Now that you’re here I was hoping we could have a conversation that brings about mental stimulation and spiritual elation even though the sound of your voice is like a prayerful invocation of desire wanting me to quench your thirst and put out that fire.
As the words from your mouth flow freely like the water in the Nile, I’m mesmerized by your smile, hangin’ on to your every word all the while wondering about the taste of your nectar filled center and how many licks it would take before you let me enter that place seldom visited by any man.
See, it’s more than the shape of your lips and the curve of your hips. There’s just something about the way you say my name that penetrates my brain and makes it hard for me to keep my composure around you. At times I wish from these feelings I could refrain, but my mission is to maintain so I can reach those unchartered places in your mental domain.
Yeah, I’m trying to get all up in there, shooting lust filled lasers in your atmosphere; Breaking down your defenses with a determined stare as the shields around your mind quickly disappear. Got you feeling like Deborah Cox wondering how the hell did I get here?
And now that I’ve got your attention should I just hit you with my most superb lyrical gift using words that are interchangeable and swift? Or would you just see me as another player and instead of revealing yourself you’ll do like in winter, cover up and add another layer.
The more we communicate I sit and contemplate because there’s no doubt it’s your body I want to penetrate but right now I’m having too much fun as we mentally formulate those things in the physical that will for now just have to wait. So I guess we’ll just have to be satisfied with the way we mentally copulate, besides aint nothing wrong with a little mind sex ma, aint nothin’ wrong with a little mind sex.
* * * * *
Aqiyl Qasim is Consious Elements. He is a writer, poet, and spoken word artist.
Cipha Publishing © 2k10
This poem is a part of Soul Portrait Magazine’s “30 Days of Poetry” to celebrate National Poetry Month. If you’d like to participate, please submit a poem.
Tagged as:
aqiyl qasim
Photo by Josh Hunter. Used by permission with a Creative Commons License
They crucified Him with rhetoric,
wrapped His dingy body in swaddling lyrics,
And buried Him in five feet of iambic pentameter.
But on the third day, He wrote.
Guided by a harlot muse, He rose through a fiery lake
Of charred souls and dancing satyrs
Sisyphus held the rock steady
As His voice resounded through the valley:
“Behold,” He said peeling away His skin.
“I make all things new.”
And their white eyes popped,
Their scaly flesh seared,
Their icy blood melted.
And this was good.
He wrapped the skin around His head like a turban,
And conjured Dante from the inferno.
Sophists and poets burned like kindling
In the recesses of His naked mind.
The sea gave up the dead that were in it.
The ground spewed forth the living.
He showed them a river of crystal water
And led them to the lush Elysian fields;
Sounding the first trumpet of the apocalypse
Through a broken whisky bottle.
* * * * *
Antonio Parker is an engineer and a graduate of Prairie View A&M University. He has published a chapbook of poetry titled “Kingdom Come.”
This poem is a part of Soul Portrait Magazine’s “30 Days of Poetry” to celebrate National Poetry Month. If you’d like to participate, please submit a poem.
Tagged as:
Antonio Parker
Photo by Josh Hunter. Used by permission with a Creative Commons License
the drum resounds within the womb
the rhythm implies that black men don’t cry
they only die to live again
in another life
on another day
I heard a griot say…
hell can’t be much worse than living without a life
and heaven is too far away
black men die a thousand deaths
in another life
they might survive
or wake up alive
some other day
I heard a griot say…
they bear the scars of weathered years
their masks can’t hide their pain
one day their kingdom will finally come
in another life
on another day
to be continued…
* * * * *
Xavier Alexander is a poet whose work has appeared in Artistic Pedigree, RED, Black Tie Magazine and Eclectic Literary Forum
This poem is a part of Soul Portrait Magazine’s “30 Days of Poetry” to celebrate National Poetry Month. If you’d like to participate, please submit a poem.
Tagged as:
xavier alexander
You walk with rhythm
Poetry lives inside you
You speak without words
* * * * *
Rico Devante wants to be the first poet on the moon.
This poem is a part of Soul Portrait Magazine’s “30 Days of Poetry” to celebrate National Poetry Month. If you’d like to participate, please submit a poem.
