Next Steps
They march today
Carry signs above their heads
Ignore burning arms
Tap into fury and shout
Next Steps
Tag: poetry
Kissed by Growth’s Pain
a poem by Shaunteri Skinner
she fell into the burns of her past as they lay thick & thin
on her brain,
the emptiness was so full,
it was so well-rounded & welcoming.
kissed by growth’s pain in too many ways to describe how she
could bear to breathe,
ignoring the calms of eves or news of life’s chances in whatever direction.
she felt as if her waking was
misbehavior until she woke out of that dream of killers that she kept repeating At night,
those who laughed right next to her with blood all over their hands
causing blood to be her brain ever so often.
until all of the flesh fell back onto her
bones,
the rest of her left the world, never want-
ing to have gone,
but never wanting to come back either.
being trapped in her
life & the life that history
made for her caused all of
the pain that she would
ever need to grow,
to be Black, woman &
beautiful was the best that she
ever had to be,
But proving it to those
who mattered most
Seemed like new & old crushed dreams.
published in Genre: Urban Arts First Edition
Mistaken Wisdom
a poem byCaroline Fleurette
Endless nights spent sitting on my mother’s lap
A tug of war of ideologies
As she straightens my perspective
One must be presentable for every situation
She mused
Yet, the next day I wouldn’t want to go to school
Because when I look in the mirror I’m not the reflection
of my Barbie
The results of my mother efforts vaporizes at the finger
pointing
And snickers of my classmates
Stick to your roots she encourages
I don’t think she truly understands
How can I stay true to myself
When weekly I face my tangled insecurities
Do you know you were the worst role model for me You
look nothing like me
Your strands has a mind of its own
Speaking freely with the wind
But in the end I internalized my thoughts
Weekly during the…
Endless night spent sitting on my mother’s lap
published in Genre: Urban Arts’ First Edition
Thirteen
a poem by Jaleesa Davis
Still, after seven years, I can’t say that my heart still feels no pain, before that day it was sunshine and afterward it was just rain.
No one ever told me my story wouldn’t be goofy or fun, and as far as stories are concerned, I wish I didn’t have one.
They say you always have a choice in life, that is until someone takes that right from you leaving you with only the choice they make, the one thing I thought I was able to give who knew you’d take.
I told you I forgave you because I did, but I still cry about it and I still mourn over it because I was just a kid.
And maybe I never used word of mouth to say no or that I didn’t want to continue with the actions being introduced, but I can tell you right now that I wasn’t seduced, and that I shouldn’t have been with you.
I’ll always blame myself for what happened to me because what good would it do if I continued to blame you, I’d still be unhappy.
It’s been seven years since you took the one thing I was allowed to give, and sometimes I wonder how I live with that memory in the back of my brain, there is sunshine and yet there’s still rain.
I’ll never yell that dirty R word because I know it’s not real, and that’s not what it was, but I’ll always loathe you because it was supposed to be my choice and it never was.
You were an adult and I wish I could tell you that I am now too, and yet I still sometimes think about you.
I’ve repressed that day so much in my mind. It feels like it’s been loads of time, between then and now, and it still affects me and I don’t know how.
published in Genre: Urban Arts First Edition
Deep Pockets
Image via @photosbyelldot_ (unsplash.com)
There comes a time in every girl-turned-woman’s life where promiscuity is a thing that simply must be had. Looking for the outside to match the inside. Trying to ingest this idea of attaching monetary value to things passionate. Things gifted. Things anointed. Deep pockets are, after all, the world’s oldest profession. Yes, there comes a time in every girl-turned-woman’s life where all she knows is to turn away…or…invite you in.
And ask, “do I still feel the same?”
And think, “I bet he thinks this song (and dance) is about him.”
Careful, how you pro seed.
Join Genre: Urban Arts & Harlem2020 on Saturday, October 6th & Monday, October 8th 2-DAYS of The ARTS
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Image via @alex_andrews (unsplash.com)
Gun filled pockets
Shadowed spirits
No fear
Death stricken
Cold hearts
Full of uncertainty
And
No hope for better days…
Just aim
Shoot
And pray
You make it another day…
CCM by Jessi Harrison
The grief is a glass cage.
Animal pacing inside looking
for a crack. A drop of rain to fa l l through.
It lures you in with promise of taming. Lassos your downfall
like a bucked Bull. Gores you forward like progress is only made from pain.
toxic by Sarah Chafin
I’ll love you from a distance
always and forever
but I can’t share my spine
anymore.
Harvest
if fall should come and you find your
apple trees have been replaced by brick,
the sounds of the rivers
turned to the hum of distant traffic
remember that a cup of tea
is just as cozy at the corner cafe
as it is in an orchard
and that warm wool socks can be stitched
around your heart the same in the city
as they were in your garden.
you may have a harvest yet.
photo: Rachel Wood
Splendid Carnival by Breslin White
Expansive but un-
tuned, the musician
lingered with his instru-
ment, talking at the
gala. His lips are un-
controlled: he speaks
passionately, a reedy
voice moving his
hearers, and he talks
from one to the next,
as, when playing, he
moves from a lower
to a higher note.
I Only Know What is Necessary for Me by Karl Iglesias
I croak swole chest little sapo-
shake vicious be you little sapo
fly close gravity pulls little sapo
dead fly in tangerine little sapo
regal hop why croak little sapo
next minute given spoils little sapo
ay papo see you little sapo
hop on and on
Continue reading I Only Know What is Necessary for Me by Karl Iglesias
Natural Phenomenon by Lyn Patterson
Your hands softly run down my collarbone
as I drink you up, you give me new energy.
You sense my eagerness and quench my appetite
with kisses,
nourishing the longing that intense desire can create.
It’s safer to drown with yourself
and now we’ll stitch ourselves back up
into the shells that allow us to transverse this life
back into a place that keeps it all at arm’s length
a place where water is just above our heads
but we don’t ever drown—an ocean of our own Continue reading It’s safer to drown with yourself
Womxn
The womxn in my family don’t understand why I spell womxn with an ‘x’.
It’s because I watched these womxn honor men in spaces far too
sacred to be tainted by misogyny.
Passed down traditions of letting vile creatures break us down until
we are nothing but atoms fleeing persecution.
Three Poems by EJC
~
I strengthened muscles for you.
I did everything in my power to make it work out.
I focused on the areas you needed me to.
I gave my all and that’s why it hurts now.
Without you here, I have no idea how to readjust.
Two Poems by Christine Darragh
Ro-Sham-Bo
On again, then off—phosphorus
emits a curious glow, barnacles
open, shut. Anemones bloom
with the rise and fall of the sea
—our own armistice-linked
hearts tamed in this violet hour.
Briefly—a still sea, liminal space,
tentative peace—salt and sand
observe an intertidal ceasefire—
evening at the water’s edge.
Forever Winter
Our fine land
is now covered in white
The last of the northern birds
have taken southern flight
To the warmth
To the warmth
Protecting Your Energy
We sit across the table.
The words unsaid grow legs
that stretch farther
than your empathy
ever could.
Brown Sista By Ralvell Rogers II
I promise you that I’m down,
Sista,
and I’ll bring more brothas around,
Sista.
Not later on, but right now,
Sista,
and they’ll be ready for a Right Now
Sista.