she wanted to be a blade
of grass amid the fields
but he wouldn't agree
to be a dandelion

she wanted to be a robin singing
through the leaves
but he refused to be
her tree

she spun herself into a web
and    looking for a place to rest
turned to him
but he stood straight
declining to be her corner

she tried to be a book
but he wouldn't read

she turned herself into a bulb
but he wouldn't let her grow

she decided to become
a woman
and though he still refused
to be a man
she decided it was all
right


by Nikki Giovanni






S T  ..... two's-day :) 17 dec 2013

“Nikki was, not Nikki is, Nikki loved, not Nikki loves”
came with protests, cries and noise
but how much grammar can you expect
from little girls and boys?
Who gets to illuminate
to kids of two and five and four
that death requires past participles
and sister is no more?

Well that was the longest August ever has been,
like too many hours made up each day.
The songbirds quit their singing
and the kids forgot to play.
Sluggish minutes oozed on by
in the heat like sticky tar
while her heart and hands and mind
passed to were from are.

But we’ll still wind that watch just to let it stop
at five o’clock in the afternoon,
because that tender, spiteful hour
will always come too soon.
Time will stop each time it does,
just like it did that day
when she wore her mother’s watch
and time took her away.

When did she move from is to was?
Was it that August day
when all we could do was pray and hope
and cry and hope and pray?
Since when did cold verbs bind a life,
active and passive combined,
and when did she trade present for past
and leave alive behind?

Justin understood it best,
I say in his defense;
he was the one who had it right
when he spoke in the wrong tense—
She didn’t go from is to was,
She went from did to does.
What Nikki was is sick.
What Nikki is is better.
   Remembered.
  
   Eternal.

I'm sitting here listening
To your voice on the machine
Begging and pleading
this all be a dream
She wrapped her arms
around your heart
Tortured and pulled
Til the beating stopped
Now I sit here asking
Will I follow you soon?
Who's next in line?
Can I meet you on the moon?
I'll meet you on the moon, darling
I'll meet you in the stars
I'll meet you on the moon darling
To pull the needle from your arms
I'm sitting here Nikki
Numbing my own pain
Up the nose, there it goes Nikki
We are one in the same
She wrapped that tie
Around your arms
Tighter and tighter
Leaving only her scars
That minute
That hour
Of pure delight
It stopped your breathing
It stopped your fight
Now I'm sitting here Listening
to your voice on the machine
Knowing full well
It's not a bad dream
I sit here and wonder
Will I join you soon?
Can I meet you Nikki?
Can I meet you on the moon?
I'll meet you on the moon, darling
I'll meet you in the stars
I'll meet you on the moon sweetie
To pull that needle from your arms.

walking down park  
amsterdam
or columbus do you ever stop
to think what it looked like
before it was an avenue
did you ever stop to think
what you walked  
before you rode  
subways to the stock  
exchange (we can’t be on
the stock exchange  
we are the stock  
exchanged)


did you ever maybe wonder
what grass was like before  
they rolled it
into a ball and called  
it central park
where syphilitic dogs
and their two-legged tubercular
masters fertilize
the corners and side-walks
ever want to know what would happen
if your life could be fertilized
by a love thought  
from a loved one
who loves you


ever look south
on a clear day and not see
time’s squares but see
tall Birch trees with sycamores  
touching hands
and see gazelles running playfully  
after the lions
ever hear the antelope bark
from the third floor apartment


ever, did you ever, sit down
and wonder about what freedom’s freedom
would bring
it’s so easy to be free
you start by loving yourself  
then those who look like you  
all else will come
naturally


ever wonder why
so much asphalt was laid
in so little space
probably so we would forget  
the Iroquois, Algonquin
and Mohicans who could caress  
the earth


ever think what Harlem would be
like if our herbs and roots and elephant ears  
grew sending
a cacophony of sound to us
the parrot parroting black is beautiful black is beautiful  
owls sending out whooooo’s making love ...  
and me and you just sitting in the sun trying
to find a way to get a banana tree from one of the monkeys  
koala bears in the trees laughing at our listlessness


ever think its possible
for us to be
happy


Nikki Giovanni, “Walking Down Park” from The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni. Copyright © 1996 by Nikki Giovanni.

