Press your lips against my **** &juice; me. Thirst for my juices as you, drift into my Yoni! Kiss my flesh as eye nurish your Soul. Sink into me as we dance into the candle lit stars; become me, as eye become you &as; one.. We make Love until the sun peeks through the cracks! Kiss my Yoni; feel my Power!

Glory! Hear the voices of the Queen

Embrace...
The warmth hidden and exposed,
The laughter and power within.

At long last! Hear the voice.

Allow her to take you to the land within, the soul without,
To the mythical energy that bonds you as one
As her vibrations bring you back to life.

Watch her.
As her soul floats into the universe
Dragging what is without in you to a place of serenity.
Listen to the sounds of what is your divine intervention.

Do not ask but feel,
This heave,
As your eyes burn red.

Embrace this sound as she has freed you.
Nubian voice!
At long last!

She is a Goddess held upright
In the light.
Her face shines blossoming among the clouds.
The words she speaks are of lyrical proportion.
Her body is a temple of sheer devotion,
One whom I worship. Yearning to protect.
She shines her light upon me,
Revealing the inner working of her mind.
The hieroglyphics and pamphlets deciphered by gentle lips.
Shes not just another girl nor another woman.
Her crown is woven above her brow, easily mistaken as hair.
Her influence knows no bound.
Devouring every inch of my thought.
Her voice is infinite,
Her soul dances as a child knowing the beauty of outside.
She is a Goddess of love, one of infinite wisdom.
Her sighs are one with the wind.
Spreading throughout the whispers of her voice.
Filling my dreams with the lucidity of open eyes.
I close my eyes and see her standing there.
I smile, picturing her soul dance as freely as a child knowing the beauty of being outside.
If only she knew what I saw everytime I looked at her

(Inspired by the poetry, music, culture and rhythm of black people in the movie "Love Jones". As i play my imaginary guitar, enjoy.....)


I wanna be my own definition of a real woman
it’s in the way my hips sway to the beat
Or the way I smile when something touches my heart
It’s my excited face that I make when something inspires me
The look of adornment in something I love
I wanna be that classy lady at work
That's in full all black suits
strutting around in her heels like a real boss should
I wanna be that woman with ***** hair who isn't afraid of her curls
Who rocks her hair, untamed and wild like the first day she was born
I wanna be that woman who is street and unsophisticated
Who talks her mind as she pleases and holds nothing back
I wanna be that woman to screams when she wants to and doesn't care who listens and who doesn't
Who cares and who does not
I wanna wear skin tight little black dresses
Like they do in all first dates in every single movie
I wanna wear the smallest pair of cut-off jeans
I want to embrace my sexuality and push the limits of what I can and cannot do
I want to do what my soul speaks to me
And listens to that quiet song my heart sings to me when I'm alone
And best of all, I wannz laugh louder that the lion can roar
I want my melody to be felt higher than the giraffe can see
I wanna be on that stage performing the words most of us are scared to admit
I want to be the locksmith that fixes all locks
I wanna be the all in one
The nubian queen and the classic timeless beauty
I want the mountains to echo my statements and the sand dunes to quietly whistle with me
I want the swish-swash of the waves in the sea to bear testament of who I want to become
And I want you all to witness
Attest
and help me achieve
My quest..To be
my own definition
of what a real woman should be.
I wanna be that woman that defines a mother
whether I define it as letting my breast hang so that my child can suckle on it
Or feeding them a bottle
Whether a mother’s love lies solely in breast feeding or in shaping your child’s character
I wanna be that woman who refuses to labour extensively on hot coals in the scorching African sun to prepare a meal for a man who shall never wholly be mine
just because its expected
I wanna be the brave woman who dares tell her in-laws "Nay"
That brave woman who dares to rock up at her first meeting with her to be in-laws in pants
And refuses to wear a skirt on days her blissful soul doesn’t tell her to
Simply because a man who never wears a skirt has defined that as womanly
I want to be that daughter in law
My husband's mother hates because she never does as she is told
My husband’s sisters shall despise me as they shall know
That I don't believe in that stone age tradition that the amount of house work they do shall be reduced upon my arrival
I wanna be that woman, my own uncles hate for not allowing them to take part in my bogadi negotiations
I wanna be that woman who will have no bogadi negotiations
I am that woman who doesn't need a man to whistle at me
Like a man would calling a hound dog
Or a man still living in the rough west would calling  their horse
To know that I am beautiful
I want to be that woman whose character and words will stand the test of time
An oracle of enchanting wisdom in my old age
And a pillar of strength for generations
Which shall come after me
I am going to be that woman who refuses to let her boss take credit for the I did
Especially after spending years sleeping a four hour night working on my college degree
I wanna be that woman, my neighbours wife hates
Because I salsa my way to the dustbin to empty my trash
I wanna be that woman who doesn't need a cameras flash to know their eyes are upon me
Watching me as my move my melodious  *****
In total and absolute bliss at the woman I can be..
So then I want you all to witness
Attest..
And help me achieve
My own definition
Of what a real woman should be.

