aaduna's Day 11: Adwoa-Thomas, Fulton, Savion, and wo - National Poetry Month

Music Makes the Universe

Help me not.
I am a slave to the music
needing no manumission
there being no possibility
of my non submission
to the nation
of sound orchestration.
Beholding to the sax and the drum.
Those two make me want to come
to attention
yet must make mention
pay homage to, too
kora, marimba, didgeridoo
strumpet trumpet
guitar, bass
keeps pace
with piano strokes
me into a frenzy
while flute tries temper my
still-caught-up-in-the-music moments soon to be on an even upper swing
as days-old clarinet leads me to
violinic crying out “I can take more!
Give me more
music!” makes the universe
the universe.
No music
no you
no me
no beings at all.
No thing to be about without
some Luther...some Gaye
(Yolanda Adams...Aguilera gets much play)
some Nina
Miss you Teena
some Dinah (Ms. Washington, to you)
Sassy Sarah Vaughn
Rachelle Farrell in there, too
just to name a sum beyond a few:
Tekanawa, Battle the diva Leontyne meets
John Lee Hooker survived
Robert Johnson spawned
some Blue Notes
some Moments
Kem’s Kemistry
In My Corner Dells
Four Tops, Spinners
Earth Wind and Fire up
the future with
some Outkast
“Hey Ya!”
singing that
rhythm that
blues that
rock that
roll on into
Mars, Bruno
you know
what I’m sayin’
as I
hip hop to B.o.B
swinging with
Janelle Monáe
big band
Basie the Count
the number
of days
the hours
we’d  not survive
without music.

© 2011 Kai Adwoa-Thomas
Nyack, New York 

Kai Adwoa-Thomas (photo provided)


* * *


Yeah, I may smile or laugh when you ask me about my life,
but I know there ain’t nuthin funny about it

I’m just tired of cryin’

I hate bein’ rubbed and pumped in my sleep,
but I keep what I hate to myself ‘cause

I’m just tired of lyin’

Silly puddy skin on what felt like a crowbar
scraped the naive paint off my vaginal walls

The sheets are still dryin’

When I was nine, I mounted a man’s lap
to bounce my tender butt to a giggle,

I didn’t know what he was tryin’

My uncle, who I trusted with my life
fingered secrets about my anatomy, sadly

he was deceivingly pryin'

Sharp pain between my legs made me
walk like a drunk with a reminder of
foul funk that slithered down my nostrils
to gossip with spineless semen

I can still taste the crime
I can still feel the shame
But whose shame?  Whose?

My veins tremble when my mother’s  man
rides ON and falls OFF of her “I’ll be back soon”
Hell, he dips in deep and licks my pain
like a greedy kid with a spoon

Sixteen, straddlin’ my baby, I slip on ice from
the cold “get out” spit from my mother’s guilt
Runnin’ from her daggers that say I’m a liar,
humility begs for any bed, pillow and quilt

I want a home.
I want to show my baby new things besides a different couch and ceilin’ every other week
I want to fall backwards on MY bed and talk to MY cute boyfriend on MY phone
I want to rest in my own skin and NOT silently scream at the top of my anguish to be heard
I want my mother’s grin to caress me and care about where I’ve been

My nub bitten fingers wear nervous
My thighs store self punishment
in each scab from a razor's edge
My need to hug my baby all of the time
tells where my loneliness is headed

Wherever I end up
I know what I don’t want

I don’t want to always be considered
the girl who needs counselin'
The girl who’s too young to be a mother
The girl who can’t control her own life

I don’t want to feel ugly and smell stink EVEN AFTER I take a bath
After I go to bed and dream of drawin' the blinds and closin' the door
or after I get washed for school, but can’t leave ‘cause
his body is stuck IN and pressin’ ON mine

Whose shame?  Shame is where I live

Where bathroom tiles crumble underneath my “get offa me” fight
Where angels cover their ears when I’m forced to hear what I like, but I don’t

My swollen eyes hold unwanted gifts and
splash, “it’s gonna to be okay” on the face
of my glass twin who swallows hard
for a breath of sunshine

Savage secretion puddles down my legs
as I peer at the reflection of tampered me

And I think
And I wish
And I pray
And I know

Ain’t nuthin wrong with me
My teeth are good,
my skin like coffee

so I keep on grindin’

Drugs, alcohol and men
soar over my constant pain,
but honestly,

I’m tired of flyin’

I just need some support right now
So I came to your office this mornin'
As a girl, no, a young lady

who IS tryin’

Yeah, I may smile or laugh when you ask me about my life,
but do me a favor, stop hearin' my mouth
Hear my eyes

© 2011 Cyd Charisse Fulton      
East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania        

Cyd Charisse Fulton (photo provided)

* * *

Demeter’s Fire

Embracing the circle of life
Demeter walks through the fire of transition.
Woods aflame with Fall’s red blaze
Lighting the forest pathway like flares,
Relentlessly onward toward the Winter’s icy pause.
Her pace marked in semi-years:
Life, Death, Rebirth:  a wheel.

The Autumn has come
And her life is luscious with color.
Living full, loving lustfully,
As vibrant in her middle passage
As when her
Springtime frolics blushed her cheeks.

Now--mother, elder, wise-woman--
She relaxes into Indian Summer sunshine.
Recalling the turn of many seasons past,
Comforted in perceiving future cycles churning relentlessly.
Longing for dear Persephone,
But having learned not to cling to that
Which one has no right to grasp too tightly;
Allowing the fallow time to inevitably arrive
To cover the brilliant leaves of the forest floor
With white morgue sheets of snow.
Rest and renew;
Now comes the Frost King’s agenda.

© 2000 Susan Savion
Syracuse, New York              

Susan Savion (photo provided)

* * *


She came from a limitless space 
Indifferent to the glimmer of dying dawns
Resistant to the sideral storms
Intoxicated by the flash of a deceptive star
A warrior of the Andes danced, sang 
A song of peace, an echo of hope
Asleep in the ash, a comet took a nap 
Comma from a declaration of Peace  

© 2015 Landa wo                              
Essen, Germany         

Landa wo  (photo provided)


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