mamma said she dont like the way
i'm holding my head lately
she say my gait is off
she say my voice doesnt come out the same
that it turns around and dives right back into me
falling flat in my belly

i looked at me
thru her unkind truth mirror
watch dangled from my wrist
antennas moved all over the place
dark circles under my eyes where
hope and future usta be
cheek bones razor sharp
and lips that wouldn't bend

i saw
fragments

and i know i would've given even what was left
had he simply held out his hand
i know
i will give what's left
if he just held out his hand

i wanted to get to the root
think it, say it out loud
sans all the poetic bullshit
fk the dick craving
fantastic flying thru space
fkn till the sun stop shining...
shit

im convinced i dont wanna write love poems
feel love
be love
anymore

thats the real
fear

im afraid that if he comes
he'll try to get me first
before i get him
tit for tat
but i know his words will
land on my chest and i'll
be like cream trapped inside of lips
trying hard to keep panties clean

(imma come back here)

the wordplay plays wit' wordz on this like a chess game, NICE . .{}

they sell inspiration by the ounce
-xxx

spectacular
that's the word he used
spectacular
but now when i listen to him say that word
it breaks up and comes apart and sounds like something else
spectacle, you liar

and i get angry

who does that?
what kind of person?

its like trying to figure out the mind of a serial killer
cause yeah, im pretty sure he's a serial killer

he was so good at it all
he had to have done it before
repeatedly
to many

he knew i had
come from hell
and was basking in my
heaven
he knew i was enjoying
my post traumatic beauty

even tho
he knew my feet were spread apart
most of me was on the come up
while one foot still tip toed in the darkness
of my pain
i was smiling but still
clutching the autopsy report to my chest
and watering graveyard grass with my tears

i saw him in a vision
killing me
after of course
i had handed him the weapon

trying to figure out the mind of a serial killer
is like trying to figure out my own
it all comes around right back to me

to me with these fkn antennas
i shoulda kept covered
and this fkn heart
i shoulda tucked in tight
and this fkn
poetic ass
deep ass
real ass
soul
i shoulda kept to myself
.................................................

ralphie told me
a long time ago
that i.always.survive.
and he was right
khris tells me all the time
that i gotta special kinda way
and he was right
my mamma wont let me forget
that i am like the moon
even when its dark, i am radiant
she's right
i am

i simply love your work...God speaks

the feeling is mutual. thanks

knockout
poetess for
both poems
loaded with
gut & gut

Damn!...You've got some DEEEP stuff weaved through here and I feel you on ALL of it.

thanks

this sound
always
spreads me out
like
sand
coy
sensual
silk gliding over
rigid
in repeat
whisper vibrato
sonic echo
palpable
r's rolling across wet grass
orchid
blooming
opening
to sun
nectar
raindrops
landing softly
falling boldly
scolding
inhibitions

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knaGIOJNxTc

you can flow for days.

you always come with something so real it's too beautiful to digest sometimes. great pieces

but this kind of empty
is open and vast
and runs amuck
it takes a part of you
that was alive and beating and flowing
and shrivels it up
mushes it into a fine powder
and blows it away
making you know
there are tiny grains of you out there
scattered in the wind

i was hoping each day
would remove a question mark
and bring something to fill the hollow

but its past 30 days
34 to be exact
and i still feel
less filled
and i still want

whoa!...

that line alone could kill a ton of lines I've read on here over the years...

and the following are what I felt was definitely the meat of this piece of work:

dark circles under my eyes where
hope and future usta be
cheek bones razor sharp
and lips that wouldn't bend

i saw
fragments

and i know i would've given even what was left
had he simply held out his hand
i know
i will give what's left
if he just held out his hand

i wanted to get to the root
think it, say it out loud
sans all the poetic bullshit
fk the dick craving
fantastic flying thru space
fkn till the sun stop shining...
shit

im convinced i dont wanna write love poems
feel love
be love
anymore

thats the real
fear

im afraid that if he comes
he'll try to get me first
before i get him

you just... continue to strike nerves and make me happy that I've clicked on your posts... Seriously. *nods*

------------------------------
blog|books|browse|buy
http://itsallrelative.blogetery.com
http://www.lulu.com/content/132318
http://www.lulu.com/content/7598631