the river flows as
living memory

the birds of the
Nile are its
knowing eyes

fly catchers
ply the rich
delta
probing
sediments
of sand
washed
from
distant
Nubian
mountains
eons
ago

layers of
recollection
go fathoms
deep

shrieking
gulls
plumb the
mud flats
with heroic
persistence
as they did
when the
first rafts
drifted out
of the
Great Rift
ferrying
civilizations
forebears
to the
opening chapters
of world history

the first
seafarers
competed with
greedy spoonbills
to navigate
porous
papyrus
crafts
through
the narrow
channels
of the
Damietta,
transporting
ideas, skills
and goods
to build an
emerging
world

mallards
troll the
same
gentile
eddies that
goaded the
Mother of
All Waters
to float the
basket cradling
Yahweh’s
infant prophet
Musa, into the
loving arms
of Bithiah
who nurtured
the vanquisher
of Osiris’
galleries of
Gods

a litany
of conquests
rolled on the
silver waves
of this river

conquerors
maneuvered
the truculent
currents
like sharp
eyed hawks
skimming the
pliant waters
with well
extended
razor quick
talons
picking the
Nile’s bounty
clean

this fertile
delta remembers
more than
6,000 seasons
of harvests

the
cycles of time
has produced
seasons of plenteous
abundance and
desperate privation
all cleverly exploited
by generations of
fearless herons
who wrangled
the demons
of hardship
to route the
dread of hunger
expelling despair
from the Egyptian
DNA, etching
a new hieroglyph
of freedom onto
survivors hearts

the Niles
sorrows
and glories
perpetually
wash this
magnanimous
delta
surely as
the gentle
wakes
of feluccas
continue
to lap its
shore

the marshes
have not withered

the verdant
reeds prosper

flamingos find
the water
rich in fish

in due
season
the red
lotus will
paint
the arcuate
alluvial
fans in
scarlet
autumnal
hues

In the
Valley of
the Kings
the shadows
of migratory
flocks mark
the foundation
stones of the
pyramids
as they did
when slaves
pushed them
into place

the eternal
lines of
pharaohs
rule has fallen,
their gods
imprisoned
in hieroglyphs
adorning their
royal tombs
on display
in the worlds
museums

the weathered
pyramids continue
to crumble

the face of
the sphinx
withers away

torrents of
blood flowed
in this rivers
currents, now
strained clear
by the reeds
anchoring
its banks

the fleeting
rule of regimes
are pictured
as momentary
reflections
skimming along
the ripppling
water; the
rise and fall
of rulers is
captured like
the shifting hues
sunrises and
sunsets bespeak
upon the waters

the ascending
waves of
the Sacred Ibis
dance atop
the Nile’s gray
waters; the
river jumps
to life as the
graceful wings
take flight
to foreign
destinations;
expecting
to return
again as
the cycles
of seasons
round once
more

as the Nile flows
its memory deepens
the eyes of the birds
watch and remember


Music Selection:
Gary Bartz, I've Known Rivers

Oakland
3/31/12
jbm

Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
from the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
from every pore.
Till your breath murmurs
my first name with every inhale
Till my voice is the only sound
your ears need to hear.

i would
rest my head on your breast
and listen
Enjoy the sweet tunes composed by
every noted word you harmonize

Tales of your life stories before they became entwined with mine
Narratives about your dreams
About who breaks your glassy heart
And what tickles your eye-ducts
into opening a flood of tears.

an inner world of wishes
she deserves beautiful things,
The Nubian Queen,
Sunflower Child.

~ New-Black-SoUl #NBS

LOVELY Semiramis
Closes her slanting eyes:
Dead is she long ago.
From her fan, sliding slow,
Parrot-bright fire's feathers,
Gilded as June weathers,
Plumes bright and shrill as grass
Twinkle down; as they pass
Through the green glooms in Hell
Fruits with a tuneful smell,
Grapes like an emerald rain,
Where the full moon has lain,
Greengages bright as grass,
Melons as cold as glass,
Piled on each gilded booth,
Feel their cheeks growing smooth.
Apes in plumed head-dresses
Whence the bright heat hisses,--
Nubian faces, sly
Pursing mouth, slanting eye,
Feel the Arabian
Winds floating from the fan.

relaxing? relaxing would be a sin against myself. see God spun and wove golden bits of wisdom in these curls that are mine. see these curls spring loud with
songs of my Nubian
mothers and war cries of my Rasta fathers. see these curls bounce proud to the rhythm of tribal drums and the foot prints of my sisters from Manila reside
there as they roll
lumpia between the coils and springs. see these curls have moved sandstone bricks cross deserts, building divine architecture so perfectly aligned
with cosmos and
planets until Moses told Pharaoh to Let My People Go. these curls have traveled cross oceans and triangles packed like sardines squalid below the decks
of ships. see these
curls have been ***** by the nasty ***** in the big house and suffered sun strokes in cotton fields. see these curls sing loud and strong. See these curls
were branded and forced
at gunpoint behind ******* barbed wire fences gassed to death in the name of so called purification. see these curls bleed the pain of fire hoses and dog
bites and whites
only signs. see these curls wont back down gainst no burnin crosses gainst no swastikas gainst no elephant ******* talkin all that jazz on fox and cnn. see
these curls dance
wildly off beat to straight rhythms that drone on in 4/4 time c major sixty bpm. see these curls are Mas and my Grammas.  see my curls are too proud to sit
back and chill and won’t take no **** or heat or hot air. see these curls cannot be contained in braids or scarves or jars of creamy crack. see
these curls dare you
to force them to
coerce them to
straighten up
their act. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls will not
******* relax.

