Seven Days

Give me seven days,
He smiled,
His eyes twinkled
Like the stars above
With an energy
She knew too well.

Can you perform
A miracle in such
A short time?
Her smile was nervous,
Tinged with a hope
That was ambrosia
To him.

I can do it
In less time,
His confidence never
Wavered, a steady
Candle flame, even in
A sand storm.

Then seven days
It is, she smiled
On the outside
And prayed on
The inside.
She wanted him
To succeed.

One then Two,
Two then Three,
Three then Four,
Four then Five,
Five then Six,
Six then Seven,
Seven then...

At the end of
The seventh day,
As the sun became
One with the sea,
As the moon bloated
And sickly watched
Over her, he came forth.

Did you worry?
He searched her face.

Yes,
Her eyes flutter shut.

Did you pray for me,
He tipped her chin up,
Urging her to look at him.

Yes,
She could never lie to him.

Did you believe in me?
His lips brushed hers.

Always,
She met his gaze
And in his eyes,
She saw that the
Miracle had come to pass.

I love...

I love
The smell of him
In my sheets.

I would turn over
In the middle
Of the night
And it would be
There.
I would breathe
Him in.

I love his
Scent.

I love
His skin.

Alabaster black
In some places
And a sweet
Brown in others.
So sweet
I would kiss it
Here, there,
Anywhere and
Everywhere.

I love
His skin.

I love
Sleeping with him.

I knew I was
Long past infatuation
When I could
Dream with his
Arms wrapped around
Me.

We weren't two
Lumpy masses
Existing on a
Plane courting
Nocturnal bliss,
We fit perfectly
Together, in more
Ways than one.

I love
Sleeping with him.

I love...

I love....
Him.

Not for reasons
Or concepts but
Because he is
One star and
So am I
And in a universe
Of stars, we
Somehow found
Each other,
We found someone
Who fits perfectly.

Then again,
I guess
That is
A reason.



I will be honest and say that my handwriting was awful, so there are a few words in this that I doubt was in the original poem. Still working on my poetry.

Likkle Boi

"Psst
Psst,
Miss,
Lemme talk
To you for
A minute."

Taking in the
Boxers on display,
The jeans so tight
It is a wonder
They are able to
Hang so low,
The woman ten years
His senior sucks her teeth
As though sucking
The flesh off of
A kenep.

"Likkle boi,
Don't know
Him place,
Thinking a
Big 'oman
Like me would
Eva deal with
A likkle boi,"
She says, hiking up
Her bag and
Walking away.

All that likkle boy
Want is the two
Dollar me work
Hard for. He
Would t'ink is
His payment for
Rubbing my
Neck, feet....
And other such
Places.

Not dis 'oman yah,
My money is for
My clothes,
My food,
My child,
And no man alive
Would get a cent
Of it. I work too hard
To throw way
What likkle money
I work for.

If only that
Likkle boi did
Know that I only
Deal with man
And they money.
And by the look
Of things, I would
Become a man
Before that likkle boi
Ever would.


My attempt at dialect. LOL. Oh and this is "kenep"

Not Ever

Whisper softly to me,
Speak words that you
Would never say to
Anyone but me.

Tell me that
You want me, that
You need me, that
You love me.

Why is your
Tongue still?
Why are your words
Trapped in that mind,
Prisoners of some
Malady I know
Nothing about.

Why don't you
Speak truth to me
For your actions
Speak them so
Plainly.

Alas, your mind
And body oppose
Each other and
You trust the mind
But I trust the body.

Then go!
Yes, go!
I shall not stand
For such indecision,
It is either you love me
Or you don't.

Speak plainly, man,
I know those lips,
I know that tongue
Can construct
Sentences.

And so we have it,
You love me, but you
Also love someone else.
The decision was never yours
It appears. It is mine
And my decision is for
You to leave.

Don't look at me with
Sad eyes. Put your tail
Between your legs and
Shoo.

I am not one
To share my toys,
Not now,
Not ever.

In This Time

A Norman Rockwell painting
Hung over my head,
More like a print,
But I'm not judging.

A snapshot of
A more peaceful time
Sends me reeling back
To the time when it
Was not so peaceful.

When a hatred gripped
The hearts of men
Who could never get
Past their programming.

A time when women
Could not vote,
When a black man
Could not occupy
The same space as
A white woman.

I also remember
A time when the
Hatred was reversed
And the anthem of
"F*ck the police"
Was played from every
Ghetto blaster.

In this time,
A time I now
Live, gangstas are
Either dead or
Making movies.

In this time,
We haven't resolved
The hatred, and
Untended it has
Been left to fester.

In this time,
We wear masks so
Tightly that they
Seem to become
Our faces.

In this time,
I look up at
The Norman Rockwell
And wish that
This lie was true.


Image Credit