Authors Note- this is something I have never done and this may is just a one time thing, this is a poem I wrote about an anime but taking the persona of a character and writing in her point of view
(I put it in the point of view of Yuno Gasai from Mirai Nikki)

Deus ex machina
god of time and space
why do you ruin my life?
why create a game, survival, pain and strife?
the future is clear but just 10 minutes ahead
make a wrong move and you will end up dead.
what kind of god are you?
merciless and cruel.
watching us amused,
my mind just isn't right
you've made me so confused.
Blood drips from my dart, my ax, my knife,
this isn't what I wanted,
"A more exiting life".

My phone is part of my soul now
the dying defeated take their final bow.
creating the ultimate test
searching, killing all the rest.
First, Second, Third, all the way to twelve,
some going crazy, taking out themselves.

Two of us are left, the love of my life and I,
who is going to strike first?
which one of us will die?
I plunged the dagger deep to my heart
so Yukiteru can live
there's nothing more for me to say or do, I've managed as much as I can give.
final words leave my lips as my soul fades into black,
its ok Yuki, I'll find a way back.

I look at you and close my eyes, a tear runs down my face
thank you sweet death take me away, help me leave this forsaken place.
my body goes limp and you lay me gently on the floor
that one small open wound, it no longer feels sore.
it was always yours, right from the start,
my cold, unbeating, dead, loving heart.

you're god now, nothing can go wrong,
all you need to do for me is pretend to stay strong.
my death was painful but it was quick
like wind blowing out a dancing flaming candle, dousing the wick

blood and guts and brain and gore,
the worst is over, there is no more.
rain falls down and washes away all memories
I remember though as it starts to pour.
I'm gone now my dear, so far away,
I thought we'd meet in the sky but it seems there's no way.

too long I've been gone and its starting up again,
that game I lost, way back then.
you're slowly coming closer to your deathbed,
im not sure its true, but that's what murumuru said.
will we be together? can that dream come true?
or have we both moved on and there is no "me and you".

look love, there we are again,
I stabbed out my heart but on paper with a pen.
there is no real blood, only ink
that is where we met. that's the missing link.
if we'd have never met there would never be a game,
life would go on normally, life would be the same.
friends we could be, but for our future sake that's all,
I don't want to die again.
I must break the space-time wall.
I don't want you to see me fall anymore.
I don't want another dead end.
I don't want to see yours either.
but I cant help these feelings for you,
maybe its best to let fate run its course again in the cycle,
I'll regret it later but that's ok because I was meant to die,
and now the game begins again.

I hope you can forgive me for trapping us like this,
but you don't know anything about that now do you?
let it start for the eighty second time,
I'll keep us going forever.

maybe this will be the time when we can finally go see the stars together,
like I promised you so long ago.
like I promised you that last time I saw us for the first time.

Hot summer evening and out on the patio
Nikki grins widely and flicks back her hair.
Red wine drips down (stupid Mikey spilt pouring!)
and pools on the stones down by Nikki’s feet, bare.

Mikey has gone off indoors for some smokes now,
leaving her smiling alone in the dusk;
Tom Petty sings about love from the hi-fi
and Nikki considers a long night of lust.

Mikey is back now, his hand on her shoulder,
cigarettes flicker in soft twilit breeze;
out of the shadows a moth flutters wildly,
dancing erratic near crackers and cheese.

Nikki dramatically shrieks like a schoolgirl,
brave Mikey swipes with his blue baseball cap!
Down goes the moth in a torrent of swearing,
battered to death on the neatly trimmed path.

Into his strong arms the killer sweeps Nikki,
carries her off to the bedroom above;
there in a wine-fuelled frenzy of passion,
Mike and his girlfriend make candlelit love.

Radio news on the following morning
tells of a fire in a suburb of town.
Talking head says that the couple had no chance;
died in their sleep as the whole place burned down.

Out where the tape cordons off the burnt ruin,
smoke mingles with windblown ashes and dust;
Nikki and Mikey are joined with the moth now,
blown down the street by a hot summer’s gust.

