Poem for My Lady: The Black Woman At The Point Of Production/ A Scientific Socialist's Approach-By James Ashanti

The milkyway's spirl slidingboard trackless feeling when we clasp-cling
to better penetrate middle core's wisdom
-but men forget-

So here we are-socialsim more fragmented
than a wall of fun-house mirrors
radical journals not much more than
jism-splattered exercies in patriacrhy-

I seek rapacious passion beyond ideology
where is the woman's touch?

I absolve myself of the ruthless farce which shuns
that precious other self-more human and wonderful
My Lady be sensual pell-mell production line
of electirc heartbeats that rumble in bellowing climax
her personal inventory reads: warror/comrade
                                                friend/peer
                                                comrade
                                                fuck buddy

Caring for her has me me schizoid
svelte brilliance in her amber flesh be season of bliss
but...it's her whip of a mind that's a talisman
against boredom and weakness

or perhaps it's that dyad of nimbus around her eyes
breaklight guiding prayers in smile's direction?
Opulent hip for pillow
and premise firm tits as solace
when demigod
whose motherload of bullshit rhetoric
operates en passant-dissallowing people-

Like by all means
whealth's proper distribution
is an emotional depth of character
which manipultes two personalities
into wayward union of opposites
the material basis of happiness
cannot be whole

without this pretty woman who allows me
to grow with and inside her

which is to say the future can be a loving trip
which is to say also
I just loves me some dialectical brown sugar!

James Ashanti

For Him

When I first read this poem it reminded me of Him..

Seduction by Nikki Giovanni

one day
you gonna walk in this house
and i'm gonna have on a long African
gown
you'll sit down and say "The Black...."
and i'm gonna take one arm out
then you-not noticing me at all-will say "What about
this brother...."
and i'm going to be slipping it over my head
and you'll rapp on about "The revolution..."
while i rest your hand against my stomach
you'll go on-as you always do-saying
"I just can't dig..."
while i'm moving your hand up and down
and i'll be taking your dashiki off
then you'll say "What we really need..."
and i'll be licking your arm
and "The way I see it we ought to..."
and unbuckling your pants
"And what about the situation..."
and taking your shorts off
then you'll notice
your state of undress
and knowing you'll just say
"Nikki (Tasha)
isn't this counterrevolutionary...?'

Oh I love this poem...It reminds me of Him so much!!

Selfish-by Jill Scott

Here I go with my love stuff again...I like this poem by Jill and I wanted to share!

give me a minute to love you

an hour to stare in your face

a moment to praise your nose

your hands, your lips, your eyes

don't say later

don't say tomorrow

because the day's too busy
because the day's too hurried

too demanding

give me a week to hold you

a second to play in your lashes

a night to kiss your forehead

Your back, your feet, your fingers

Don't say you're tired

Don't say your anxious

because the world is calling

because the world is heavy

Ever present

just let me soothe you

let me put you in my mouth and hum sweet tunes

let me calm that ocean

give me a day

give me four and more

to ease and please you

let me take that chip from your shoulder

place it on the nightstand for a while

because you're lonely

and

I am too

This poem is too beautiful! Go Jill