I will hear your voice
Singing joyful hymns
Between chores
On Saturday morn;

I will see your smile of radiance
On the faces of my sisters and nieces;

And your boundless energy
Will manifest in the limbs
Of my sons and nephews;

And the legacy
Of a Nubian Queen
From Islington Village
On the breezy bank
Of the majestic Berbice river,
Shall reign eternal...

~ Pablo (#formom)
10/25/2013

Part I. When the Saguaro Cactus Blooms

“All mountains everywhere are being worn down by frost, snow and ice.”

“In the brief arctic summer grasses thrive, but too little energy reaches the ground for trees to grow.”

“When Nubian Ibex dual with their horns, the tussles can last up to an hour if the opponents are evenly matched.”

“Rainforest covers only three percent of the Earth, but contains more than half its plants and animals”

“The Shark is faster on a straight course, but can’t turn as sharply as a seal.”

“Throughout much of nature, life is built on decay.”

“Earth’s journey round the sun creates the four seasons, in most places. In the tropics, the sun strikes the earth head- on year round, temperatures barely change.”

“The Great Island of New Guinea harbors forty-two species of birds of paradise, each more bizarre than the last.”  

“As always, where life thrives, trouble follows.”

“Each year a single tree can **** up hundreds of tons of water through the roots, but the trees can’t use all this water so much of it returns to the air as vapor from the leaves on the branches”

“Every year three-million caribou migrate across the frozen Canadian Tundra. Some herds travel over two-thousand miles a year in search of fresh pastures. This is the longest over-land migration of any animal.”

Part II. And Your Bird Can Sing

From my position as being something
Other than what I am now, I saw
the planet Earth which is too impossible to be true.

I saw that land never stands above water.
Water simply allows the tired earth to rest upon its shoulders.

I see places where nothing is alive, save the maggots that feed off themselves,
amongst the cathedral of stalactites and stalagmites and lakes of acid.
No one ever said Hell wouldn’t be beautiful.

I see what was once mountains, now little more than slender, awkward
pillars into the sky. Withered away by an unwavering wind
That blew rigid rock as easy as it might blow
a leaf on the streets of city.

I see that spring even touches the most arctic of locals.
and that you can freeze in a desert that you can fry in.

I see for the first time, the tree as the inverse of itself;
branches into sky, roots into earth.
And I suddenly question paper and hard-wood floors.

And animals,
which we so often chose to deny as our neighbors and brethren.

I met with the Amur Leopard, rare as jewel,
Never before seen,
Destined to lose his home or his fur coat
To the likes of a Russian czarina.

I laugh at the penguin, the sausage of the bird family
and marvel at its audacity to survive
in places its unthreatening, unimpressive body should not.

And in the shark’s eye I saw, as it leaped out of the water
finally engulfing the once allusive seal,
the grace of god, the face of ******
at 1/50th of  the normal speed.

I came across baboons wading through flooded plains
walking upright through the shallow waters,
holding their young above the depths,
predecessors to a two-legged, less noble cousin.

I witnessed nearly every animal fight each other for supremacy,
with the same savagery we do,
but with less discrimination as to who they combat with.

I noticed that countless animals disguise themselves.
Frogs as rocks of exotic hues. Foxes as bushes seemingly on fire.
Bugs as flowers not yet in bloom.
I think I’ll hide myself as a whale
with a harpoon in his side.


I watch male birds of paradise attempt to sing, yell, peck and dance
themselves into a lady bird’s heart;
their Pavarotti, their Don Juanian exploits, their best Baryshnikov
yield them no love, yet my undying admiration is theirs.

I long to be a part of a flock of birds or school of fish,
who seem seamlessly connected by one mind(interwoven by the urge to move)


I see the flower and the fungi bloom, the latter off the former,
in stop-motion photography
I wish to see myself grow in stop-motion.

I swam next to two whales;
a large one whose eyes said to the smaller one,
“I’ll starve for you.”
a small one whose eyes said,
“I will lose my mother when the water is warm.”

I walked with caribou, transient as I am.
Just searching for a place to call home,
both of us knowing that the only stable thing in
life is continuous change.

Part III. Rivers Do Run Dry (See Grand Canyon)

Years later it would be discovered that “HD TV” did not in fact stand for High Definition Television, but rather Hoaxed Depiction Television. Indeed nothing we saw in “HD” was in actually real; rather it was highly doctored images created by the media powers that be. This would explain seemingly implausible animals, landscapes and natural phenomenon seen in the BBC series Planet Earth. Cryptic statements made by the narrator of the documentary (who turned out to not actually be British or a man) such as, “This is the first and last time this spectacle has ever been documented on film.” Ironically, these claims by the narrator are the only truths the entire project has to offer. The images never will be seen again in nature due to the fact that they were fabricated in a Hollywood warehouse.

Canvases.......layered on floor and ready to go.
Brushes.........no need we used your body parts.
Lighting........soft and turned dim then very low.
Ready willing and able to create works of art.
Waited with shallow breaths in deep anticipation.
Drew back curtain to expose my Nubian queen.
I was breathless as you stood before me naked.
Art creating will never be the same after that.  

Still thinking of all the memories we created Betty
and your smile and **** voice saying you loved me. : )

I was first born a solar system.

Living in a realm where I wheezed stars and suns. My eyes, black holes to a new universe.
It was a time where planets burst from my belly and latched onto my ******* - no longer hiding in my vortex of a womb.

