I am black, bold, beautiful
When it rains he pulls me close and says
how can it be
What big eyes you have
What thick lips you have
What soft hands you have
The better to see you with my dear
The better to kiss you with my dear
The better to touch you with my dear
With the drip drop of water outside the window
Everything is wet
We draw parallels with fairy tales in the wet spots
And here comes the big bad wolf ready to gobble me up
Time is waiting
for a whistling tea kettle
to sound
to announce
the end of the week
to see your face
to taste your lips
and to speak your name
I am muffled against your cheek
your chest, hands pressed against a wall, holding a ticket to the destination of my heart
Do you know what is happening now?
If there is something to feel
let me feel it
Let me follow the Heartline to its purpose
So I won’t be mistaken
I was tired of being a woman,
tired of the spoons and the post,
tired of my mouth and my breasts,
tired of the cosmetics and the silks.
There were still men who sat at my table,
circled around the bowl I offered up.
The bowl was filled with purple grapes
and the flies hovered in for the scent
and even my father came with his white bone.
But I was tired of the gender things.Last night I had a dream
and I said to it…
“You are the answer.
You will outlive my husband and my father.”
In that dream there was a city made of chains
where Joan was put to death in man’s clothes
and the nature of the angels went unexplained,
no two made in the same species,
one with a nose, one with an ear in its hand,
one chewing a star and recording its orbit,
each one like a poem obeying itself,
performing God’s functions,
a people apart.”You are the answer,”
I said, and entered,
lying down on the gates of the city.
Then the chains were fastened around me
and I lost my common gender and my final aspect.
Adam was on the left of me
and Eve was on the right of me,
both thoroughly inconsistent with the world of reason.
We wove our arms together
and rode under the sun.
I was not a woman anymore,
not one thing or the other.O daughters of Jerusalem,
the king has brought me into his chamber.
I am black and I am beautiful.
I’ve been opened and undressed.
I have no arms or legs.
I’m all one skin like a fish.
I’m no more a woman
than Christ was a man.
From your side of the city, do you wonder, how two very different pieces align in temporary happiness?
I can remember tasting your lips and quiet bliss between us, although it feels faint now, it was only this morning.
I love you in frustration, painfully obvious in our conversation.
I wanna be where we were before without repeating our mistakes.
This is for you James, so that you don’t have to sit and wonder what I am talking about.
I had fallen
unknowingly fallen
deeply in like.
So swiftly I could have held my breath
because it felt as if the air had been knocked
out of my chest.
So deeply I felt
I could feel it.
I feared it when I felt it.
But I could see it in your green brown eyes.
And I could hear it in your voice and laugh.
It was something I was becoming familiar with.
I could feel it on my cheeks when your lips pressed against my skin.
The warmth I could feel when my face brushed your shirt.
I could smell it in the way somebody knows
the familiar knowing of what to expect in your nose.
The words escaped me with a whoosh
but my mouth gobbled up the song forming in my heart.
An artist disguised as a hunter took his place in the world of man. And although he tried to be fierce, his was quiet strength, like the heat in a boiling cup of tea. His fears led him to believe that his creativity would give him away. For the world of man did not accept the soft scratch of a pen on paper, or the light, loving stroke of a paintbrush. The artist sought to smother the sound of his deception beneath the laughter of associates and CEOs, for their approval would surely initiate his claim. The artist sealed his beautiful lips with shame so he could not sing and give himself away. Although every night he would sing like the nightingale into the dawn, his heart was always somber with the music he would swallow at dusk.
*This feels unfinished but I don’t know what else to do with it.
Fixed up my old blogspot. New template, new url and new poems. So if you like my work be sure to check out http://hitreplay.blogspot.com for more of my work. Behind each picture is a poem, so make sure to click on the boxes with pictures as well as ones without. Thanks for reading! :)
hitreplay.blogspot.com
Please note: The pictures were taken from weheartit, tumblr and stock xchng. I do not own these images. If your picture has been used and you would like it removed you can let me know at electricheartbeat.tumblr.com/ask
5:30 am and I’m awake again. And these thoughts go round and round in my head as I shiver from some somniac regret, in an hour or two I will probably forget.
Some dream or sensation has shook me awake, to blankly stare at the ceiling white slate. To count the purr of my stomach and hum of the fan, to contemplate perhaps, the essence of man.
I recall no dreams, no mares of the night. And my skin is not dewy with cerebral fright. Might be words that have woken for me to relate, some unresolved, unfulfilled ego state.
But I am no Ginsberg, no Cummings, no Frost. The words that I summon, swirl in my mind lost. And the fingers I reach out might as well have been ghosts, for the fizzle of words I could write at the most.
There’s too much intensity
And too much passion
It’s burning me up in a chemical fashion
I want something simple
I just want a friend
Somebody who’s gentle that I can defend
This new girl’s petite and she’s sweet and she’s graceful
She doesn’t know me and things I’ve done disgraceful
Although she’s so mainstream I like that she’s shy
Whenever we talk she avoids my eyes
When I am with you I’m shining too brightly
And when we are naked, I hold you too tightly
You confuse me, frustrate me, comfort me and soothe
You know I’m a coward and I know you well too
And that’s why I’m saying I want someone new
[I want a fresh start to to hide from the truth]
Sip a little henney, to loosen us up
then put my hands on some places that might make you blush
I’m a lover, not a fighter, but lets fight before we fuck
Boy don’t fight it, you’re invited
Come on over, say whatup
Does he know how every night I dream about you
cry for you,
wrapping my arms around my empty womb
how love made you, killed you
How I said I’d protect you
But I failed you
Still cry for the man that killed you.
This is my friend’s xanga. There’s some pretty great poetry on it. Check it out :)
I breathed in a cold winter air, and watched my warmth fog up the glass
button nose pressed against the windowsill, dreamy eyes half closed against the drone
of theoretical field displacement,
capitalize on this moment
Bourdieuian philosophy soaks the air when we speak
like the way his bristles bristles, his teeth flash
his hands motion
there are grey hairs in place, maturity quite existent in sweet dichotomy
a solitary glance in my direction, a smile
warm hug and comforting shoulder against the well worn sweater of success
I wanna be like you I silently whisper
A beautiful mind, inside trapped, within colors and lights
blurrying shapes
he spins rhymes to decipher himself
distorting a code like spinnerette
