Monthly Archives: February 2012

She Wears Red

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I do like to wear me some red…

She Wears Red
by Jackie Warren-Moore

She bangs hard on the door
just outside my consciousness
this wild woman I am becoming
“Let me in, open up!” she screams
wearing a long blue dress
of dreams I discarded.

I try to ignore her
go about everyday duties
a list that must be followed
she keeps showing me new ways
.   to be me
lessons I forgot
she wears red and says
she is staking a claim to be beautiful
drops people like bad habits
cutting hurt from her body
carving a new switch to her step
“More bounce to the ounce” she says
“More cushin’ for the pushin’”
she is a vulgar girl
knows just what she wants
throws her head back
and laughs out loud
She is something
this new girl I almost was
“Open up” she says
“Be me again
be the girl you were afraid of
wear red again
wear your hair down
black and grey hair you earned
with all the passion you stored inside,
Open up” she says
this wild woman
I am becoming
“Open up
and welcome
this woman
we are”

Yes the body remembers
when the brain wishes to forget
this snatch of song hummed up
from the back of your past

the ‘times they are a changin’
or a certain whir in the atmosphere
the way the air hits the shin
a certain jig in the walk
a step that reminds us
of all we lost to time
sickness and ignorance
the body remembers, all the way to the bone
pain
pleasure
etched into the marrow

slick glide of time over lives
connected by threads
we are too blind to see
too sophisticated to acknowledge

the body remembers
quick flash of tingle
in the back to synapse
tiny pause-between conscious thought
feeling surface
the body asserts
come back, come back, come back
to the feeling
let the body remember
feel again
all she has forgotten
all she continues
to hold on to
yes, she remembers

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I am a Black Woman

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…Yes, you already know that. But this poem…

I am a Black Woman
by Mari Evans

I am a black woman
the music of my song
some sweet arpeggio of tears
is written in a minor key
and I
can be heard humming in the night
Can be heard
.                humming
in the night

I saw my mate leap screaming to the sea
and I/with these hands/cupped the lifebreath
from my issue in the canebrake
I lost Nat’s swinging body in a rain of tears
and heard my son scream all the way from Anzio
for Peace he never knew…I
learned Da Nang and Pork Chop Hill
in anguish
Now my nostrils know the gas
and these trigger tire/d fingers
seek the softness in my warrior’s beard

I
am a black woman
tall as a cypress
strong
beyond all definition still
defying place
and time
and circumstance
.     assailed
.               impervious
.                         indestructible

Look
.       on me and be
renewed

No Images

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the middle of the end. There are only 3 days left in February – and that’s with the extra day! So, I have no choice but to keep subjecting you to poetry through the end of the week.

It’s such beautiful poetry!  And Black History month should be all year long anyway.

NO IMAGES
Waring Cuney

She does not know
Her beauty,
She thinks her brown body
Has no glory.
If she could dance
Naked
Under palm trees
And see her image in the river,
She would know.

But there are no palm trees
On the street,
And dish water gives back no images.