The world swung around my neck heavily. Steadily, I adorned my fate gracefully...

...because I was born second a mountain.
My hips creating hills and heaps while my tears birthed oceans. I carried the crescent moon in my left eye - Venus in my right.

And often times, I’d shape shift and kneel to the ground, grabbing the soil of the earth.
Its mud, dancing under my nails and knuckles. Its dust, smouldering the creases between my palms.
Sand, caressing and matching the tones of my skin. Accenting hues from the palette of eternal life.

My mouth, birthing spirits and spells. Souls - mining from my ribs.
My womb, carrying ancestors and avatars - Coloured girls glowing in browns, blacks, purples and blues.
Their nebula personifying secrets from Zion as they break through the realm between my legs.

As I continue to carry my message in the wind; breathing life into lifelessness;
narrating stories of hope in times of hopelessness; morphing my magic across the abyss.

I was born third a Nubian.
A Maasai, I am the one they call MAKEBA.

Walking these townships streets as though diamonds lay at my feet.
Gliding on gravel from the ghetto to Greece. Leaving behind a fragrance so sweet.

Blessing the unblessed even when left distressed. Honoring the feminine power that flows within me. The roaring lioness! Smell the audacity of my celestial essence. I am the first to bleed, but last to fall – the S forever embroidered on my breast.

For I am you and you are her and we are She! MAKEBA!

Inkosazana. The melanated fruit that you seek. You stare in disbelief at these words that I conceive.

Sheba!

Ke mang a tshwara thipa ka bogaleng? Ke mang afang botho mo batho ba hlokang motho? Ngubani le mbogodo elingabambeki?

Beka!

My eyes, carrying alchemy.
My smile, a treasury. My skin, reflecting the origin of humanity.

I am, MAKEBA

A Life to say, A Life to Love and you are Every reason I keep on keepin on. The Reason I dont give up cause I'm so in Love with YOU,
In a world all our own. We Dance the Dance of Love that Everybody is               Jealous of.  So For YOU I say Happy ANNIVERSARY!! With you I Rhyme, All of the time. With YOU I shine so much even better than  a Light that Blinds. My Body craves YOU;
My mind needs YOU, My spirit Feels you in Every way I Kneel to You. Bowing to the Lord, Bowing to a Great And to Bow to YOU is never a Painful stake. So to YOU I say;
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!! I Love your actions, and YOUR sayings through you guidance I'm Coming to Life with a BLESSING such as YOU,
with a BLESSING so TRUE, My Angel of Light ANGEL of TRUE,
I am SO IN LOVE WITH YOU.
SO I SAY, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!
                                                    I LOVE YOU MY NUBIAN QUEEN
                                     HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MY LOVE FROM YOUR KING.
Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-Present

so. so rare. such as you who seek some thing everyone knows
so you may share it with those infected with denial.

---

I'll be the fool who risks belief and go on with the story flowing from my belly
before
my very augmented eyes

Wisdom is justified of her children,
said a nubian wizard
named John Joyce.
No relation to James.

Same general era, I met Adam Funmaker. He showed me
an article in Rolling Stone that mentioned me
June 7, 1973, idea of me, not me,
actually,

that was me. the guy with ears that weren't garbage cans,
which had been the liturgical reply to
words deemed too filthy to say or hear,

To this day I don't care for the taste.

This story fiber began with Adam Funmaker being real, and my feeling many folk would never allow a man with such a name to have been,

much less to have been, my friend. who made my silver wedding ring.

A real man, father of many sons and daughters, still
with us
to this day,
This telling
dedicated in my lodge, my strong tower, my kiva,

To Adam Funmaker, I fan this cloud, be magnified magi.
From my desert you blessed with more than water.

A humbler man I've never met. A scrimshaw artist of great renown among collectors of such, for his technique.
It seemed magic, the photo-realism
he could attain to,
pins and hand and ink and string and light, his only tools,

the light was modified to meet the needs of Adam's ageing eyes
He was sixty-two when I thought with him last,

and sixty-two was older then than now,
he used to ask me questions I had not asked myself.

I only knew him for the space
of a tick
with point of pin pricking
ivory,  ttttttttttttt ttttt ttt ttttttt tttt far more
than 300 dpi,
But magic was not allowed to be the reason for
the power of reality in his work.

How do you do this? I asked, from a state of ad-mire

Opaque projector.

Ah, secret, he coulda kept it and been thought
amazing, sender of men in search of hows
denied whys, but he didn't

he told me the trick, as if his hand and eye and mind
were taken for granted, acknowledged by being

right used before my unaugmented eyes.

His gift he had received and owned,
not a thing to boast about, like a boy.

He was looking at me, something I remember
this way, a point, a reflection in the eye
that made images of the ideas of men
past
seem in the wind I go on to claim as my inheritance.
That's the scene from here, much was different,
most likely.

Adam Funmaker's clansmen from the past
breathed, nearly, their blessing, the hope

on ivory etched so nearly fractally real you can see
a reflection in Sitting Bull's eye staring

at a 440 stainless steel, razor-edged blade, never used.

A knife made for the image on the handle,
A magic Adam Funmaker portrait of a noble illiterate
chief among noble illiterates whose stories
have been told ten thousand years.

