Manual Black Girls Hearts in a poem

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Ernestine Johnson
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Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can't see.

The only place on the planet for the best in urban poetry and hip-hop poetry

I say, It's the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care. A Last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now, reft of that confusion, am lifted up and speeding toward the light. You declare you see me dimly through a glass which will not shine, though I stand before you boldly, trim in rank and making time.

Love Poems for Her to Melt her Heart

You do own to hear me faintly as a whisper out of range, while my drums beat out the message and the rhythms never change. Equality, and I will be free. You announce my ways are wanton, that I fly from man to man, but if I'm just a shadow to you, could you ever understand? We have lived a painful history, we know the shameful past, but I keep on marching forward, and you keep on coming last.

Take the blinders from your vision, take the padding from your ears, and confess you've heard me crying, and admit you've seen my tears. Hear the tempo so compelling, hear the blood throb through my veins. Yes, my drums are beating nightly, and the rhythms never change. Dancin' the funky chicken Eatin' ribs and tips Diggin' all the latest sounds And drinkin' gin in sips. Now ain't they bad? An ain't they Black? An' ain't they Bad? An ain't they bad? An' ain't they Black? An' ain't they fine? Black like the hour of the night When your love turns and wriggles close to your side Black as the earth which has given birth To nations, and when all else is gone will abide.

Bad as the storm that leaps raging from the heavens Bringing the welcome rain Bad as the sun burning orange hot at midday Lifting the waters again. Dressing in purples and pinks and greens Exotic as rum and Cokes Living our lives with flash and style Ain't we colorful folks? Now ain't we bad? An' ain't we Black? An' ain't we bad? An' ain't we fine? Even sunlight dares and trembles through my bars to shimmer dances on the floor. A clang og lock and keys and heels and blood-dried guns. Even sunshine dares. Guard grey men serve plates of rattle noise and concrete death and beans.

Then pale sun stumbles through the poles of iron to warm the horror of grey guard men. Black night. The me myself of me sleeks in the folds and history of fear. To secret hold me deep and close my ears of lulls and clangs and memory of hate.


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Then night and sleep and dreams. Preacher, Don't Send me when I die to some big ghetto in the sky where rats eat cats of the leopard type and Sunday brunch is grits and tripe. I've known those rats I've seen them kill and grits I've had would make a hill, or maybe a mountain, so what I need from you on Sunday is a different creed. Preacher, please don't promise me streets of gold and milk for free.

I stopped all milk at four years old and once I'm dead I won't need gold. I'd call a place pure paradise where families are loyal and strangers are nice, where the music is jazz and the season is fall.

Dark Girl - Poem by: @MrDamonPlant x Directed by: @TaiPayne

Promise me that or nothing at all. I start no wars, raining poison on cathedrals, melting Stars of David into golden faucets to be lighted by lamps shaded by human skin. I set no store on the strange lands, send no missionaries beyond my borders, to plunder secrets and barter souls. They say you took my manhood, Momma.

girl on fire { a poem for women ready to light the world } | Jeanette LeBlanc

Come sit on my lap and tell me, what do you want me to say to them, just before I annihilate their ignorance? We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of loneliness until love leaves its high holy temple and comes into our sight to liberate us into life. Love arrives and in its train come ecstasies old memories of pleasure ancient histories of pain. Yet if we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls. We are weaned from our timidity In the flush of love's light we dare be brave And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be.

Yet it is only love which sets us free.

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A Brave and Startling Truth. We, this people on a small and lonely planet Traveling through causal space Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns To a destination where all signs tell us It is possible and imperative that we discover A brave and startling truth And when we come to it To the day of peacemaking When we release our fingers From fists of hostility And alow the pure air to cool our palms.

When we come to it When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean When battlefields and coliseum No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters Up with the bruised and bloody grass To lie in identical plots in foreign lands When the rapacious storming of churches The screaming racket in the temples have ceased When the pennants are waving gaily When the banners of the world tramble Stoutly in the good, clean breeze.

When we come to it When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders And children dress their dolls in flags of truce When land mines of death have been removed And the aged may walk into evenings of peace When religious ritual is not perfumed By the incense of burning flesh And childhood dreams are not kicked awake By nightmares of abuse.

When we come to it Then we will confess that not the Pyramids With their stones set in mysterious perfection Not the Garden of Babylon Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory Not the Grand Canyon Kindled in delicious color By Western sunsets Not the Danube flowing in its blue soul into Europe Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji Stretching to the rising sun Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor, Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores These are not the only wonders of the world.

When we come to it We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade, the dagger Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace We, this people on this mote of matter In whose mouths abide cantankerous words Which challenge our existence Yet out of those same mouths Can come songs of such exquisite sweetness That the heart falters in its labor And the body is quieted into awe We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the proud back is glad to bend Out of such chaos, of such contradiction We learn that we are neither devils or divines.

When we come to it We, this people, on this wayward, floating body Created on this earth, of this earth Have the power to fashion for this earth A climate where every man and every woman Can live freely without sanctimonious piety And without crippling fear. When we come to it We must confess that we are the possible We are the miraculous, the true wonders of this world That is when, and only when We come to it. You declare you see me dimly through a glass which will not shine, though I stand before you boldly, trim in rank and marking time.

Hear the tempo so compelling, hear the blood throb in my veins. There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win its service to my side are useless as wounded pride, and much more painful. You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes?


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Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.


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  • Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? She lay, skin down in the moist dirt, the canebrake rustling with the whispers of leaves, and loud longing of hounds and the ransack of hunters crackling the near branches.

    She muttered, lifting her head a nod toward freedom, I shall not, I shall not be moved.