I'm doing this for the people who might like or love wrestling & wanna see it.
The first wrestlers I need to talk about are twins.
The Bella Twins.
I love them so much and watch their matches every single day
The Bella Twins are two girls, Brie and Nikki, who wrestle together.
They are identical so they wrestle with a thing they call "Twin Magic".
That's when they switch places with each other whenever one is hurt.
It works most of the time because they look exact the same.
Well, when they first started working they looked completely the same.
There seemed to be no way of knowing who was who.
They did their hair and makeup the same way.
They even wore matching outfits so they wouldn't be told apart.
They did this until about a year or so ago.
Then they started wearing different clothes that didn't match.
Nikki put highlights in her black hair while Brie kept hers the same.
Nikki also got implants which made her chest look bigger than Brie's.
And then you were able to tell who was who the entire time.
But honestly, whether I can tell who is who or not.
I love watching them because they are so very entertaining to me.
I'll write about their storyline that's taking place now separately.
I'll just say that if you like this then you should read the next one.
Because their is never a dull moment with the Bella Twins.

Oh! Also, I watch their show Total Divas.
And I have to say that I immediately got hooked.
They are amazing to watch and it's fun to see them.
See what they're like when they're not in the ring.
Brie has this thing were when she gets drunk.
She gets into "Brie Mode", which is the wild side of her.
It's hilarious when she acts like that, so I laugh a lot.

For you are my candy,
For you are my star,
For you make things "dandy"
Even if things don't get far

For you are my "sweetest thing"
For only you make me weak
For only you make me sing
"Lines of pure white" week after week

For only you make me smile
For you are always the only exception
For I made myself an exile
I wonder if you were a deception

Let me say I'm sorry
If you think this is weird
I just want you to tell you my story...
Even if after wards I may get seared

Now you may think I'm crazy
Now I think that you know
That my mind is growing hazy
So let me say something before I go:

Night time you smile at me
Infatuate me when you speak
Kindle thoughts here and there
Keeping me so weak
Indeed you amaze me, Nikki

I don't ask you to keep this
I don't mind if you give this back
But it will always be you who'll I miss
It's always you that keeps me intact

Once again I apologize
And also I shall rant:
"Finally, I can let go of my sighs
Without a single pant"

And do not be afraid to leave
Do not be afraid to reject
For I want you to conceive
that: This glorious poet shall always resurrect

So I've made my piece;
Now I will say this is not for me
Now this feeling shall never cease
Because this is for you, Nikki

To my innocence, naivety, and viridity
Childish ways, high school days.
A mere three weeks, I say good bye
With a cry, a tear, a sigh.

To blue slacks, and a polo
Black shoes and white socks
To my pink skirt, and white blouse,
Pleated, soon to be folded.

To the OHS rooms of our first and second years:
The broken windows, and tantrum-kicked chairs,
The broom box behind the spider webbed chalkboard,
Messages on the wall hand printed in red and green.

The broken doorknobs, and broken floorboards,
Carved armchairs, and eaten chalks,
Missing brooms and dustpans and garbage cans and rugs
That show up in who knows where
Stolen by jani- we know who.

The witnesses and victims
To our random laughter (from some Chinese-looking girl’s corny joke).
Our random tears.
Our not so random learnings.
The pillars of our memories.

To the PF rooms of our third year:
The storage room turned gigantic garbage can and dressing room (maybe because ours keep being stolen)
The exploding socket causing sparks to fly (and us to fly away from it), and
The amazing “alambre” lock; who knows who installed (as if that could keep us away).
The earthquake resistant rooms would be missed.

To the New High School Building of our last years:
The kicked door (not our fault!), and cancerous blinds (like hairs falling after chemo),
The jigsaw floor (not sure if better than broken floorboards),
The “Halayan 2012”, and
The mind-boggling “no key needed” lockers.


The UTMT with its fair share of mango sentences,
The old guidance office now turned “tambayan”, and
The Computer lab with its fragile yellow chairs and bruised bums.

To Ibong Adarna plays, and the half cooked uncooked Teriyaki,
Generation X (and Generation NOW! and Generation Facebook),
Jai ** dances, and cheerleading,
Kalagon Kamo Namon,
And Mickey Mickey Mouse Kabit-bintana memories.

To the NikJep Tandem,
Kanlaon Boys Behind the Flowers,
D.H.A.I.N.G. (not sure if they remember this),
Fred vs Gino version
And DewBheRhieTart.

Keep the volcanoes of memories burning.

To blue paint, and blue shirts,
And Geometry teaching us
“There are a lot of solutions to a problem.
We just have to find one that suits us.”

