the end (napowrimo #30)

i'm gonna cheat again...this won't be a poem, but a little self-back pat for actually getting through this...

at first i thought it would just be fun, but it wound up being more than that. it was a catharsis. i got back in creative touch with some other writers i'd missed. i got a good bit of flow back.

never thought just trying to write a poem a day could do all that.

see y'all in 2011.


haiku (napowrimo #29)

bad news killin highs.
information overload
crushes the soft heart.


oya's hands (napowrimo #28)

trying to hold my ground
being pushed and pulled by the winds
of the moon and my womb

a monthly tornado
forcing me to take shelter
in words and candlelit altars

i emerge
but scattered
wandering slowly
among my pieces
seeking reassembly.


confection (napowrimo #27)

your chocolate, my
peanut butter. a cup full
of loving sweetness.


to the young man on the train (napowrimo #26)

creamy coffee
with a sunshine smile

where do they make
men like you...
who listen deeply
eyes soft with care
full of yielding strength?

how did you achieve
such early liberation
from the ridiculous posturing
society demands from you?

and can you teach
your brothers
your secret?


epiphany #3127 (napowrimo #25)


with thanks to d.w.b.

i fear losing this moment's lesson
in the midst of unbridled bliss.

then again,
maybe that is the lesson...

rivers flow without ceasing.
chameleons live in relevant rainbows.

it is necessary for me
to surrender to the will of love
allow Her to sharpen my desire
and go where She leads me--

whether that means your arms
or to the edge of the ocean,
my arms filled with offerings.

i exist
to serve
from a seat of power;

such servitude
brings no shame
to the servant or the served.

only comfort
and countless blessings.


birthday (napowrimo #24)

for s.i.m.

one day
they brought home
a big, wiggly baby boy.

...and the chubby cheeked goon
had the nerve to take over.

i had been

he bored me for awhile
but before i knew it
he could walk and talk.

then, wrestling was fun.
so was making him cry.

...but that was my sole privilege.
anyone else who tried
got the evil eye.

more time passes
and i come to appreciate
the sweetness in baby brothers
grown into young men.

who knew
an occurrence so annoying
could turn out to be
a blessing.


overflow (napowrimo #23)

filled with prayers
i can't speak

i can't name

i can't soothe

sometimes i hide in my dreams
just to see
who has the senses
to find me

working pisces magic
to tuck myself between waves

waiting for one
to hear the prayers
fulfill the desire
soothe the pain...


emancipation sideshow parade - now with more negroes! (napowrimo #22)

bright lights
pretty pictures
and microphones

tallow candles
sepia flyers
and overworked throats

college days
spent playing and praying
fun with a purpose
of being picked

mornings in dank cages
spent praying and weeping
of family compounds
and palm wine

a long way
from home.

dressed now,
naked then...

no perks
to being snatched
under cover of night
being snatched from the stage
in colorful jerseys...
while lawyers wait
to seal dream deals...

capitalization exchanged
for oppression
sort of...

it is

we know those men
on wooden platforms
only dealt in nightmares...

it is

softer voices
untwisted countenances
they only run from opposing teams
while bloggers crack whips

it is


before the moon (napowrimo #21)

for the ladies

i got an urge
to lay in the lap of luxury
be pampered and
fed rich foods
sweet fruits
sip tea or
gargle honey...

be pleasured
every hour
on the hour...

dream deep dreams
light incense
wait for divine inspiration...

all in
undulating cycles
of bliss

but the alarm rings
and i gotta go to work
fit into the flow
sit and stare
at paperwork and such.

defying womb-deep desires
for something as petty
as a paycheck.


liberation (napowrimo #20)

rise up. take light from
my hands and line your lips with
sweetness, beloved.


my desert (napowrimo #19)

heat rises from flesh
begging for contact, release.
your kiss: cooling rain.


untitled (napowrimo #18)


i am

can't stop my go
interrupt my flow

i am

candle lighting
mojo working
sweating sweetness.

