can smell the sizzling fragrance from miles away,
But beauty is just simply not enough for me.
I need to know that before time hugs my flesh,
before the gravediggers begin their song
Can I count on your words to CPR me into its arms?
Or perhaps,
I’ll just remember how beautiful
you are.
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