To saying “***”,
And cooking imbutido.
And wearing (for some designing) reduced,
Reused, recycled clothing.
And dissecting.
And parrot-Filipino teachers (she gave me P30 for load though).

Keep the river of rumination flowing.

To being scared of one whole sheet of paper,
Two becoming one,
Party rocking to make up for the tears,
And knowing we should have won.

To the hand sanitizer girls,
The Cream-o-holics,
The Canterbury Crusaders,
The Valenciana eaters.

May our tree of friendship continue growing.

To our winnings!

The glow in the dark madness,
The Lakan at Mutya clutch-heart-moments,
The Sports Fest *******,
Basketball girls’ coronation!

To the fieldtrips and failed trips,
To air conditioned crammings,
And space and time bending
To comparing notes (and sometimes other things)
Copying notes, sometimes photocopying
(Not Xeroxing)
Sharing words, phrases, sentences
And giving pictures (via Bluetooth).

May you keep walking on the right direction,

To the expectations achived,
Broken, overtaken.
All the skepticism,
Constructive criticism.

All of it.

The in-your-face-we-did-it-baby-
We-are-awesome-you-can’t-bring-us-do­wn-
Coz-we-rise-back-up-attitude.

To Arielle
And Mhae

To Amica
Marie
Narzcisa
Cyan
Fred
Theo
Alvinson
Anthony
Faith
Karmil­la
Matt
Jeffson
Lourince

To Carolyn

To Makayla

To the thirty-five castaways in this room
The thirty-five castaways who struggled
The thirty-five castaways who persevered
The thirty-five castaways who fought, cried, made up, laughed, shared, gave, back-stabbed, and front-stabbed, celebrated, suffered, passed
Thirty-five
Thirty-five castaways who loved,
Thirty-five

Thirty-five castaways who made it, who did it.

To Nikki
Hazel
Alyssa
Gef
Veni
Alex
Jaykee
Bernard
Myra
Vince
Chanta­lle
Josen
Jerian
Shaira
J
Uriah
Ihra
Renz
Bless
Steffany
Angel
Fl­orey
Bernadine
Antonette
Rency
Owen
Majah
Gino
Marcelo
Ney
Keith
­Joselle
And Jessa,

We did it guys.
We really did.

She entered my life ... an angel
A gifted and troubled spirit... us two
We banned together..Nikki and I grew.
Her words of poetry spoke to my heart.
As I had made my written story ... come alive...
I received a message from a lover from a news article...
A brilliant voice ended Nikki's beautiful start...
Her spirit still speaks to me
Even after all these years
She was so brave and powerful..
Until Madness took command..
It won the demise of a beautiful hand
She was sent up to the gates of the gold that entered the promise lands
So I talk to her every dark time that this same cruel voice that speaks to me and ended her
She relights my way
I smash the monster away
Now I am the bright and fire lit author
That shines, on, through endless days.

the last time i was home
to see my mother we kissed
exchanged pleasantries
and unpleasantries pulled a warm  
comforting silence around
us and read separate books


i remember the first time
i consciously saw her
we were living in a three room  
apartment on burns avenue


mommy always sat in the dark
i don’t know how i knew that but she did


that night i stumbled into the kitchen
maybe because i’ve always been
a night person or perhaps because i had wet
the bed
she was sitting on a chair
the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through  
those thousands of panes landlords who rented
to people with children were prone to put in windows  
she may have been smoking but maybe not
her hair was three-quarters her height
which made me a strong believer in the samson myth  
and very black


i’m sure i just hung there by the door
i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady


she was very deliberately waiting
perhaps for my father to come home  
from his night job or maybe for a dream
that had promised to come by  
“come here” she said “i’ll teach you  
a poem: i see the moon
               the moon sees me
               god bless the moon
               and god bless me”  
i taught it to my son
who recited it for her
just to say we must learn  
to bear the pleasures
as we have borne the pains



Nikki Giovanni, “Mothers” from My House. Copyright © 1972 by Nikki Giovanni.