The Greeks fears were warranted.
Writing did shorten memories.
But it gave stories freedom to wend and find points

upon which they be told, to this day,
for no real reason, same as sunsets and beauty in general.

the knife I was looking at is depicted on the web
https://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/adam-funmaker-scrimshaw-native-1835351935
My wife still has her wedding ring, I lost mine,
in the desert or the storm or the fire, I can't remember losing it.

It’s a warm evening on the sahara
camel washed sand dunes
rise up like sacred mountains in the
red distance
I unzip the flap of my
nomad tent
dry desert winds
plait golden grains of sand
through my nubian hair

Sai Krishna
my heart is a parched fig
monsoon tears flood the nile
and my mind plays ***** tricks on me
mirages robed in ochre
waver across the striped horizon

Peacock Lord
Your Radha has prepared a basin of
fragrant myrrh
to anoint your lotus feet
flowers gathered from the gardens of
Isis
are eager to adorn Your divine neck

Prema Swaroopa!
Answer the ardent prayer of Your devotee
before the moon rises a silver swan
in the heavens

Ebony.
Skin smooth as silk.
A yellow tint or cocoa hue.
You do not experience what we do.
Being viewed as the enemy is imminent.
And it's evident, that the color ebony's negative connotation is remnant.
Of a past connection to Nubian kings & queens--
Stripped of their crowns.
A piece seen, in my name.
No...it is not fabricated, but actually holds meaning.
It's the closest thing I got to my slave ancestors.
Stop trying to degrade me...
And chain me, with your everyday preconceptions.
The concept that I'm beneath you, when the foundation of this nation and slave bones lie beneath you.
Looking out your peripheral, unspoken prejudice fabricated.
Wondering how I'm dressed respectably, like "That's an expensive fabric, ain't it?"
Cause the last time it caught your eye, my ancestors were picking it.
When you see me hold my head high, you feel the right to question it.
But I already told you, it's a new day
Don't saturate this generation with racism
Like you did civil rights marchers with hoses.
We've come a long way, but I still have a question for you... 
If God holds all humans in the same regard,
Then why is accepting the color ebony so hard?

An ebony goddess
of beauty never seen
she is African
Caribbean
a Nubian Queen.

She the essence of
her father
she the essence of
her mother
in heart she is
our sister
in heart we are
her brother
in heart we are
one in her
as a fire
like no other
with her
the world does
turn
with her
our bellies
burn
as we long to be
near her
we love her
not fear her
she sings out
we can hear her
as she moves
we can mirror
all the light
she projects
what she adores
she protects
what is foreign
she respects
what is hostile
she rejects.

She is precious
she is priceless
with her presence
we are warmly
acquainted
with her blessings
we are joyfully
painted.

~Miguel

I'll never love like
I used to LOVE him,
But You knew that,
Didn't You,

Cuz love comes in different
shades of purple's pink's& blue's
Chance's are
I'll never care like

I once did,

Again

You knew that too.
Chance's are
I'll never trust completely
Let me guess umm

YUP

you also knew that?
Chance's are

I'll cry again OR I'll smile again,
I'll live like I did before you or him came in to my Life.
I'll try once more to find my soul mate,

But
Chance's are
Nothing will ever be the Same,
Not with out You,

Not with out Us,
Chance's are

we're stuck right here.
With one another,
Is it so bad
Or do you like it this way.
Am

I your everything

your Nubian Queen
Chance's are
I'm nothing You thought I'd be,

I'm a lady yet Crazy,
You see how I do,
But

Chances are
your already Immune.
Chance's are,
Your not ready

Maybe It's me,
Maybe I'm too scared and scary to be,
More than what

He made me,
Yes I am ashamed,
I let him take away my greatness

And steal away my fame
Made me think
I wanted this for myself,
But
Chance's are

Your gonna help-
Me to change

for the better,
Let me lean on you in this weather,
Let me hold you as you hold me,

Sweet talks,
While shedding our grief.
Chance's are

Your gonna keep
your word un-like Him
Sorry there's

no Comparisons
Chance's are,
You'll claim everything,
Even the seed's of another man's

See now that's what I call a MAN.
The one's who really
love and want that

Woman
and

what ever comes with HER.
Chance's are,
You could be fooling me
but

in time I'll know and I'll see.
Chance's are
I might just be using you,
But for what Boo,

Trust in us cuz,
I now got you too.
Chance's are,
I'll RUN from you,
Too Infected& Effect

From what others used to do,
I might blame you too
For the mess they caused me,
Chance's are
I'm doing this

ALREADY?
Chance's are
I'll let you go too soon

and

miss You the most
Cuz

the love you give to me

WAS

unconditional!,
Even your touche's

were

HEAVENLY

From head to toe!
Chance's are,
I'll beg and plead for your heart
Just to get it and tear it all apart.

