I GOT ACCEPTED TO VONA

CHECK OUT THIS LINK TO FIND OUT MORE
https://www.gofundme.com/7e1ugs

War In the Mouth of a Gun

I have the energy of a moving bullet.

After i pierce through your ribs, I do not die.

I am not weakened by blood:

your veins will not keep me at ease. 

I split your bones and wonder into your spirit.

picture from google image:moving bullet

Naming Female Inventors

- after the Black Woman

There is Harriet Tubman,

who dug the underground

railroad with her bare body

until the sands mixed 

with her blood. Her hope:

to see her people bound 

in the chains of freedom.

She invented independence

for the black kingdom.

Then there is my mother

who carried me, exceeding

nine months, bearing milk

filled breast heavier than stones,

because I refused to suck.

When I split the skin 

on the back of head, she could

not eat. She travelled across

the atlantic but did not leave

without a promise of return.

My mother, she invented me. 

Photo by Ste.Marie

Dealing with the Cross

He bought me

while I was ragged, 

crimson soiled,

 rooted- dead- sprung 

up, spitting greens.

He exchanged 

his eternal being

to wrap me 

in the warmth

of the blood,

washed me—rivers 

flower over me.

It wasn't gold

melted, solid, shining,

it wasn't silver

as the white sun reflects

on a pool of water.

Not the images of kings

and queens or petitions

signed with palms of

perishable princes

whose lives are but vapor.

Upcoming Reading!!!

I'm excited to announce my first reading at an art gallery in the Bronx

Follow this link to reserve your seat:  https://pen.org/event/2016/01/21/bronx-africa-poetry-town-hall-tour

In Praise of Art

I have learned to adore a pen and a paper more than anything else in this world.

I am grateful to my right hand which delights in following every step of my dreams.

I congratulate my eyes for lying open during dark nights and heavy seasons.

A standing ovation to the neurons and axons and cerebellum and cerebrum that continue to adorn me with the beauty of intelligence.

I commend my eyes for allowing me to see, and if blind, I would have thanked my ears 

What a traitor to forget the nose and the tongue: expression will never be the same without you.

What is a writer without a heart, a pulse to pump a  flow of interest and desire of wealth through these valves?

I thank God for life; mine and everyone else's' that allows me to write.

image by William Ste. Marie

Caged- for Nelson Mandela

                                                           27 years a man was caged 

                            for being right, black in his skin,

placed behind an iron box.

                        They took his light and 

                                    his reflections,

                                              he refused to give up

his heart, his mind.

                         Firm, unwavering, optimistic.

                                           He made it out in time...

                                                     How long are you willing to be

                         Caged?

image from nelsonmandela.net