Writers don’t write from experience, although many are hesitant to admit that they don’t. If you wrote from experience, you’d get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy. — Nikki Giovanni

Let’s go someplace where religion doesn’t decide my temperament
Where everyone is already “blessed” and I don’t have to worry about “salvation”
I don’t like to think about “hard” stuff
I like to think about soft stuff; like feathers, or wind, or dying
And if could sleep forever I would
But like Nikki said: “that’s why mankind alone among the animals learns to cry.”

I was born in the congo
I walked to the fertile crescent and built
    the sphinx
I designed a pyramid so tough that a star
    that only glows every one hundred years falls
    into the center giving divine perfect light
I am bad
I sat on the throne
    drinking nectar with allah
I got hot and sent an ice age to europe
    to cool my thirst
My oldest daughter is nefertiti
    the tears from my birth pains
    created the nile
I am a beautiful woman
I gazed on the forest and burned
    out the sahara desert
    with a packet of goat's meat
    and a change of clothes
I crossed it in two hours
I am a gazelle so swift
    so swift you can't catch me
    For a birthday present when he was three
I gave my son hannibal an elephant
    He gave me rome for mother's day
My strength flows ever on
My son noah built new/ark and
I stood proudly at the helm
    as we sailed on a soft summer day
I turned myself into myself and was
    jesus
    men intone my loving name
    All praises All praises
I am the one who would save
I sowed diamonds in my back yard
My bowels deliver uranium
    the filings from my fingernails are
    semi-precious jewels
    On a trip north
I caught a cold and blew
My nose giving oil to the arab world
I am so hip even my errors are correct
I sailed west to reach east and had to round off
    the earth as I went
    The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid
    across three continents
I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal
I cannot be comprehended except by my permission
I mean...I...can fly
    like a bird in the sky...

Underneath the sky trees are graced with perfection,
I forgot just what to say, lost my place in this novel,
Was I writing to keep track of the clouds? Life is short,
But how short can this be? I can't live for one, or grovel.

Like a tiny leaf I blow on the wind, accept for this leaf
Is unguided, raised in a bad life but still people seek
To make sure I'm brought to the water and made to drink.
I've seen you before, who are you though? Why can't I let you go?

The world just seems to spin so slow, but hey, that's my life!
In only about 50 years I should be gone, what can I do?
Live from moment to moment? Be teased and need the knife?
I've got to get by somehow, I've got to reach out and find you.

I still can't figure out why I fell in love, but all I can say is wow,
You're hot, and if I could be anywhere in the world it's right
Next to you, if ever I get to be I want to kiss you here and now,
You're always on my mind Nikki, I just can't make an eternal vow.

fascinating and most amusing parts of fashion week.

And as Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week kicks into gear in Sydney, it’s celebrities, all-important buyers and retailers, editors, stylists and a whole lot of self-anointed fashion bloggers who make the A-row cut.

The posturing and posing that goes on to secure a coveted front row seat at each and every one of the 47 shows can be hilarious.

No matter how high a heel you wear, how big your sunglasses are or how smartypants your designer blazer is, no-one gets seated front row if they can’t, literally, bring something to the style marketing table.

The main front row players are definitely editors. And buyers. Hands down.

But bloggers and digital media players have made their presence known over the last few years — with the better ones considered front row deities when it comes to seating.

Designer Kym Ellery snared the opening night slot of fashion week with the likes of Lindy Klim, Kyly Clarke, Margaret Zhang, Bambi Northwood Blyth and every magazine and style editor that mattered in the front row.

Model Gemma Ward attends the Tome show at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Australia 2015 sitti
(Photo:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses)
Meanwhile, Vogue, Harpers Bazaar, marieclaire, Sunday Style and Elle are the main front row magazine players.

“The Ellery front row was an impressive mix of international guests, local fashion media and buyers and Sydney celebrities,” says Vogue Australia editor-in-chief, Edwina McCann.

“It was a well dressed crowd who turned up the following morning to the first show, Tome, looking equally well turned out and ready for business.

“Gone are the days when hangovers were in fashion!”

Yup, late nights, for real fashion workers, just aren’t in fashion.

McCann says not everything that is actually ‘on trend’ ends up in the front row.

“Flat shoes are well and truly in this season, but I didn’t see many front row,” she adds.

“At Mercedes Benz Fashion Week Australia it seems heels are absolutely always on trend.”

One of the world’s leading fashion commentators says he is genuinely knocked out by the improved calibre of dressing on this year’s front row.

