she of 10,000 names

vintage tumblr.

saint day

st. joseph

reason #455 i don't read/perform/slam

in responding to a friend's comment on facebook, i wound up articulating precisely why i gave up on the notion of performing pieces--and it felt far more concise than my explanations here and here. so here's my third angle:

typically, poetry comes to me because there's something i need to speak, then let go.  i would not want folks asking me to perform or repeatedly recite the majority of my poetry. even some love poem inspirations have faded into a sort of blurry collective memory. i don't want or need them lingering in my mind--that's why i write them down.

put another way: my poetry is usually an intense emotional experience manifested in words. once the moment's over, i'm done with it. there are times when i feel compelled to share those moments, so i do.  but tomorrow i'll be somewhere else...and trying to hold on to these lines or being tied to a "signature piece" would prevent the level of progression and evolution i enjoy.


afterword: i adore performance poetry, and the people who do it. this is in no way meant as a statement on the progression of those artists--personally or collectively--or the art form itself. this is just me talkin. as usual.  and something i can point folks to when they ask me questions & shit.

28th day

the blood
is speaking...

the blood
is speaking...
preaching around my shame,
exposing what i refuse to admit;
inciting me to pray
for a love i desire
but don't believe i'll ever have

because that purity is gone
forever
and
i can't unbreak my heart
can't undo
what he's done
or erase the mistakes
of the other
i am forever unlovable
irredeemable
in the eyes
of any man;
too strong
a fortress...

i don't dare
dream those drams,
voice those incantations

even when i know
can't is the worst
four letter word
stealin' my power,
untyin' my gris gris...

i know it.

the blood
pools into a garnet mirror
forcing me to face my true need,
fk what i settle for.

instructing me
to train my thoughts,
rearrange the soul-ache;
dig into my heart,
massage it with my own hands.

i know
i know

i
know
i have to stop this train
before it wrecks itself.

the blood is telling me
to let go
turn my fears into swords
pierce my heart and
let the bad blood out
so the golden light
of Her mantle can enter 
fresh from the deep, dark knowing.

mama audre told us about that knowing,
put the blood on the page

and mine,
like hers,
pulses in my ears,
understanding
my need for truth
trumps the egotistical denials
and petty concerns...

knows
i'm bigger than any fear

so,
it wades
through the bullshit
stuns me into stillness
and forces me
to listen.

conjureman

{original}

mood

blue.

greening

{stream of consciousness related to the cleansing}

lotus blossom
opening
petals in the wind
releasing fragrance

heart reaching towards sky, beating to please the sun
unbreaking
stitching
mending
closing in upon itself like morning glory
reborn in the morning

do i still remember how to be this released?

mindful of the lotus on my hip
walking in perfection
connected
communicating
the spirit behind the etching becoming clear again

thinking about
energy
hunger
intersections of the physical and spiritual
what's feeding what
where the nurturing lies...

back in touch with my heart
core
essence
dipped in the love i rarely allow myself to feel
glowing sticky with it...

the split, redux (napowrimo #3)

a poem fashioned from prose, in two parts.

1.
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.

2.
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.

besides,
who could ever notice
the tears of a mermaid?

blessed {or: a retelling of my birthstory}

{original posting}

my arrival was cloaked in silence
rest. immobility.
more like a wake than a birth...

there was praying
worry
wringing of hands...

i was early but
cosmically punctual;
i had to belong
to neptune:
ruler of murky and
clear waters
destined to duality,
soul comprehension.

the prayer became protection
prenatal apprehension an excuse for fierce independence
"no need to worry...i am here."
hands that rubbed themselves raw
in anticipated grief
were rarely turned to me in anger
but fed/held/clothed me
with love
instead.

relearned priestess rites thru
house-playing shame
...the universe has to
make up for our deletions;
denied rites of passage become
misplaced ashe
creeping into unicorn wallpapered bedrooms...

anyway...

lived life in books and magazines
...it was like the written word
was never lost to me
i'd kept
the histories/mysteries/stories/wisdom
too long
to forget.

my womb is lined with
cave etchings
sumerian script and
griot lessons
hieroglyphs they haven't uncovered on earth yet...

if they could decipher menstruation,
they'd find many women
are actually treasure maps.

goddess heritage my birthright
not because i'm african--but because i remember.

willfully refusing amnesia
in the face of babylon.

pretty/ugly

{background/between stanza soundtrack}



for b. & witchy too much womyn errywhere 

pretty baby
wit yo pretty words
an' ugly ways

fulla game
an' fire
gettin whatever u want
whereever u go

til u got
to my door
an' i snatched
the crow
outta that cock
wit'out even tryin...

u told on yaself
real quick.

silly me
thinkin there was
somethin behind
that smoke u breathed
an' those mirrors
u call eyes.

pretty baby
wit yo pretty words
an' ugly ways...

hope u learned
ur lesson.

initiation

{the first of these}

she entered
in gold-covered brown skin;
african face under a halo of hair.

i was already in bed
sleeping...waiting
i'm not sure which...

she made no sound;
her smile awakened me...
sweet. full.
adorned with glossy blackberries.

suddenly, she's leaning over me.
i don't think i ever spoke;
her presence paralyzes.

slowly, she kisses me,
searching...
now i'm afraid--
even as i return the gesture
through a haze of shock.

what do i do with this woman?

she lingers, then pulls back
there must be fear in my eyes
'cause there's more warmth in her smile.

she tells me--without speaking--that she will teach me...

i gulp air
and wait.
she hovers over me
then bends down for another kiss...

my arms reach for her waist
i relax my thighs to make room.
she is so
beautiful. warm.
more than.
and she loves me...that i know

the kiss deepens
we move
merge
in a cacophony of light
bliss...

i awake
nearly in love myself.

it was months before i understood
this was no mere dream
but a visitation.

She'd infused me
with a piece of my/Herself;
embedded Her love
in my humble human soul...

the dialogue

an exercise in self preservation.

sometimes we forget how strong we truly are...

about the author...

see here.

odun mi

dreams for the new year...

full

{birthed jan. 2006}

he says i'm full lately...
becoming womanly.
i feel
big
heavy with creativity
universes
potentialities.

my babies
lack physical manifestation--
i bear lyrical children
foster positive living environments for metaphors
carry messages on my hips
diplomatically translated
by my inbetween.

i am
more woman now
no need to roar...
returning to the comfort
of womb whispers
and peacock feathers.

my weapons:
earth tones
headwraps
and bluejeans.

call me boho if u wanna
i was who i was
when erykah wasn't on the radar yet
and india was stll singin in coffeeshops

...hoppin planets
just for fun
ain't too much in my line of sight
worthy of keeping me grounded.

dreams reflected
in diamond sutras
and wide-ruled notebooks...
don't care if you think
i'm perpetuating bullshit
goddess/empress/queen images
unrealistic pussy powers.

complexity is my birthright.

why perpetuate mediocrity?
inferiority?

i am made in the image of
god
ancestors
africans
angels

who are you keeping alive?

i am
more woman now
heavy
heavy
heavy...

i am
due
today.

the longing

what follows is a freewrite/stream of consciousness.

i shared it with some close friends a little over a year ago and just re-discovered it. i am releasing it now, slightly edited, because it is still true; because these holes are still deep, aching and open.

because the release is the only thing that has ever truly soothed my soul.  because there are many days when honesty and transparency are all i have.

because my soul is not satisfied.

rewind...

urban geisha

rewind...

i am in struggle...