Enuf by Ntozake Shange

In honor of Women's History Month, I have to publish this poem by Ntozake Shange. She is one of my favorite poets ever, maybe even my number one favorite! The language she uses and the stories she tells are so hypnotizing. I hope you enjoy this one!

at 4:30 AM
she rose
movin the arms & legs that trapped her
she sighed affirmin the sculptured man
& made herself a bath
of dark musk oil egyptian crystals
& florida water to remove his smell
to wash away the glitter
to watch the butterflies melt into
suds & the rhinestones fall beneath
her buttocks like smooth pebbles
in a missouri creek
layin in water
she became herself
ordinary
brown braided woman
with big legs & full hips
reglar
seriously intendin to finish her
night's work
she quickly walked to her guest
straddled on her pillows & began
you'll have to go now /
i've
a lot of work to do / & i
cant
with a man around / here
are yr pants /
there's coffee on the
stove / it's been
very nice / but i cant see
you again /
you got what you came
for / didnt you'
& she smiled
he wd either mumble curses bout crazy bitches
or sit dumbfounded
while she repeated
æi cdnt possibly wake up / with
a strange man in my bed / why
dont you go home'
she cda been slapped upside the head
or verbally challenged
but she never waz
& the ones who fell prey to the
dazzle of hips painted with
orange blossoms & magnolia scented wrists
had wanted no more
than to lay between her sparklin thighs
& had planned on leaving before dawn
& she had been so divine
devastatingly bizarre the way
her mouth fit round
& now she stood a 
reglar colored girl
fulla the same malice
livid indifference as a sistah
worn from supportin a wd be hornplayer
or waiting by the window
& they knew
& left in a hurry
she wd gather her tinsel &
jewels from the tub
& laugh gayly or vengeful
she stored her silk roses by her bed
& when she finished writin
the account of her exploit in a diary
embroidered with lilies & moonstones
she placed the rose behind her ear

& cried herself to sleep. 

Poet Spotlight: Untitled by Christian McIntire

In light of the recent events in Ferguson, Missouri, I shared three pieces on here earlier this week and received an email from my former teacher about them, who, in turn, shared a piece he had written last summer after the verdict in the Trayvon Martin case. This piece is seriously deep and amazing and is very much pertinent to today's circumstances. Enjoy!

Where were you when it happened?
When the lynch mob arrived,
and the court of public opinion
put blackness on trial?

Me? I was still thinking –
thinking, of the color of my skin.
My skin: a hood of exceptional power.
If exercised,
it is the hood of a Klansman.
Of institutionalized oppression;
of enslaved Africans in state penitentiaries;
of confined minds in sterile elementaries.

But I’m not one to stand up for white supremacy.

Now? Now I’m Feeling.
Believing.

The color of MY skin,
is a hood of exceptional power.
If challenged,
it is a hood of solidarity.
Of consciousness and community,
with my black and brown children and their families;
of seeking to dismantle what you seek to uphold;
of hope –
I hope audaciously to struggle against the status quo.

Where were you when it happened?
When the lynch mob arrived?
Did you stand up –
pop the right hood up –
when the death of a child
became the trial of our brothers?

Where will you be when our next child is taken?
What are we going to do

when the lynch mob arrives again?

Thank you, McIntire! I swear I read this over and over again; it is extremely powerful!

In Memoriam: Marilyn Monroe wrote poetry, too!

Today marks the anniversary of the sudden death of Hollywood actress, Marilyn Monroe. Many of you know that I am obsessed with her! I've watched several documentaries about her and even some of her movies. I learned so much and have come to really appreciate her. She took the art of acting very seriously and did her best and beyond to perfect her work. She is truly an inspiration. When I found out that she also wrote poetry, I was beyond ecstatic. According to immortalmarilyn.com, Norman Rosten wrote: "She would often hand me a scrap of paper with something written on it & ask, 'Do you think this is poetry? Keep it & let me know.' Or she'd send a scribbled sheet in the mail asking for criticism. I would always encourage her. The poems were, in the best sense, those of an amateur; that is, they pretended to be nothing more than an outburst of feeling, with little or no knowledge of the craft. But the poet within her - & one existed - found a form for her purpose." Here is one of her many poems. Rest in Peace, Ms. Monroe.

Life-
I am of both your directions
Existing more with the cold frost
Strong as a cobweb in the wind
Hanging downward the most
Somehow remaining
those beaded rays have the colours
I've seen in paintings-ah life
they have cheated you
thinner than a cobweb's thread
sheerer than any-
but it did attach itself
and held fast in strong winds
and singed by the leaping hot fires
life-of which at singular times
I am both of your directions-
somehow I remain hanging downward 
the most
as both of your directions pull me.

In Memoriam: Dancing the Dream by Michael Jackson

                            

Five years ago today, the world lost the greatest entertainer and one of the kindest, most loving people, Michael Jackson. As many of you know, he has been my favorite artist since I was a kid. What many of you don't know is that aside from being an amazing singer, songwriter, and performer, Michael loved art. He was an artist, with both pictures and words. In honor of him, here is one of his many poems, Dancing the Dream. Rest in peace, Michael!

Consciousness expresses itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the creator. Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many an occasion when I'm dancing, I've felt touched by something sacred. In those moments, I've felt my spirit soar and become one with everything that exists. I become the stars and the moon. I become the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the master and the slave. I become the singer and the song. I become the knower and the known. I keep on dancing and then, it is the eternal dance of creation. The creator and creation merge into one wholeness of joy.

I keep on dancing and dancing.......................and dancing, until there is only .................the dance.

Poet Spotlight: I Fell in Love with English by Tierra Daniels

I fell in love with English 

When he read my soul.
He took me on a whirlwind,
He was cacophony, he was euphony.

A paradox in his own right,
I was intrigued and I was befuddled.
His touch made me weep and giggle 
and shiver and smile.

He had poetic lips
And he gave me melodic kisses
that made my feminine rhyme tingle,
I had to have him. 

His love was a beautiful ballad on 
a Sunday morning
And I was hooked


Thank you, Tierra!