Godfrey Deeny from Paris (he writes for Le Figaro) hasn’t attended the Australian event in five years but was overheard commenting that the front row looks better dressed and more sophisticated than his last visit.

As far as seating the front row, there are a solid group of public relations people working with their designer clients to put together each seating plan.

One of these people is Nikki Andrews from the NAC media group, who says seating can be a game of cat and mouse.

“It is like piecing together a big jigsaw puzzle,” says Andrews.

“Each designer has different priorities with key press and key buyers and of course celebrity still the main priorities.

“There is always a juggle on the day and of course a few extras that always insist on front row.

“But it is usually those who request front row who don’t really deserve it,” smiles Andrews.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses

to
a rodeo cowboy
with
his
prairie blue eyes
Nikki
sealed
her
undying love

There is a man at the coffee shop I frequent
He sits in the same corner in the same sweater
And hasn't missed a day since I've moved there
I've never seen him order a coffee, but he always has one
Never seen him eat, but he isn't small
And all this man ever does is take notes
He's got a pocket size notebook
A twenty five cent pen and a mustache
And the only time his hand stops writing
Is to take a drink of coffee
He's not normal
I could tell it the first time I saw him
He writes like chipmunks eat
Keeps it close to his face
I hope one day I'm flipping through case studies
And find his
It'd be about interactions
Or communal relationships
Or some fancy way of saying strangers don't talk
They only judge from afar
It'll have won whatever literary prize they give for that kind of thing
Changed the way people thought about each other
Books will be written about the book he wrote
And his little notebooks and twenty five cent pens
Will sell at auctions for thousands
But that's wishful thinking
He's different
I knew that the first time I saw him
I've gone through a lot of scenarios
Character development for a novel
A series of short stories derived from first impressions
Of everyone who comes in
A poet without a laptop
Maybe even a hit list
But he's unusual
I knew that the first time I saw him
This isn't something normal people do
He isn't making believe
He's making friends
I imagine he hasn't had too many in his lifetime
He's probably not been very good at it
So now he's just making them for himself
Taking notes on their likes, dislikes, interests, hobbies, occupations
Eavesdropping the CIA would be jealous of
All so that after closing time
He can go home to his studio above a repair shop
He pays for with social security
And have conversations with them
I can picture his closet full of clothes
Male, female, juniors, adults, maternity
He talks to an empty space on the other side of the room
“Hey, how's your day?”
He takes off his clothes puts on a dress
Walks over to the dead space turns around and says
“Good, hey you look sad is everything alright?”
Takes off the dress, puts his clothes back on
Walks back across the room
“Yeah, it's just that Gary works in engineering, I had him pegged for a dentist”
Changes again
“It's okay, people aren't always what they seem,
Besides I like engineers better than dentists”
“I know” he says back to her
“That's why I think he'd be perfect for you”
“Oh no, no more blind dates”
“Yes I'm serious I think he's the one for you”
“I do so bad at these things”
“Well I'll just have to ask him for you, are you available tomorrow night”
“I guess”
He changes into a third set of clothes,
Then a forth,
A fifthAnd before the sun comes up
There's been a marriage
A hockey game
A lecture on physics
And little Tim had a cello recital
He's dangerous
I knew it the first time I saw him
One day Nikki won't answer his phone calls
Sam won't have a new lecture prepared
And he'll come back to the coffee shop
And make them,
Teach them a lesson,
Exact revenge,
Or maybe he'll just throw away their outfit
Either way ****** is just a mind set
He could win an Oscar for his portrayal of any regular in here
But they've all disappointed him a time or two too many
He's not that different
I've learned that over time
He's got more friends than I do
But none more alive

My Temperament by ©Nikki R.

My temperament is like the warmth of a summer's day
My smile illuminates and shines through clouds as the trees soak up all the photosynthetic rays.

It takes more than a storm to rattle me
I will not be moved by people who fail to see the iridescent beauty that is within me.

My temperament can be like the oceans and the seas.  
Don't think I'm incapable of rising with the tide to defend my pride.

My temperament can be like a raging storm or a gentle rain shower that quenches the thirst of spring flowers.

My temperament.  It is what defines me.
It is my temperament. So, don't you dare judge me.

My temperament is Me and I AM SHE!