Your poetic works are "gifts" ... and speaking for myself, I thank you for the gifts in this thread, the wrappings, and the bows! -- :9

it feels like a sort of
family
when love settles down
around your ankles
and moves like water
when you wade through life
instead of gushing all over your face
blinding your eyes
making you stumble
and rush to try and catch it

it feels sort of like
permanent
the way love just
sets in deep
and rests there
without stirring up
all kinds of crazy shit

it feels sort of like
stepping into myself
seeing into myself
feeling like
myself
for the first time

i'm okay with that

i bought a shovel and left it at your door

now i'll wait until you dig up your dreams
and start acting like a free man
again


i would do the diggin for you
but you wont tell me where you burried them
and my back is tired from cultivating my own dream garden

you see my shit growing all tall and regal?

catch up nigga

dont make me wait a lifetime
cause you know i will

if i die before you live
i wont have no peace
so live
dammit
so the world will become better

cause i remember those dreams
back when you usta be free
and you got what the world needs
to keep spinnin
keep me spinnin


so
stop actin like your left sac aint got no nut
and let them puppies swing
low

the black fedora

It sits on a bookshelf
Propped between Elijah Muhammad and El hajj Malik el Shabazz
It greets me with
Salaam ah laikum
Kaifa haloka?
My answer is
Ah laikum salaam
Alhemed el allah

It has seen me crumble
Break and shatter
Gather and rise
Renewed

It has felt the vibrations of my laughter
Whip fiercely through the feather
Threatening to fray the white ribbon
That holds it in place

It has been in the hands of
The little girl
When she placed it on her head
Left side sitting low
Over her brow

It hears me cry my poetry
My words sometimes reaching underneath
Stretching to find a place to put to rest
The blood soaked braid of loss

Insha’ allah
Someday the father
Of the owner will come to claim it
Bringing movement back into the hollow crown
And dance to the rhythm of his memory
A swift delightful jazz
A deep southern moaning blues

I C U have finally cut open "the" poetic vein ... bleeding precious literary ink -- :D


*Bleed On*


So far you've created hella bloodshed in this thread ... and -- (as gross as it sounds) -- I love bathing my eyes in it! -- :P

the depth of your knowledge continues to unfold

i once dreamed about
having my own corner on this earth
but then i realized
i am the earth

and i can prove it

sometimes i feel him lost
like he doesnt know which way to go
somewhere without warmth
and comfort

that really fucks me up

but most times
i just feel him
bright, joyful and...
sunny

that really keeps me going

on baldwin earlier.

i'm going to continue in a ramble here


this is just an '^' tho





(if there is a thing such as color, strip it from me


take it by the finger, the pinkie

and pull at the corner


peel away time-

anger, weather beaten


my face is a shack

behind a plantation)




"mister, do you have a nickel?"


her skin is white satin.
becky or molly or sue or beth
ten or eleven or nine or twelve

"mister, do you have a nickel?"


the ice cream truck's siren plays bach against the ears
of the children.
they run and dance, laugh and tease, ice cream dripping
across their hands like colored diamonds


"mister..."


he's sitting on a green bench in a park,
Notes of a Native Son between his hands,
his legs crossed at the ankle,
tie loose


"mister, do you have a nickel?"


he looks up and finds a small girl tugging on one of her golden pigtails.
her plaid skirt, green and girl scout looking, is being
twiddled in her other hand.


"mister?"


"no, i'm sorry, little lady, i actually don't."


at this, her head cocks. she looks at his pocket. she doesn't believe him.

he waits a moment then smiles and lifts his shoulders in reassurance.


"i'm sorry. i really don't."

she frowns

and frowns,


frowns,


"Niggers never have nothing."


(my face

is a shack

behind a plantation


the people who want me to forget

are never the right color)

.... be so kind as to post ^this^ "ONE~DER~FULL" pCe on a thread by itself?

*Wonder~Full*


Quite appropriate considering this is "Black History Month", nahmean? -- :)

