(for june jordan)

use of the word
                      i
is totally unjustifiable so
we have no way of distinguishin
i from whatever we are unless
somethin else is going on that
mistakes the dynamic of us
for mine or the treasure of
ours for theirs,
we talkin abt sharin or isn’t
one all encompassin ego enough to
satisfy you/ us is all we got ‘n
won’t one i ever ever succeed in
vanquishin we/ the strength
and beauty of whatever we is
will singularly outdo an i/
effortlessly with grace
      an i is clumsiness/ narrow
      sight and sniffin round like
      a hound for where we are/ cuz i
      is lonely and lonely is different
      from the space we allow each other
      for ours/ lonely is close and dark
      and i
have known a solo self
in languishin funny house long
enough to know that
we is the answer

ntozake shange
’nappy edges’
p. 138

Time evaporates between the lips of strangers
my days collapse into a hollow tube
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble
smears of perspectives
blurring each horizon
in the breathless precision of silence
one malignant word. 

Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay   a condemnation
within my blood.

The smell of your neck in August
a fine gold wire bejeweling war
all the rest lies
illusive as a farmhouse
on the other side of a valley
vanishing in the afternoon

Day three   day four   day ten
the seventh step
a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary
flameproofed free-paper shredded
in the teeth of a pillaging dog
never to dream of spiders
and when they turned the hoses upon me
a burst of light

Audre Lorde
”Our Dead Behind Us: Poems”
pp. 68-69 

Pearl Primus dancing “Hard Time Blues” 
(c) 1943

she swayed from the barre     taut     in control
her legs hurt mercilessly      she even laughed
while he took notes
                               ’i wanna love you   like i dance
                                       when i hurt    i’m gettin’ better’
the poet signed his name to lines eclipsin reality
he cdnt catch his breath    the language waz
overpowerin
                    ‘i can love what i understand
                          when i dont understand     i worship’
he put his pencil in his pocket & sat
          in the middle of a whimsical circle
the dancer pliéed       she contracted     she sweat
& grew confident in her struggle
to surpass form   transcend calves ankles hips merely
accoutrements    like a music stand

dance is of the spirit       the body       her sacrifice
to dance
              & she pranced before the poet
    leaped
    chaséed   before the poet               she struck
the air waz an impudent love            &       the dancer
was righteous chosen to conquer space

she panted     she sweat     & her leotard smelled of heat
& woman                 & she laughed
while the poet fondled his own cheek
she slid round him    her body   swirled like a cobra-wind
& she located the poet’s soul    in space
                                    he lost his spirit    in the rush
of her darin        & she screamed
                              ‘i wanna love you like i dance
                                wild & delicate   reachin for what i do not know
                                   i wanna love you all round yr body
                                     in-out-of-it    no grounds no floor

                                   i wanna love you where i can dance’
& she caressed the air like an ocean fern
            blazin in the pits of ancient sunflowers
    carryin the poet’s soul in the blush of her cheeks
his heart lingerin    in her sweat 

ntozake shange
”nappy edges”
pp. 108-109 

urbanafrofuturism:

This started out rambling thoughts on my thoughts on Afro-Futurism. What it’s become is a long rambling essay/poem (!) on my worldview, my religious thoughts, and what I think of humanity and existence in general. I think I’ve finally found a framework that fully articulates all my thoughts while leaving so much room for growth and evolution. I’m very very happy with it. :)

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Why I became a pacifist
and then
How I became a warrior again:

Because nothing I could do or say
turned out okay
I figured I should just sit
still and chill
except to maybe mumble
“Baby, Baby:
Stop!”
AND
Because turning that other cheek
        holding my tongue
        refusing to retaliate when the deal
        got ugly
And because not throwing whoever calls me bitch 
        out the goddamn window
And because swallowing my pride
         saying I’m sorry when whoever don’t like
         one single thing
         about me and don’t never take a break from
         counting up the 65,899 ways I talk wrong
         I act wrong
And because sitting on my fist
         neglecting to enumerate every incoherent
         rigid/raggedy-ass/disrespectful/killer cold
         and self-infatuated crime against love
         committed by some loudmouth don’t know
         nothing about it takes 2 to fuck and
         it takes 2 to fuck things up
And because making apologies that nobody give a shit
    about

and because failing to sing my song

finally
finally

          got on my absolute last nerve

I pick up my sword
I lift up my shield
And I stay ready for war
Because now I live ready for a whole lot more

than that 

June Jordan
”Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan”
pp. 477-478

negrosunshine:

your wind wraps me like one of those quilts our foremothers stitched

words perusing my body insanely yet calmly like ancient bantu chants

whispers and moans turning chimes. breathing tones

spirit making. body taking. love making in its simplest form

your sunshine inviting cool scenes of serene

prying me to lift my soul beyond anywhere i’ve gone

resting at meadows and lakes till loves dawn

bodies entwined like roots and shapes of old oak trees

skins of chocolates and caramels kissing in a cool breeze

your touch melts me like the sugar in mamas lemonade

bouncing around. we hop from shade to shade

tender. true. love like the nile blue

eyes gazing back and forth of browns and tans

sounds of your laugh pushing and pulling like drums of our past

i stand still with you. attentive to you

your shape. your groove. like a warrior of the zulu

possessing time and space like the riches of a great coup

my breath. my hips. my lips. my finger tips belong only to you

like a sacred. spiritual. lift me up type song

my body warms. my cares are gone

when you wrap me. like one of those quilts our foremothers stitched

i think/ we should reexamine/ serial monogamy
is it/ one at a time or
one for a long time?
                                how
does the concept of infinity relate to a skilled
serial monogamist/ & can
that person consider a diversionary escapade
a serial
one night stand?
                   can a consistent
serial monogamist
have one/ several/ or myriad relationships
that broach every pore of one’s body
   so long as there is no penetration?
do we/ consider adventurous relentless tongues
capable of penetration & if we do
can said tongues whip thru us indiscriminately
with words/ like

                    “hello”
   ”oh, you lookin good”
   ”you jigglin, baby”
cd these be reckless immature violations of
serial monogamy?

   i mean/
 if my eyes light up cuz
   some stranger just lets go/ caint stop hisself
from sayin
                 ”yr name must be paradise”
     if i was to grin or tingle/ even get a lil happy/
     hearin me & paradise/ now synonymous
does that make me a scarlet woman?
     if i wear a red dress that makes someone else hot
     does that put me out the fryin pan & into the
fire?

say/
my jade bracelet got hot
                      (which aint possible cuz jade aint
jade
                      if it aint cold)
but say
my jade got lit up & bust offa my wrist
& i say/
              “i gotta find my precious stones
cuz they my luck”
                          & he say
“luck don’t leave it goes where
you need it”
                     & i say
“i gotta find my bracelet”
                      & he say
“you know for actual truth
                          you was wearin this bracelet?”
& i say
   ”a course, it’s my luck”
                         & he say
“how you know?”
& i say
        “cuz
        i heard my jade
        flyin thru the air
        over yr head
        behind my knees
        &
        up under the Japanese lampshade!”
               & he say
“you heard yr jade flyin thru the air?”
         ”yes”
                i say
“& where were they flyin from”
           he say
       ”from my arm” i say
       ”they got hot & jumped offa my arm”
“but/
where was yr arm?”
               he say
& i caint say mucha nothin
cuz
where my arm was a part a some tremendous
current/
cd be ‘lectricity or niggahs on fire/
so where my arm was is where/ jade gets hot
& does that imply the failure of serial monogamy?

do flamin flyin jade stones
on a arm/ that is a kiss/ & a man who knows where/
luck is
take the serial/ outta monogamy/ & leave
love? 

ntozake shange
”The Love Space Demands: A Continuing Saga”
pp. 13- 15