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poems of the week

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His voice like silk caresses my thoughts 
and soothes my interior yearnings

His presence heightens my senses as his 
aurora surrounds my inner being

He exudes a sensual essence of internal 
spiritual contentment

His vision inspires me to reach new horizons
His drive fuels my ambitions

His gaze penetrating through the core, peeks into 
the windows of my soul

His touch sends an electric current straight to my 
epicenter, producing a kinetic energy like nothing 
I've ever experienced in this life

If by fate our paths my never cross again
His impression will be forever etched in 
my reminiscence as the perfect one whose 
time has yet to come.

Evelyn Day - (c) 1998


A play on words is how I choose to fill the Blank Pages of life.
I write about my dreams, love and people who cause me strife.
The lines on this page are analogies to this complex world, in this 
Pulitzer Prize kingdom; I'm the Queen blowing the literary minds
of every boy and girl.

The white paper serves as the canvas of my heart's spoken word.
For anyone else to be the author of my Blank Pages would truly 
be absurd!

B. Amaru Afeni Cobham a/k/a Mocha


How do you know when it's real
Is it simply how you feel?
When do you say good-bye
When you tired of all the lies?
Do you run around with your emotions out of tact.
Or do you stick to the rules/guidelines and facts?
Do you smile to a passer by.
Or wait to see if someone else would say hi!
As you see as life grows more intense.
And you start to put up your defense.
The walls around you maybe made of stone.
And your qualities and uniqueness go unshown.
How is it that you are free????
But you are hiding who you are and not letting me be me..
Well break the shell and take down the invisible walls ...
And learn and live and live and love 
And let your personality grow strong..
As you know you have one life to live
But it depends on what you are willing to give..

Taheba Byrd - a/k/a Sunshine


Long, long ago; taken from our land to woe.
Chained, lashed and hung; fighting a war
that couldn't be won.

Looking over the horizon broad; praying,
praying to our God.

Our men's blood does flow; as scars on their
bodies grow.

My sista's, my sista's hear their cry; lying on
dirt floors as their sould die.

Our children look on with innocent eyes not
knowing what to think; to afraid to move or
even blink.

We were the first people on this earth; but
others here curse our birth.

Our bodies are strong, our minds even stronger;
Black inner strength last much longer.

Don't you feel sorry for us; cause now we sit in
in the front of the bus.

We still have it hard you see, but those in the
Motherland will never be free.

When we think of freedom we look beyond the stars;
even the half of us behind bars.

He who lives beyond the sky; is the only one who
truly hears our cry.

My sista's, My brotha's take no bribe; remember
that WE have the V I B E!

Tamshi Williams - (c) 1997


can i just be me now?

can i take off the mask of happiness and
frivolity and just be me?

i did this for you, painting my face a pretty 
picture of perfection

always happy, always laughing, because i 
thought that's how you wanted me

but i'm tired now and my face is starting to hurt and 
crack from all this smiling that i've been doing.

i thought if i stayed happy and cheerful, even though 
i was miserable on the inside, just a little longer that you 
wouldn't leave so soon like all the others.

can i just be me now?

can i just take this mask of fun and frivolity off, my face 
is sweating and i can't seem to breathe underneath this thing.

i know you're going to leave anyway so can i just be me now, please?

Pamela McCullough

The village is burning.
Can't you see the flames
licking their lips
waiting to claim our souls.
The village is burning.
But our drying well can only
spit drops of wet relief.
We didn't prepare
for the white heat
that strikes in the night.
Consuming our chafed
reeds of manhood
that lay unnourished
in the arid sun.
Ajani Kush

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