Category: poetry

poetry

My Way

mantra

Is it my eyes that hypnotize you?

Is it my speech that awakens you?

Is it my touch that arouses you?

Is it my thigh that attracts you?

Is it my mind that enlightens 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?

What about my neck, does it motivate you?

Is it my face that brings you wonder? or my chin that sparks your creativity?

Maybe, it’s my hips? Do my hips make you to think of tomorrow?

My hips! ..the hips that reflect greener pastures and the “Birth of a Nation”.

…the hips that rotate on albums of Howlin’ Wolf, Erykah Badu, Beyonce and MJ…

…the hips that shake out “Oew, Love to love ya baby” by Donna Summer,

…the hips that wiggle Mtume’s “Juicy Fruit”.

…the hips that wrap you in Sade’s “No ordinary Love”..those hips.  My hips that grind in timeless anthems of Minnie Riperton, Donnie Hathaway, Coltrane, and Puente beats.

My hips…that move and spread, and glide. Like a futuristic slide, a matrix, a change, a growth, a seed, a cipher.

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 and bend.  The way I sway, and lean.

The way I tiptoe with bare feet..

…the way I laugh (loudly) and tell jokes (badly)

…the way I choose to be… just Me.

poetry

Her Face

mantra

She tells the story

of her beginning and end

her coming and going

Her eyes whisper

the joys of her children

and the heartache of her love

and his struggle…

The birds melodies vibrate along her skin

Wind chimes dangle from her fingertips

Flowers blossom in her hair

She wakes with the Sun and sleeps to the Moons lullaby

She dances like the rain

The ground praises her by kissing her feet with each step she makes

The mountains welcome her…..

She climbs them with

DETERMINATION

STRENGTH

STEADFASTNESS and

UNDERSTANDING

On her journey she carries a staff filled

With the sweet liquor of

PEACE

And

SHE SMILES

A smile so bright that it shines light to upon the world

A smile so vibrant that it brings light to every heart

A smile that reflects all of the beauty that exists within her

EVERYTHING IS BEAUTIFUL ON HER FACE

She is blessed by GOD.

Timeless Love
poetry

They Don’t Know

mantra

They don’t know..they’ll never know.
They could never understand, they choose not too.
Our love is deeper than their comprehension

They just don’t know….

Let’s dance and shout and show them what it’s all about.
Let’s love in loud colors and blush down to our toes.,.
Let’s smile from here to Africa and laugh until new heavens are created.

Cause..they just don’t know.

They may gossip, they may throw darts, they may try to hush our love..
But..they just don’t know, they’ll never understand what’s rarely seen.

So…let’s show em. Let’s teach them, let’s love us so that they can be blessed to have at least seen love.

poetry, Prose

Ain’t it Strange and Kind of Wonderful

mantra
Geveryl Robinson’s parents, Harvey and Catherine (nee Jones) on their wedding day, Sept. 6, 1957, along with her maternal grandparents, Elizabeth and Clarence. (Photo courtesy of Geveryl Robinson)

And… they say that (IT) can’t happen.

They say…(IT) never existed.

They say…we were born workers, to give birth to workers who work for other’s..other than ourselves.

We accompany each other for just a moment in time.

They say…that we love and leave..because we are incapable of truly staying.

They say…”Papa was a rolling stone.” but my daddy never left me. My daddy never left my Mama…and her Daddy never left her or her Mama.

So..who is this “They”?

Ain’t it Strange and Kind of Wonderful..that LOVE always exists? That LOVE has always been the main course on black dinner tables? Ain’t it Strange and Kind of Wonderful..that there has always been Black marriages, there has always been long-standing committed Black relationships? That sometimes next to single parent homes there were two-parent homes..the narrative was deliberately left untold. So it’s Strange..but Kind of wonderful to know that there’s nothing wrong with black households..there’s no epidemic of Black people being incapable of loving each other and marrying for life-times.

“They” just omitted it..to have more “workers”.

Tell the truth. Become a Black Love Activist. Join the Black Love Activist on Facebook

Senegalese Wrestlers
motivation, poetry, Prose

The Masterpiece

mantra

There’s this picture… that I want to paint.

I’ve been building it in my head. I’ve been outlining the edges, the angles, and the shape…all in my head.

It’s a picture… A painting or sketch of a Man. A very large Man. A very dark Man.  A BIG, Black… Man.

…..A huge Man with wide back and solid, pudgy sides. A Man with long, thick legs and very large flat feet. Ample feet with firm, pale, pink soles, and Kohl ankles.

…..A heavy Man with massive thighs that parade scars like tattoos.

There’s this picture… that I want to paint.