With every thing in life thou ain't
It worth the risk cuz
Chance's are
I wont do none of

THIS,
I might just love you for you

like you'll do for me,
I might just give into you

in your time of need,
I might just hold you

and

play with your hair
Maybe braid it or what ever

cuz it's there!
I might just let you heal me til I hurt No Mo,
Even claim

YOUR OWN seed's as my OWN!
I might shut the HELL up and let you win A fight,

Maybe just to have make up *** on Winters cold nights!
I might just be everything your looking for huh?
Maybe cuz you know
Chances Are
Abundant...,

To be right there
NO MATTER WHAT
I wouldn't care.
I might carry you to victory,
We might find pleasure in enjoying the little things,

We might make this a lasting thing.
Something to tell OUR grand kids.
You never know and that's the beauty of it
We still try and even thou LOVE hurts,
How do you KNOW

tomorrow will bring rain or sorrow?
Maybe the sun will Rise  AGAIN

And

you'll fall in love with me.
Take a chance on me cuz ,

Chance's ARE....,

(whatever WE make them!)
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved

My thoughts turn to food
Barbecued ribs
And then and then
The black keyboard white letters
A pen in the mouth
People outside walk to work
Feet tap to music
A pen in the mouth
There are words that have never been uttered
Words without meaning
This is my purpose
Because it is an easy one
Blank! Blank! Blank!
The soul always desperate to spank
Caggle *** loude
Cankle *** louder
Why go on?

Electromagnetism
Electricity and magnetism
Shoelaces that are just to **** long
And drag across the ground
Even when they are tied
They are essentially useless

In 1938 a Japanese woman who does not yet know the name of her new husband is ***** violently on her wedding night. In 500 BC a roman emperor orders a feast of fifteen cows and thirty swine, he drinks too much wine and gets sick in the middle of a double ******* by a Nubian slave and a plump Egyptian delegate.

Everything is just so been done

It’s a cool, Georgia, Wednesday afternoon - not quite 80°f. The sky is clear, and the sun is dazzling against the cadet blue sky. Its reflection is multiplied a thousand small times, creating glittering, broken mirror glares that ripple, relentlessly, across the water’s blue surface.

On the lake, if you’re not wearing polarized sunglasses, then you’re going to suffer - no worries though, we have drawers full of them. We’re on my parents' Tiara-43 ski boat, at anchor in the sheltered-cove of an uninhabited island. It’s windy, Leong and I, bikinied and fresh from the water, race shivering for our giant, Turkish-linen beach-towels.

Charles, a large, redheaded, retired, NYC cop, (who’s been my full-time driver and escort since I was 9), is our boat-captain (I am not allowed to dock the boat). Charles, a chef of steaks nonpareil, is working the grill and unconsciously swaying to the music. The aroma is mouthwatering, and my tummy is growling with anticipation.

Ashe’s “Another man’s jeans” is bumpin’ from the stereo, and I can’t help but feel this somehow beats going to class. As we wrap up and settle in our lounges, a green and white ski boat careens into view, about a quarter mile from the cove entrance.

The sight of it makes me smile. It’s going so fast that it seems to hover over the surface of the lake, only jerking slightly as the boat lightly touches-off the water. It zeros in on us like a missile, its approach flat out - perhaps 60mph (52 knots).

I knew who it was instantly - Kimmy - of course. I look at my watch - 3:30pm - she got out of school at 2:15 and must have made a hot bee-line for us using “find my friends” GPS telemetry to uncover our hidden cove location.

As the boat edges the cove lip, Kim cuts power - the boat heaves as it settles into the water and quickly decelerates. Charles, anticipating the approaching wake, secures things (spices and utensils) in the galley area. When the boat’s closer, I can see that Bili’s onboard too.

Kim and Bili are my two homie BFFs. They’ll graduate high school in 2 weeks. Kim is a small, pretty Asian American bound for Brown University, to study public policy in the fall. Bili is a tall, gorgeous, chocolate-brown Nubian princess who’ll attend the University of California, at Berkeley to study “financial engineering” - whatever that is.

When Kim’s boat is about 80 feet from us, Kim and Bili jump on deck, water-ready in bathing suits. Each girl, used to the boating-life, tosses an anchor - one to port, one starboard, and not bothering to look back, dive off the bow and begin swimming toward us.

Kim’s boat, which briefly seemed intent on catching them, jerks to a stop, like a wild thing suddenly restrained, as anchor lines catch.

When Kim and Bili draw along aside, they reach up with clasped hands which Charles uses, like a handle, to smoothly hoist them one-handed, as if they were weightless, in turn, from the water with long mastered ease - presenting them to me for squealing embrace.

As I excitedly introduce them to Leong - summer has officially begun.

(For Black History Month 1998)


i have a wish
to be profound...
   to be proud and stronger
   and carry myself like the **** poets on Def Jam
voices of Kenya and kings, emblazoned
with wisdom, respected / permanence
tanned in words of Malcolm & Martin's reign...
   to have passions of Nubian queens
   wear a crown to herald my approach
head held high
   without raising a calloused hand,
   copper polished hearts
A presence that only demands simplistic
of silences in the awe, the inspired
unchallenged in my reverence--an African / American ability
   choreography / invention
   the first to dance, when others fear to
to keep it real and say it loud
my human wishes, strong, profound, proud...
sometimes
   gentille...

i wanna be black...
like King Cobra, a hood to umbrella fright
with venom from just my stereotypical sight
   immobilize and paint caucasians whiter
   to be well endowed yet humbly
complicated,
angry but with proven reasons unrequited,
to be singled out by mere appearance
alone, a Halley Berry poster, child - dealing drugs,
   respected yet in the poetry of chains
   creative even in these multi-colored pains
from a thousand lands of strife
music is sister, artistic is brother life
become ingenious
   saxophones in the moody blues,
   athlete of hurtles, jazz / boxing fights / sang...
gold medals, worthy for full frontal
news...