i am

come see
'bout me.


epiphany (napowrimo #17)

has probably called me
everything but
a child of god.

in your arms,
i could be
nothing less
than divine.


heroine (napowrimo #16)

the only thing worse
than needing to fight
in the first place
is summoning all my energy,
loading on the armor,
only to be disarmed.

i burn bright
then stall out
like a car expected to run
on a -10 degree day
after a 10 second warm up.

you wouldn't like me when i'm angry...
disappointment's almost worse.

but to understand that
you'd have to know
the level of control i exhibit
on a daily.

feel like ororo's sister
when letting go
isn't an option;
frustrated from forcing myself
to walk instead of taking flight;
keep emotions checked
to avoid random tornadoes.

phoenix rising
purified in the fire
of self preservation;
impossible to cease the progression
once mental walls start crashing.

being temporarily thwarted
is not a denial
of my power.

give me a reason,
and i'll blow
your house


tanka (napowrimo #15)

reminding myself
of my totems, i release
brokenness, refuse
extinction. snakes and tigers
adapt swiftly; fear no foes.


expedition (napowrimo #14)

i am irked
when a mouse-click reminds me
of your existence...

moments when
i'm forced to remember
i was someone
with you

i'm still forgiving myself
for allowing you--
wannabe black cousteau--
to awkwardly explore my depths,
testing my love
and spirit;

for allowing you
to poison my oceans
in the name of
your self-serving
heart-healing experiments.

i proved strong
and survived;
still beautiful,
though battered.

sliced through pages
and slaughtered inkpens
to avoid murder charges
and assault accusations...

finally realizing
the best revenge
is to search within,
remain grateful
for the awareness you lack,
love myself
all the ways you couldn't,
and swim
towards warmer waters.


dream house (napowrimo #13)

honeysuckle on the back fence;
rose bushes
lining the wrap-around porch...

wide, open rooms
full of windows
draped in pretty curtains
or maybe some plantation shades...

a bedroom
with french doors
and a california king bed
covered in pillows

overstuffed chairs
littered everywhere
for reading and napping...

a bathroom
with aquamarine tiles
and a mirror covered in seashells;
claw-foot tub with brass fixtures
alongside a crystal clear shower...

...and you
to share it with.


untitled (napowrimo #12)

in response to this...

when he walked in,
i wished i hadn't come
with this clown.

we met in the kitchen
a few times
seeking to refresh drinks
or a break from the music.
but tipsy, too loud guests
prevented casual conversation openings.

when he laughs at someone's joke,
i fantasize about kissing his smile--
until i'm distracted by
my date's over-eager hands
in all the wrong places.

next time
our homeboy throws a party
i'm following his lead
and coming alone...


imposter (napowrimo #11)

bedroom window breeze
dances across my shoulder
mimicking your lips.


understanding (napowrimo #10)

for miss lizzie, lena mcpherson, lauren olamina, marie levant 
and their real-life counterparts

how do i tell you
i can belong to no one
because i belong to all?

i am always myself
and others;
walking between worlds,
i could be snatched from your arms
before your next stroke
return with knowledge of
ancient ritual and
a recipe for a healing bath
before the next.

who takes my place?
usually one of your past life lovers
grateful for the chance to see you again. 

she'll offer blessings

before i can tell you
i love you
i have to determine
which voice i'm speaking in
who i'm speaking for
what language i'm translating from
and what part of you
i'm speaking to...

it will be
with me.


haiku (napowrimo #9)

i travel between
strength and shame as i open,
betraying desire.


ebo (napowrimo #8)

something told me
it wasn't really my money...

so when she walked by
i didn't need to know her story
i only knew it was hers.

so i gave it
and she genuinely blessed me
for helping her get home.

and i knew
the offering
would help me find mine.


the encounter (napowrimo #7)

part 3

recalling the beauty of your instrument
makes me want to sing.