Tagged as:
rico devante
Raucous and scholarly
Earthy and otherworldly
Spring buds and elderly
My people are all of these
We are flowers and trees
Wintry gales and balmy breeze
We are droning sleepy bees
Mountains and stormy seas
Waters of life
Rain swept by strife
We beckon and beseech you
And sweetly strive to reach you
We ease and we impeach you
We sermonize and preach you
So many things we teach you
We cradle and we beach you
We take you in our gnarled brown hands
To work and till your hard flatlands
To prime your rugged hinterlands
To soothe and cool your burning sands
To tame your wild badlands
Whatever rocky roads you roam
We want to see you safely home
* * * * *
DL Minor is a poet
jungle of concrete
where streets meet glass that scrapes sky
beautiful towers piercing through cumulus
contrasted by section eight housing units
busy pavement of the jungle valley
vehicles of mass transit, luxury, and taxi
making connections at intersections
from trip’s inception
to rush hour gridlocked rubbernecking
here, nature is intentional, yet minimal
and postcards promoting city’s skyline
are designed to hide and isolate ghetto behind
here, dreams are encouraged and flourish
and others blurred and deferred, malnourished
here, white collars chase bonus and options of stock
and hustlers holla, chasing fiends, pushing crack rock
and at night, socialites vie for limelight
while others are declined, forced to decide:
“do I pay for lights, or eat tonight?”
where one man’s shine correlates to another man’s plight
beautiful city of bright illuminated lights
where jealous ones envy their neighbor’s station
causing competition, leading to ill gotten gains and sin
here, the successful thrive, while countless others…
struggle to survive
in this beautiful and tragic…
jungle of concrete
* * * * *
I am more Miles than Mos, yet on most days, the blue notes in my mind are black on both sides. Bebop and Hip Hop combined. My Trane of Black Thought(s) are rooted in sentimental moods, on lazy afternoons. Read more of my work at Speaks Beliefs: Wordplay.
Tagged as:
speaksbeliefs
In a cafe with lava lamps and long-haired baristas,
She murmured, “How can you stomach that crap.
That caffeine-laced sludge popularized
By pseudo-intellectual pashas.”
She hated cafes especially ones with
Lava lamps and long-haired baristas.
And Caffeine made her breasts heave .
Her soup was littered with cigarette butts;
Her face, grayed from the weight
Of too much experience.
Staring at my cappuccino mug, she promised
To kill herself before she would drink
Such a bourgeois concoction.
All I could do was offer her a sip.
* * * * *
Rico Devante is a poet. A dancer. A midnight prancer.
Tagged as:
rico devante
Speak Beliefs. I am more Miles than Mos, yet on most days, the blue notes in my mind are black on both sides. Bebop and Hip Hop combined. My Trane of Black Thought(s) are rooted in sentimental moods, on lazy afternoons. Read more of my work at Speaks Beliefs: Wordplay.
Words for Free by Boa-sorte & Careca
Visionary style spitter with imperial diction; here to drop facts not pulp fiction as words enter the ear causing irritation and friction when lies meet truth and self conviction.
Divine syntax when my pen claps words of direction for dead mind state resurrection. Messages sent across synapses every borough and section; you say you’re not feeling this, you might need to check your connection.
Mind boggling soliloquies, airing you out like a cool breeze never know what to expect as I detonate and paralyze your cerebral cortex. In other words I blow your mind while you seek to make comparisons with me and others that are hard to find. So if you must critique that which I speak just know there’s only one me and that makes me rather unique.
Lyrical lightening rods manifesting and building with the gods. If you put a beat to this… you damn right your head nods. Verbs, nouns, and adjectives running through your consciousness like a laxative. Sentences of sound bites to bring light like a color prism to free you from all the isms, capital, imperial, colonial and material.
See, this here is the truth and I be’s the living proof and if I have to shout it from every roof…top, I will because I won’t stop. I’m the leader of this mission, not hoping or wishing but verbally all the lies in front of my eyes; yeah all three of them. While always opposing and verbally exposing any and all falsehoods chosen.
See, on the road less traveled it’s easy to stray when lies and deceptions are used to misconstrue the message I convey. So from now on I’ll be poetically bombing while I give you a taste, a sample. Not impressed by these words then watch for the example. And until the breath in my body can no longer stay just know and understand I’m serious about what I do and what I say, because when it comes to these words yo, I don’t play. Word Play
Conscious Elements
© Cipha Publishing 2k10. All Rights Reserved.
Tagged as:
Poetry
Aqiyl Qasim is Consious Elements. He is a writer, poet, and spoken word artist.