#poetry #poem #poet #spokenword #womeninpoetry #author #IAMSHE

© 2016 Nikki R.

Sick dreadlock disease
I am not much different
warmed by your baggage

The most elusive
you can’t love me with no heart
but the seeds still sprout

Up against the wall
charred and naked, you remain
hung like awkward Christ.

Met you at Metro
you told me you could love me
nerdy hipster ***

Blackened ***** thoughts
I ******* killed Nikki Sixx
just to lick your boots

Harangued by drunkards
don’t want a “**** up my ***”
but thank you kindly

Sit on ***** and spin
lustful carousel, how cute
rinse off daddy’s frown

her grandmother called her from the playground  
       “yes, ma’am”
       “i want chu to learn how to make rolls” said the old  
woman proudly
but the little girl didn’t want
to learn how because she knew
even if she couldn’t say it that
that would mean when the old one died she would be less  
dependent on her spirit so
she said
       “i don’t want to know how to make no rolls”
with her lips poked out
and the old woman wiped her hands on
her apron saying “lord
       these children”
and neither of them ever
said what they meant
and i guess nobody ever does


Nikki Giovanni, “Legacies” from My House. Copyright © 1972 by NikkiGiovanni.

the most beautiful thing i ever created is all grown up now
                              her smile bend's men's knees and leave them in a child like state
                              her intellgence will overwhelm those who want to coverse
                               the glow of her being can lite the darkest nights
                              her voice can calm the hardeat amomg us, a true gift from above
                              and a unrelenting love to all mankind

She just walks into a room and causes trouble
selling her pride on the side as lil hustle
see the worries in her eyes
these guys and their lies
she doesnt love’em or trust’em
telling them lies like its nothin
A Diamond, in the rough
Smooth skin, acting tough
A lost cause, but still worth somethin.
But she doesn't know when enough is enough.
Caught in her own web of keeping up.
Using pins and needles to keep herself up.
Tried to walk a straight line, easier being ****** up.
Been fighting through a struggle her whole life
"Doing what I have to.", read her tattoo on the right
her body paying the price
addicted to the hustle and the fast life
fast cars and flashing lights
Nikki Manjing for an extra $200 a night
the money feels good
She's getting it all right.
She’s all in,
ryde or dye for life.
Her daddy telling her he loves her
she believes him
and wont leave him
cause abusive love; is still love
a pimps love is deceiving.
Same face full of tears reappear when the drugs disappear
she had big dreams, in a small town that are no longer there.
An addiction kept her here.
Working the track, lost her long hair.
From sun up until the bright sky  is no longer there.
Drugs kicking in
she wishes she wasn't here.
Judge calling for her order
Warranted, Her lawyer doesn’t even care
going through her own trials and tribulations
with herself her family isnt even there
its apparent that nobody else cares
lied too many times crying wolve
now everyone and every thing gone-- they ain't there.
she sayin this ain’t fair
as its time for her to face fear.

you, my love, resemble rain

sporadic and full of deadly potential

a downpour of passion or a sprinkle of melancholy tendencies

yet somehow calming and innocent

humbling in the purest form

and terror at its darkest

I don't know how anyone would feel about this.
I bet they would stop reading me if I do this.
But this is one of the things that I really love.
And I'd be able to write about it for hours.
So if you are a wrestling fan, then keep reading.
If you're not, the you might wanna stop.

Alright, if you are still reading this, thank you.
Now I can get started and tell you what I know.
I know what a bunch of the moves are called.
And I can tell you who my favorite wrestlers are.
I can even tell you what my favorite storylines are.
I have a variety of wrestlers that I like to watch.
There are some that I don't, but I like the music.
You know, the music they use when they come out.
Anyway, the wrestlers that I like to watch are:
Jeff Hardy, Shawn Michaels, Triple H, John Cena,
The Bella Twins, Kelly Kelly, Mickey James, AJ Lee,
The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Santino Marella,
Trish Stratus, and Brie Bella (on her own).
I love these wrestlers for a lot of reasons.
And if you want, I'll make a separate thing for each.
Just like this if you want me to, and I will.
Anyway, the wrestlers that I like the music to are:
Randy Orton, Edge, RVD, Christian, Eve Torres,
Brie Bella, Trish Stratus, The Rock, Jeff Hardy,
Kelly Kelly, Shawn Michaels,  and Mickie James.
Alright. the names are practically the same.
But that's because the music is very catchy.
My favorite storylines are the following:
Shawn Michaels and JBL (late 08 - early 09)
Brie and Nikki Bella (Happening right now)
Jeff and Matt Hardy (2009)
Shawn Michaels and Chris Jericho (2008)
Triple H and Randy Orton (Mid 2009)
The Rock and CM Punk (2012)
Jeff Hardy and CM Punk (2010)
And I'm sure that there are more.
I just can't recall them at the moment.
But I think that this will do for now.
I hope you liked this.
Please give it a like you want me to get
into more detail about the wrestlers.
And if you want me to get into more
detail about the storylines.