Very visually felt and word kin. I've always admired and respected your wordplay.
~~~~~~~~
When One learns
to live without fear,
then One cannot be broken.

when i breathe
it makes the entire universe
expand
the sun is shining
and the hood is feeling like
some sacred community
behind pearled gates
the clink from the chain link
on the pit bull next door
sounds like angels playing harps
the baby is cooing
secret language he only speaks to his daddy
and i
in my flip flops and sweats
wife beater
no bra
hair shooting off in all directions
am feeling like
such a beautiful
and joyful creature
this world is
just in need of
my essence
so i'll spread it around
with my lips and my pen
......

i received a book in the mail today
i wanted to rip it apart
but then i saw my name in it
and now i just wanna dance
and put it's words into motion
sing a song of depth, pain, sorrow
joy, growth, and peace


i will be back

my essence is shooting out good

i'm growing
and shrinking.

i'm loving in the absence of
something that tried to convince me it was love

almost...almost had me fooled

but i love
cause love wins every time.

and i smile, cause...
i cant be defeated, no

i cant be hardened

going through pages and pages
of poetry
picking and choosing.

i see that i cuss a lot
in my poems
and i wanna not cuss so much

but then i started playing with words and themes
and what i came up with was...

all of the fuck you poems
i wanna make them say
really fuck you with a vengeance

and all of the fuck me poems
i wanna make them say
fuck me harder

all of the love poems
i wanna make them go deeper
and pull love from underneath
the burying grounds

all of the society is full of shit poems
i wanna make that shit stink in the noses
of all the sleeping babies
so that they awake with screams
and frustration and an ambition to clean up the mess

all of the sorry cheatin ass women beatin ass no good nigga poems
well,
i wanna just be more specific
cause i know that all of them aint like that

and to all of the miscellaneous poems that contain phrases with words like...
fuck
bitch
pussy
whore
cunt
dick
shit
nigga and
bastard....

i think i can remove those words and substitute with something less harsh.

or maybe i'll just say
fuck this shit
and keep on doing what i do how i do it.

I may have told you this before -- (I can't remember) -- *If it wasn't you, it was another talented female on OKP Freestyle* :P ... but in any case: I'm no "funny bunny" / I don't like women / But damn I love you for the flows you write. They're just raw, real, and impecably precise with a hint of funk~a~fied knowledge.


Working On Your Book?


Work It!

ha. funny bunny made me chuckle. thanks.

ok raw yes vivid very talented no doubt still the work expressed here no less than magic pure

You walk a fine balance between vulnerability and sensuality. Your writing is raw and beautiful all at once.


"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession."
- Robert Frost

http://www.farrunningfatman.com/author/barry-dawson/
http://www.lulu.com/content/187759
http://www.hdfest.com/Barry/allreviewsbarry.html
http://wishbonec.wordpress.com/

thanks. i like the words you used.

first, thanks to all that read. thanks to those that read and reply.

---------

i'm listening to sade's soldier of love instrumental. it sounds so beautiful, i find myself with incomplete thoughts.

like...

cliff
hangers

slicing through icey night alley ways
desire cleaving to chest
breast heaving to the slight touch of

snare drum caress membrane taught
full gushing flowing
roll across my

back arch
low meadow dewy moist
soft flower pedal
feel me crumble to the

touch jewels perched
shining gleaming invite
melt to warmth of

skin to skin
rough calloused
friction ignites sparks
see blue glow radiate
cool heat tingle

crescendo slow
violent climax
death or pleasure
same peace same universe
born again

You and Deepthought74 could prolly go a few rounds on a collabo, cuz your words in ^this^ piece wrap around his flowy sentiments -- (very sensually similar) -- *YeP*

I mean -- for a minute I forgot who I was reading -- (thought it was Deepthought) -- :P


*Very Nyce*

mexico
and africa
such a big boy
i see him
brown eyes
dark hair all over the place
skin the hue of tapioca pudding

this is my child's child

i ask him...
'what are you doing with that foot?'
when i see him raise it high and fix his eyes on it

he looks at me as if to say

'you are grand, woman, grand mother'

it's hard for me to wrap my head around it
at my age?
him and the miracle girl?

someday he'll understand
how he got his name

jayden Marcus D'shon

but not until he is older

for now i am just
that woman
that holds
and sings
and talks
and nurtures
and loves...
and loves...

and loves

But eventually ....


I'd like to recommend ^this^ thread for ARCHIVE.


Can I get a "second that emotion"? -- :D

completely self indulgent. but...
folk that know me, know that i am so not one of those 'it's all about me' kinda women. i'm not apologizing, i'm just saying.

now, i feel like writing about jon...

he got me and his daddy
all rolled up and tangled
inside of his head and heart

he got his brother
anchored to his shoulders

he got his uncle
peripheral vision constant light

i usta think he had nothing of mine
like his daddy just pissed on the ground
