I’ve got less words to put it in beautiful
its like sieving the joys upon your melanin.
To those ones whose stories are flawed wonderful
preciously divine, the told instance of sit pin.
Those who stitched our ethics as children to our minds,
who follow the rules of Madonna but are few in kind.
Words cannot hold back the slippers that swept my ears,
nor hold the hot sweet evening meal our heart hears.
They are not fond of been flat like an assumed earth
with black beauty on their lips and girth.
Their breast milks history
Talk about a love so carefree.
They are who we see in our dreams
telling us they exist no matter how fairly drawn by their creams.
In Limbo, they are the smoke of salvation,
not all indulge in cooking meals as a mission.
They sit on the comfort of love
shaded behind the passwords, codes and thick dark cove.
They are in the first few letters before humans,
wrapped in the ends of thick leaves grown by man.
Some are buried in the last sip of alcohol
while the rope still holds some necks in the hall.
In the leftovers of these poetry
they become seeds to this poet’s tree.
They may be nowhere
but they are everywhere.
Franca Adidi makes me feel like I will never find anyone like her.
Tina Swomen gives this aura about becoming a child.
Grace Okpako will be the matrix of a mother
Gabrielle Union makes me draw portraits when I’m only a writer in union.
Titilope, a chill black tip of my pen that jingles dead bells.
Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, I’m wondering how you bore gods and called them sons and how you drove a car before men started their engines.
Anita Hill of courage before I was born that still tingles in my tiny little heart. – Rudolph
I too wanta say just gotta say something
Bout them beautiful sisters Jah bless mwan with
Them black ones, them color like charcoal beauty
Along we African countries and foreign ones
Them scattered like crisis fires. Them beauty engulfing.
Not forgetting them mothers
Breastfeeding them babies on them dusty tarred beds them call streets.
First class poetical black dames,
Whose bodies are the only job earnings approaching 8 figures.
Dirty clean feet working on farm sands
Warming our yearnings with coal burnt hands.
In corners of streets
Churches and feasts
For fortune these beauties make 500.
Oh in churches too…
When Marilyn arises to say the grace,
And lifts up wholly hands to show the grasses stay native.
Or when Bella walks to put her tithe
But the pastor pleads to leave them eyes closed and pray.
The tracks my mind runs are worthy relays…
When Becky gives the warm embrace
That ignites you with the light and reminds you of missing nights of pillow fights.
Beautiful, them beautiful black women.
In colors stretching to be free and
Embrace them many needing eyes of lust…
Beautiful, them beautiful black women; Susan, Damianna, Maya, Louisa…
Them sisters, mothers, daughters,
And them beauties provoke forgiveness.
Them wives, queens, princesses, Destiny’s children…
Make them black heroes confess to untimely commitments.
Make them black brothers lose their minds. – Leon
Audre Lorde, have mercy!
Dorothy Dandridge, queen of black paradise!
Black woman, you make me wanna cum again to your safe haven!
Bosoms, not a tit short of heaven!
Miracles! Answered prayers! Sisters! mothers! your arms are forever embracing all!
Words fail me at this time,
And its no surprise!
Ebony skinned, chocolatey fine honey!
Your magic steals my tongue like a beautiful sunrise.
Flaunting colours beyond my African canvass.
The patterns you draw, every shade of coal, hot!
hearths you’ve fired!
Hearts you’ve inspired!
Souls you daily mend!
From Antarctica, passed the Atlantic, beyond the Sahara. Beautiful Black woman!
Ruby Bridges, Mo Abudu, makes me wanna do this, spill ink all over Sade Adu, again and again!
Hybrid, Rachael, Lola, Jamila, hyper, alongside Daisy and all other flowers reaching for the sun, let my pen be your sword, my blood your ink purchased with the finest Silver!– OracLe
Let’s talk about women of colour
Grace and lustre
Chocolate skin, eyes white and
Full of power and strength
About their structures the figure of eight
Small frames with minds giant like goliath
Tiny fist that breaks stones
Residues of steel resides in their bones
Honey, tan and supple mamas
Thick mass of hair and full bossom
Front and back all covered with flesh
Scent of wisdom oozing fresh
Mothers, wives, daughters amd sisters
Maya angelou, opray winfery, amelia boynton and Halle berry
Authors, Educators, entertainers and civil rights activist
Short, tall, thin and thick
Love them all or take a pick
Black women are beautiful
Big, bold and wonderful
They strike a pose so hard to resist
All round black except around the sack
They’ve fought wars and conquered the barrier of men
Today they sit side by side in parliaments too
At every turn they swerve and swirl
As eyes swoon over their dainty feets
No longer do they wallow in backyards or corners of streets
They soar high, they’re real deal
Nothing plastic, nothing fake
Some slim to fashion, they fatten to function
As men lust after their every fault
After the sweet things of black, beautiful women.-Vera
Sexy smiles on my face now i’m made to write about you.Yes you, never thought this day would come,when my feelings arouses my weakness to kiss you.Yes you.The Nubian queen with eyes that sends men to bed,wishing they struck at the sound of your name,with belly dancing like a goddess from the Caribbean stream.
Your black skin is forever my humble pride,Showing you off in black and white.
Nigerian queen,Eritrean grace,Nubian face all in one,majesty I heart you and touched your feet.
This praise shall caress mine.After all,I love having you beside,I saw when you helped the man lying down on Bush street or the little kid from being am immoral Barrack child.Even when they cast stones you covered with your long hair not minding the injuries,you yes you,a help in a woman,a help meet of the Lord.Let me go on and on about the grace you have,pain in Labour forgotten,the child serenades your breast with gladness even when they bit,you shout but smile again and again.Woman you beautiful and black. That’s my turn on.
If I send this piece to gay street they might tag me bi,give me a second to appreciate your titties and figure carved out to make men mad.Maya Angelou-A mother indeed.
Janette Ikz-A muse in my mood.My poetry is incomplete if I write without you,I see your mental picture whenever my pen is picked,paper consoles my loneliness, spoken word have I found in you.-Rachel Charles