I watched marriage as she gasped for air.
It was a pain that I could no longer bear.
Marriage had been so good to me.
To see her taking her last breath was slowly killing me.
I tried to give her mouth to mouth resuscitation
But my memories of what she had become made me fill will anger and devastation.
She tried to hold on and so did I
But there comes a time when you must let her die
I hated to see marriage go
Her heart beat began to go slow
Her chest no longer rose as she breathed her last breath
It was sad to see marriage go through this last test
But even in death new seeds can be sewn
New hope can be grown
But the true pain from the loss will never be known....
Until you watch the Death of a Marriage.

©Nikki the Pen

The American Vision of Abraham Lincoln
AT THIS MOMENT

At this moment

Resting in the comfort of the statue
Of the 16th president of the United States
Missing
An equally impressive representation
Of his friend and advisor
Frederick Douglass

We come

On this day

Recalling the difficult and divisive war
We are compelled
With a prayer in the name
   Of those captured and enslaved
    Who with heart and mind
     Cleared the wilderness
Raised crops
     Brought forth families
Submitted their souls
      Before a merciful and great God
To acknowledge that The Civil War
Was fought not to free the enslaved
     For they knew they were free
But to free the nation
     From a terrible cancer eating at our hearts

At this moment

In which we are embarrassed
By the Governor of our fifth largest state
     Who appoints a man to the United States Senate
     To which both he and his minion agree:
The Letter of the Law
Is more important than
The Spirit of the Law


Now

When we are dismayed that the accidental
Governor of the Empire State can find
Just one more reason to rain pain
And rejection on a family that has offered only
Grace and graciousness

After two hundred years
When we rejoice that another son
Of the Midwest has offered himself
His wife and his two precious daughters
To show us a better way

We gather

In recognition and understanding
That today is always and forever today
Allowing us to offer this plea
For light
And truth
And Goodness
Forgiving as we are forgiven
Being neither tempted nor intolerant of those who are

We come

At this moment
To renew and refurbish
The American vision
Of Abraham Lincoln


©Nikki Giovanni 2009
12 February 2009

I am never going to forget how you smell.

After all, my bed smelled like your
perfume for months after we broke up.

In part because I only slept with girls
who wore the same brand.

I swear I wasn't being obsessive,
Columbia is just really ******* small.

You'll be happy to learn I ended up
exactly how you always said I would:

Caught between more women than I
have the capacity to care about.

The best part?
Not a single one smells like you do.

Not better and not worse but distinctly
nothing at all like you.

The worst part?
They all taste exactly like you do.

******, ******, in a dish.
How many needles do you wish?
Intravenous, Intravenous, take a hit and walk on Venus.
Unethical. Impeccable. Makes a brick wall wreckable.
You and me and Nikki Sixx,
Take those hypodermic sticks.
Shove 'em in and hold on tight,
'Cause this is gonna be a messed up night!
Turn your brains to sugar jam, now let's all walk to Junkieland.

Take a Look at Me by Nikki R.

Take a look at me. I am like an Eagle.  I know you see me soaring.
Better yet, compare me to a lioness.  I know you hear me roaring.
Take a look at me.  Watch and learn.
I have so much to give and expect little in return.
Take a look at me.  My potential is glaring.
Take a look at me.  Trust me, I won’t stop you from staring.
Please understand that you can’t define my elevation by your lack of motivation.
You can’t dull my illumination by throwing shade in your conversations.
You can’t stop my zeal because my joy—you will never steal.
Take a look at me.  What do you see?  Take a look at me.
I Am She!  ©Nikki R.