do i amuse you, with these longings?
think do you - it's a cursed delight?
   but life only
   excels with each challenge: our battles
against ignorance / shame defines
the worth we're given
our lot mostly restricted, our lions tamed
perseveres - tho' weep the dust of our ancients names,
and bleeds these,
our cotton soft truths some mistakes
   and Dolby stereotypes revealed
   re-assigned
now worn like brand new:
a garden painted stronger
roots - and robes of shackles' / thorns
sharp with unlocked prejudices
   brown can do no more (for you sir)
   criminal confidences find the unmoving wave of faith
a prominent jaw-line, obelisk-lips
kiss and smack / wet with loving lengths
it is ... no hurt in these earthen eyes
   evident
   stoic, strength, serenity
mine to dance and sing my apathy instead...
about the history, i wish to dis
yes, re-avow
empty empathies before,
   experience my thousands, marching
   Melato’s at the founding fathers' doors, will show
you how to open house
these ghettos of / our violent villages / of tar & soot
shadow our poor ever the more
our stars shine on
   broadway be our stage / Stomps / in the heart, hopes,
   styles rap / songs to battle racial profiles
racial cops in devil blue,
beating brothas, home video tell our news,
while our rich forget the rest
******* **** in their cribs
re-pimped, yes, ******* new money & *****
   of course, they are the talented ...
   almost gods on Apollo / knock on wood...
the music is still
the song still is
the foot is stampeding
the noise will be loud,

i will be proud
i will be profound
   in this time of redefinition,
i will be strong
(i wanna be black) like Etta James
at last...

she walks onto the scene
breathtaking
hormones raging
from her power overwhelming
my senses
longing to explore
this majestic creature
sent from above
an angel in disguise
a nubian goddess
with love and compassion
gleaming from those ebony eyes
chocolate skin longing for
a proper dress
to fit those perfect thighs
a suitable blouse
to show enough
to make the strongest man
forget he was tough
trembling limbs
turn to chattering jibs
that blurt out one simple sound
thoughts turn to mush
words leave the mind
only visions
of late night rendezvous
leading to the grind
of pelvis touching pelvis
in an effort
to have a little death
then resurrect
in each other's arms
touch brings comfort
exhale that final breath
no longer *****
we direct
the final cut
ending our love scene

Forty-two percent.
Forty-two percent of us.
Black women, never married.
42% of us laying alone in our beds
On our sides with no one gazing back at us
42% of us staring at our phones wondering if that ******* is our last chance at love
Almost half of our Nubian glow fading
Almost half of us never finding that legitimate other half
42% of us scared of being lonely
What are the ages of the women that make up this 42 percent?
Is there a cut off age to finding eternal love and happiness?
42% of us...they said 42% never did, but they never said that 42% of us never would.

When you walk,
you are like poetry in motion,
your complexion,
like pastel tinted clouds,
your voice,
the sound of liquid music,
your eyes,
deep dark pools of pure mystery,
your lips,
rose petals carresed by the morning sun,
your hair,
a shimmering clown of satin ebony,
your smile,
a reflection of ur beautiful soul,
your skin,
soft like a nubian pearl,
your touch,
soft,gentle and smooth like persian silk,
alas,words cannot fully describe your beauty,,ma belle! :)

My blackness is lovely!! Wouldn't you agree?! It has taken me what felt like a lifetime to embrace the inner depths of me.... Yess! I've been searching for that little black girl hidden. my skin is brown... The  sun constantly sends sweet kisses in the form of rays....
Never lost always found, I am but the image of my creator.... A beaming star placed by the Devine on a crowned mother called earth. My name is Nubian ....

alt. i.e.:

never give a monotheism to
the egyptians -
those ******* pseudo Nubian
camel herders know
jack-**** about
the value of encoding
sounds (can't match the mandarin,
their pictographic
became extinct like
the neanderthals) - or to put it
for a milder palette: here's
Ra's rhubarb... and here's
Gengen-Wer... now
match-up the rhino horn
to the donkey's tail
and the elephants trunk
with five blindfolded men...
they should be happy to have
a logic named after them,
happily dancing into Egyptology...
you get the picture,
i know the Mamluks defeated
the stinking horde of Genghis...
but i'd hardly think it necessary
to export Islam into africa to
get some sense on the matter -
look what happened when
christianity was exported from
egypt (the nag hammadi library
found by a shepherd in Osama's caves);
exporting Islam into north Africa
and hence further west
created the Shiah schism where
Islam belonged (in the east);
beware the setting sun;
believe me, it's personal, i'm not
******* on or burning flags
for the Cairo taxi driver to mind...
this is bedroom secrets' anathema.

