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

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

Yes!

Makes!

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

Mingus

Duke

Calloway

Basie the Count

the number

of days

the hours

no—minutes

oh—seconds

we’d not survive

without music.

Can’t

wrap

mind

around

that

thought

told

you

MUSIC MAKES THE UNIVERSE, BABY.

Nyack, New York

Kai Adwoa-Thomas (photo provided)

* * *

ABUSE IN A DREAM

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

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.

Syracuse, New York

Susan Savion (photo provided)

* * *

Punctuation

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

Essen, Germany

Landa wo (photo provided)

* * *

aaduna - a timeless exploration into words and images - is a globally read, multi-cultural, and diverse online literary and visual arts journal established in 2010. Visit us at www.aaduna.org where we put measurable actions to our words.

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

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