Blessed

I am silly

and sullen with everything

From Tuesday til the Lord’s day,

when I fake it;

Quit for feeling grateful.

Count blessings

hatched

matted,

covered in gunk

          12.29.14

The Legend of Black Ice

Ice is all there was for miles
In every direction
Far enough, though, through squinted eyes,

one could see a tower there
A small city out that way
tufts of smoke hanging over

Buildings and things

Maybe sending signals
Or just doing what they do

Day by day, unaware of her.

Men would come - on journeys
Unworthy - unknowingly unworthy - stay a day

then go, leaving their heavy behind

with her

Black ice, they began to call her
for the elusiveness

the uncertainty and the way

her eyes could chill,
Evaporate salty sweat beads
And pull a frosty puff of
sour breath from their shivering lips

cut their feet out from beneath them, so quickly

And all they could do to keep

from hitting the ground was reach out eager arms,

sink a cool head into her bosom.

  

                              14 Jan '14

Possessions

The clouds shake thunder, raging and

rattling empty bowls

at the dinner table where grace is placed on crumbs and

clasped hands hold on for decent life

 slicing half moons onto

planets where the men, crater faced and gently orbiting,

are always in the know.

She is swollen with hunger

as if Botero's bristles tickled her thighs and left shadows

at her armpits and between her double chins.

The pearls between her breasts lack luster

but accentuate the longing in her eyes

and that spot on the sternum where he pushed in his hand, hard

before the mixture set

so she could never not be his again.

                           28 March '13

yogi hangover

happy trail all a ruffle

gin and

            hops and

you and me

still on my tongue. i smile

a little too softly

let my eyes glaze

over with new ideas.

bad idea.

in ceremony i say go,

            bye!

thanks

for letting me watch you

stretch

you

for lessons on one night

stand still (in) the morning rays

dance on your chest

on my shoulder

where you’d soon place your parting words

            so long

take care and

            blessings upon you

let poetry guide you

            may the calm of the yogi wash over

like the chiming of brass bowls

find comfort among the swirling smoke gyres

of sweet incense.

        i would watch you downward dog all

day. half pigeon me to zendom.

 

i could laugh at the way

the moon and the bartender

play tricks on me.

no scent on my pillow

no sorting of silly words

no sifting through

          

this is just 

what i get for diving too deep

            and tipping too little.

Fruit

You placed a penny in my palm

I tried to plant it in my chest

The fruit it bore

was sickly sweet

with thorns the size of cupids’ arrows

When I brought you

a basket full,

with my bloody finger tips,

nonsense words began

to fall from your lips.

My name came out in stutters

amidst some jokes about a green thumb,

a misplaced apology,

a smile reminiscent of the ones

you used to give me

(I picked that up and put it in my pocket),

an offering of flour

so I could bake a pie,

a cough,

a glance over my shoulder

a glance at your wrist where you’ve never worn a watch,

a less familiar smile I’ve only seen you give to strangers,

an unsolicited laugh,

some excuse about a work meeting,

a hug with too much space inside, a see-ya-soon you didn’t mean, a soon that never came, a soon that never came, a soon that never came a soon that never came a soon that never came a soon that never
cameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnever cameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercameasoonthatnevercame...

Co-Operation

... while reading Fenton Johnson

Co-operation

I had taken a lover for his morals and his strong family values

Apparently, he just wanted to dip into some danger.

He was one of those curious boys with a taste for The Other

and thought I could be his Saartjie Baartman or his Josephine Baker or some 80s-baby edition of his great grandpappy’s wet nurse.

He said to me one day that my cousin DayVauhn had taken his brother’s job.

I stared back at him blankly and asked him who had told his brother that blue eyes were worth more than a Master’s degree.

There was no calling of names

No dropping of N bombs

But the exchange was less than pleasant

so I had to introduce him to Cleopatra Jones or whatever bad ass Black bitch he thought he was getting some softer version of.

And that was the end of that.

A.Emme 2012

A Poem for the White Boys

I am an owl

But you’re a day walker

My voice is familiar

But before you

I

Am

A marvel.

A rare bird

With eyes beyond understanding

And vision surpassing the scope of your own

My dark feathers camouflage me

But my hoot gives me away

Let your eyes adjust

And suddenly

There I am

Quiet and still

I

Intrigue

You

My scent creeps around the glass

            Between us

and calls to your insides

Your fun-sides

Your oh-i-want-to-touch sides

A little bit of new car,

sweet almond, and Mommy

Excitement, baked goods and some old familiar comfort

A newness, a freshness

A sweetness

A meekness

Its tickled your nostrils and you can’t turn away

I am your sweet songbird

Who sings like a lullaby

A chant. A prayer

Soothing, calming

Inspiring, uplifting

Soul stimulating

Mind titillating

Dream infiltrating

Strutting through your thought bubbles

Leaving footprints where there were none

Disturbing the sand

The waves just washed blank

With tracks that lead you in circles

But never back home

                                                -A. Emme

                                                       2011