and said be something
and jon was born from that

but jon aint a boy no more

he a man that has a little less slink in his walk
and a little more love in his heart
he moves as if to say
i am my father's creation
but i am my mother's son

he got plenty of me in him

the boy whose...
brother's murder and uncle's death
cuddle close together like lovers
in autumn

the boy whose...
abandonment from his father and smothering love from his mother
are like hot and cold spinning together
in spring

the boy whose...
thoughts run deep to his center
heating and thickening up his soul like rain
in summer

that boy
that man

somewhere along the line
sometime right in front of my face
stood up and reminded me that...

he was born in winter

i see him different now
more of me in him than i knew
the best part of his father
but mostly
i see him grown
a man aside from circumstances
an individual searching for a way to be
free

how could i possibly
deny him the journey?

Journal material -- with a touch of light & love -- Wrapped in polar bear hugggs.


*Felt*


>...know that i am so not one of those 'it's all about me' kinda women.


Yes we *know* ... but, but, but ... This exceptionally raw, real, and heartfelt thread "is" ALL ABOUT YOU and your poetic gifts!!! -- *smiles*


*WORD*

but that was me there
with the flower dying in my hair
you got me wet
splashing water
sprinkling me
woke me brought me
jerked me shook me
there i am
here i am
the one
with the flower and right eye situated
sideways in a kind face

*Discovery Is A Mutha, Ain't It?* -- :9


We should have a count of 40 in this thread, so ... maybe by "50" we can get this ARCHIVED! -- *YeP*

smoke crack
kill a baby
hit my mamma
forget Sunny
take pictures nude

fuck a white guy
lick a clit
kiss a snake
eat pork
chemically relax my hair

lose respect for my father
spend more than 40 g's on a car
swat a butterfly
chop down a tree
stop dreaming

i found sixteen shades of black
from his
arm
leg
leg
arm
head

you see
i did the math
and the equation worked out
perfectly

he had me spinning
and looping
and quaking
axis tilted wobbling

getting swept up
and covered in dust

for once
i ignored my fear
and just
let
go

i'm still hurtling
waiting for the anchor to catch

i just want you to know i am going to come back to this and Write till the earth births it's rightful seed again and nurture it wit more ink

it's what i need.
peace

I’d rather sojourn into self till I reached the epitome of spiritual splendor
Haters fender bender beat down and ostracize the dreamer
But its more than dreams when the inner light is revealed through the cracks of façade-strum the emotions on guitars~me

im out of doors
out of place
out of time

take me home
where words
swirled
swooped
and gravitated
towards my heart
chose partners
and lined up
to dance in
unison
to the swell
and shrink
of the ocean

take me home
where metaphors
dangled like fruit
from simile trees
and the gush
of
rivers rushing run rampant removing
rocks
of alliteration
causing
eyes to open wide while closed
seeing the universal
tango of mind spirit heart

take me home
where i can lay
in the soft grass
under the blue moon
and absorb the energy
from the babies
the stars
the...

i wanna go home.

(((Welcome Back))) -- :P



*Lovely Flow ... Like Waterfalls*

i built my fortress
with bricks of death
stones of betrayal
and tear moistened dirt
packed tight with
determination
to protect

'your heart can't be blackened'
'you will always love'
'even if shattered, you still shine'

i built my fortress
a memorial for the dead
and a tribute for the devil
who'd brought pain into my heart
when my faith that God existed had waned

i marked myself
to remind me of the love
that somehow couldn't
make me forget the betrayal

the demolition man came
and ciphered my space
blowing satans horn
a sound my heart mistook
for sweet and honest and good
my walls tumbled
as panties fell
and spirit took flight
only to be catapulted
into a lost region
of heartbreak

i built my fortress
he knocked it down
but i remember and believe
that...

'my heart won't blacken'
'i will always love'
'even if shattered, i still shine'

tethered pieces held the heart
long enough for the mind
to heal make laughter
a friend in times of
illness shattered dreams
escaped through
the window of yesterdays affection
worn cold by loneliness
under fire captured by passions plea
to express itself , so move a little closer
it will only burn for a moment
the pain will stop then ask yourself
was the building condemned after the flame?
all that stood was remnants
yet beneath the ground in the base meant everything was kept in tact
all that was torn down
so it could be found...

I love what you do in here you make my pen ride on it's own taking me places i sometimes hesitate being willing only to be pushed by wirdz found in this "home" we have here

long exhale slow
finally
my thoughts can rest
in the heart of
understanding

thanks. this was very...hydrating.

... and I think it's TIME for an ~ARCHIVE~


I'm sure ASIEM seconds that emotion -- :P


I know you're still "healing" ... and I respect the medicine that comes thru your words! --- *FELT*

archive yes keep this safe but then again keep it in rotation so keep postin

thank you photo. i always smile when reading your replies.

So please get ya comments in!

*hugs*