Look at me.Let my skin tell you a story of pain and suffering, let my eyes give you sight and show you my history. And it's odd to me because as history goes I know of her struggle but not her name, my great grandmama's face, nor my great grandfather stern gaze. My history was ripped from me then handed back in a textbook, like a stolen jewel being given back as a gift from its captors. They try to cultivate and appropriate my culture like it's a shirt that fits them better. You asked me what I'm mixed with because you see my blackness as something to be covered. But my blackness is not ***** that needs a chaser, it is not a ***** car that needs a little whitewashing and a paint job.
You asked me what I'm mixed with so here is my response; I am mixed with melanin and love swlirled into chocolate beauty. I'm mixed with strength and pride, fierce do I roar with the voice of the wise ancestors who gave birth to hope for my grandma, my mommy, and me. I am one part black and ninety nine parts victory. I am not a tragedy of circumstance I am a product of excellence. You ask me if I am mixed because you think I'm to pretty to just be black. Here's a news flash, I am pretty because I'm black! From the kinks of my curls to the dance in my toes, I am designed from the roots of the earth. In tune with its gravitational pull.
Everyone knows the moon only shines in the blackness of night. Stop trying to force an eclipse because they don't last anyway, only burn out to be surrounded by the blackness once more. You asked me what I'm mixed with, allow me the same courtesy. Are you mixed? What are you mixed with? Fear, hate, rage, disgust, or shame? I don't assume any of these for a wise woman once said, " people are diamonds made up of different pressure some in different measures and if you don't know don't judge for it is not your contest." I am on a conquest of love and redemption. I won't blame you for your ancestors but I will hold you to a certain standard.
So before you ask me what I am mixed with, think. Does it even matter?pretty is pretty so don't you dare come at a Nubian goddess cross eyed or tongue-tied, prepared to gain insight of her bloodline. She will shatter all illusion, destroy all thoughts of doubt. She will tell you she is black. She will say it in a song song voice because of the melody ringing in her soul when she makes this known. It will roll off her tongue like honey. For no other words ever tasted so sweet. She is a black queen. Mixed with blood and bones.

I find myself far gone, drifting alongside the beach
of some nubian kingdom
A sharp inhale of starlight and cutting holes
of awe,
she's there for me.

but,
Not in presence,
Red clouds limping through my comfort,
keeping me safe
far far off, in its tempered perfection.

Writing my fiction, one word at time,
biting into my rotten ear,
cracked surfaces of
sugar lined castle spires
pointing downwards,
In the paradox named perception.

Release!
Stretched out in our isolation.
yet I'm alone, becoming longer,
wandering,
raiding into an artificial night
Where no time appears to pass.

Encroaching on the expectation.
for food,
be it wanted or difficult,
for lips, ink nor illness.
The coast brings in
an ease that I drink from,
when dilly-dallying,
along the mad irreverence
of a random bed that you dream of
each time you wake,
each time you sleep,
There is no content in your bed sheets.

Spiralling in and out of information infection,
Oh how? Oh how can I sleep,
when I stand with my back to space?
Splaying limbs as they exert
the last beams of recklessness
- reverting to old habits,
obsession with erratics,
no form and no care.
Riddled with a chaotic mop head of stringed stupid.

How cute.
Juiced from his tender prospects,
intent on separation
entering use
****, bored and loose
Frothy white moaning flow,
tenderly crushing
Contingency.

I avoid moving inland,
for fear of peace of mind
Combing the canal with the brisk
jaunt of my limping legs,
unsure of themselves
in amidst,
the warmest blanket on the coldest day.

An old kingdom,
founded on consumption,
tradition and extraction.
We keep our distance,
I keep my distance.
Cold water minces around my feet.

Pith/Medulla.
Falling to earth,
beneath the sedge.

Queen Nubian,
keen enough to school me in
the 'ways of the rulers
with intentions to pursuit' her.

A man who looks down on men
would never suit her
She's a healer, and a soother,
It takes love to truly move her.

Such a strong mind that
heartbreak won't ever bruise her.
You'll never be the chooser,
You just manifest through her.

She changes your demeanor
into super from a stupor
Because when you see her face,
you see your future.

Tears down her her face
as she ask me why
sat there face of despair saying I
took a moment as time passed by
you lied you lied was all she say
but still no reply
from me
why cant you be why cant you be more of thee
old guy that you use to be
don't say you love me like you use to
all you ever do is hang with your new crew
ironically singing no new friends
thinking you to cool
but you  fool  
just another tool
but who knew
You I would lose you
you different now
never getting loud
always sitting down
everytime I look at you
I wonder who's who
is this that nice and generous sheem
who fell in love with a Nubian woman  and treated her like a queen
made her feel more important then life itself.
stop....I cut her off
For a while I been feeling like ive been in love by myself.
thinking you've been down  looking sad thinking to my self
how could I help
would  I ever please you
see you
was so intertwined  from what you heard in the vine
didn't even care if I intervened
tell you I loved you
you didn't care
taking you out
getting you things
made you dinner and walk by like I wasn't there
there was times that I thought you wouldnt notice if I disappeared
what we shared been gone
Im surprised it took you this long.
But i guess you did when I stopped
That word love got
Stripped from my vocab
Burnt to a crisp never to rise from the ash
No rise of the Phoenix from old flames rekindled
You mingled and sparked infatuations of your own
While I thought of you at home
In a world so cold
who knew I get freezer burned
But you live and learn
I guess

It's been a long day.  Better yet along tiresome road from the cross point where I changed my direction. The room was cool from the outside pounding heat and within Minutes was undressed bags resting on the floor. The long fall in to the soft fluffy pillow top caught me in its inbrace like her arms held me to her breast.  I pull the soft brown 1800 thread count sheets up my body getting slight flash backs of her soft Nubian skin brushing against my skin.  Consciously I was fading with my right hand over my heart..  The ceiling fan turned and my heart beat as the fan turned.  Before darkness had it's grasp on me I reached under my pillow for the note they will find.  My heart beated through my chest, the last thing I thought before sleep was how does this heavy broken thing keeps working and if they find the note can they tell I died from my secret broken heart.