I’ve picked out the darkest, boldest, charcoal. The Blackest of the Black ink, and on the floor, beside the easel, awaits the glossiest of soot infused oils that I could find.

See..there’s this picture… that I want to paint, That I have to paint.

I have meditated on it’s view for weeks. Designing and constructing the vision inside my mind.

The image magnifies and multiplies every time I think it. Clear and Direct.  It’s of a Man. This BIG, Black Man! He has a bulbous nose, stout and transfixed. Wild, bouncing eyes that pierce and firmly cling on what ever he sees.

His teeth are magnificent white, gleaming and clean. Fat rosette lips. He’s swarthy and walks high and steady, as colossal hands with coral fingertips dangle and drift; lagging behind him.

This Man, is so big and black. He’s SO BIG and BLACK! Moorish and Southern. Grotesque and Stereotypical. He calls himself a “Nigga”. He speaks of himself as “ugly”…“My ol’ ugly ass”…smirking and corner eyeing me, to weigh his judgement based on my reaction.

There’s this Man that I want to paint

….that I want to feature on a 12 by 12 foot wall, I’d like to plaster his face, his torso…his whole body (actually) on every highway billboard. He’s shadowy, shady, ebony, jet, murky, melanoid, and inked black. Vicious and prude. Scary and Evil. Magical and Malicious. “A thief made of the night”, a Coon, Buffoon, a Buck, a Jig, Bantu, Sambo, Baboon, Darkie, Hambone, Smokey, Mandingo, Boy, and a Nigger. They say he’s dangerous and belligerent. A liar and a Con. A beast with NO beauty.

This MAN that I want to paint. Is a MAN!

Heavenly, Godly, Fatherly, Proud,  A Warrior,  A Sustainer, A Provider, A Lover, He’s a Historian, Griot, Teacher, Preacher, Architect, Doctor, Farmer, Producer, Director, Life-Giver and a Soul Preserver.

He’s a walking, living masterpiece! Trying to blend in and trying to hide. Trying to cope with the lie of who he was told he was.

But, this MAN leaves me desperate. This man leaves me speechless and breathless. He leaves me ruthless and determined.

Anxious to paint him, just so he can see what I see. Just so he can admire what I admire.

I adore him. I pray within the slur of his speech and linger within his smile.

He’s fantastically Black. He’s amazingly perfect. I love him as he is..hued in the deepest-darkest of goodness and greatness. Poured in all the sweetness that Heaven has to offer.

I love him.

“Black Man..Black Man…Don’t you know how beautiful you truly are?”

#HeaintnoSamboheismyman

Dennis Rouvre-Lamb

poetry

Colors

mantra

Black nails..scrape; striping your forearm, I watch streaks fade from Scarlet to Blue. Tinted Purple fingerprints mimic my grip.

Facing you..Green eye to Brown. Wide, Kohl lashes flicker fast. Moist Crimson lips..twist between White teeth nibbling Pink…creating warm Fuchsia.

Tightly pulling Ivory. Wrestling Magenta.

Grabbing Beige. Tugging Yellow. Yanking Burgundy.

Clutching Caramel. Pushing Almond. Pinching Ebony.

Grappling Ginger. Straddling Cream. Covering Copper.

Tasting Hazel. Sipping Coffee. Pressing Honey.

Brassy and Golden. Emerald and happily Jaded.

Blushed and Shaded Sapphire.

Fleshed out. Red-Hot flashed about… and blended colorfully next to you.

poetry

Wake Me Up

mantra

Wake up toes…

Wake up legs

Wake up knees

Wake up thighs

Wake up pelvic

Wake up pubic

Wake up navel

Wake up stomach

Wake up breast

Wake up nipples

Wake up arms

Wake up shoulders

Wake up neck

Wake up ear

Wake up scalp

Wake up mouth

Wake up lips

Wake up tongue

Wake up to loving

Wake up to touch

Wake up to fingers

Wake up to kisses

Wake up toes…

Feel it, rise to it, accept it,

Wake up eyes (SEE)

Wake up voice (Speak)

……Wake up to loving

Jacob Banks
poetry

They Will Come For You

mantra

They will come for you..

……they will rob you of your balloon and ask you to smile.

They will come for you..

……they will come for your magic

They will come… because your heart glows in the dark.

……because you are familiar but not the same

……because there was love in your throat

…..because every 9 months you give birth to a soldier

They will come for you… just in case…

So, put your dreams in your front pocket, use the ones before you as ankle weights..and Erase the Sun.

The oppressed… out number the Oppressors.

Protect your magic.

Freedom is on the MOVE….And..

They will come.

Jacob Banks