you tell me
you'll be my toy--
if that's what i want.

i want
to play into the night
hitting high notes
and strumming bass lines.

i've noticed
i'm having difficulty
erasing the handprints you left behind.

you wanted me to know something...

i want to make sure
i got the message.



the encounter (napowrimo #6)

part 2

the beat
is on the other side
of the wall
you've pinned me to.

this dance is different,

time is of the essence:
we stuff soundbites of our lives
between kisses
and inappropriate hand gestures.

you are both sweet
and completely irreverent;
playing the gentleman
as you grab my ass.

i bite your lower lip
'cause it looked good
when you did it.

all the while,
the grind continues.

i ponder the futility
of exchanging information
when i'll never see you again,
but i oblige

making a mental note
of the beauty of your eyes.

i give your hand one last squeeze,
then leave to get ready
for my next party...


the encounter (napowrimo #5)

part 1

felt hands and hips
before i saw your face;
let myself fall into a slow wine
forgetting the club rule:

always watch for signals
from forward-facing girlfriends
when being danced with from behind...

abandoned myself to the rhythm...
first the dj's
then yours.

but it was cool
'cause i turned around
and the strong hands
were cloaked in pretty brown skin
the full lips were a nice bonus.

i wondered
what you looked like
in full sun,
away from disco balls
and fog machines.

on a whim,
i kissed you goodbye.
you whispered an island breeze
and i smiled,


ambidextrous (napowrimo #4)

my magic is white
before your hands trace my spine...
then, hips drum dark beats.

{a brief explanation: for some, white magic--or the right-hand path--is considered chaste and/or decidedly non-sexual. sex magick, tantra, and other sensual pleasures used as spiritual disciplines are deemed "left-handed". the left hand path is often maligned as completely "evil" and full of "black magic", when really there are positive and negative poles of each. e.g., white magic used to manipulate emotions and free will--such as a "come back to me" spell--could also be considered negative.}


the split, redux (napowrimo #3)

a poem fashioned from prose, in two parts.

sekhmet's come to clean house--
reminding you
that violence and intelligence
are not always mutually exclusive. 

lioness eyes gleam with razor-wit
kind only to respectful seekers,
cursing all others.

don't make her cut you...

ever-purifying fire of change,
evolution's catalyst; 
queen whose pleasure comes before all else.

sweetest thing
this side of honeycombs
and sugar cane.

full of love mantras,
gossamer dreams,
and pleasing ways.

she rests
in flowing waters
moved by compassion and kindness.

love makes any sorrow irrelevant.

who could ever notice
the tears of a mermaid?


haiku (napowrimo #2)

he speaks to me. i
am lost in lucid brown eyes,
trying to translate.


love manifest

i have received many answers to this...

but even in my gratitude, i have felt empty, like i have nothing to give in return for all the wonders that have been placed at my feet.

then i realized, it's true that i am empty...but only in the sense of a beautiful vessel waiting to hold fine perfume or rare, precious oil. 

my heart is cleansed and ready to receive--the best kind of emptiness.

i am still myself. still whole. there is plenty to offer.

i have just learned to give wisely. 

primordial (napowrimo #1)

not all wombs open as easily as legs.

there are many ways to warm a bed
and feed from breasts. 

there was a time
when a woman unto herself
was understood
and embraced
as a different kind of ideal.

over time,
politics became important.
the men got suspicious
and aroused the suspicion of our sisters...

She said:
"it's all right.
from now on, you will just have to be brave.
respect that this path will be laced with broken glass
instead of leisure.
but you will know who you are.
and, if you learn your lessons well,
i will guarantee you want for nothing."

so, daughter,
we have always been here.

yes, some turned bitter
seeing our sisters' comforts;
the years of smug smiles and haughty glances
inspired the negative side of darkness.

therein lies the worst of our reputation.

most of us
were simply good
and misunderstood.