Womb (Haiku)

with every drop

she bleeds black blooms from her loins

fertile fields i lay

© JyO

Dark Honey Sonnet (Diaspora Rhyme)

Is it the fire the wind or the earth

That let us set a spell between pea green

Walls and blind windows drenched in the cloaked girth

Of shadows shuttering softly between

The trees concrete steel and us colliding

Rising and free falling I breath a scene

That never flickers from faint breeze gliding

The slow steady crest of dark honey seas

We lions chant epiphanies riding

Chariots crashing fallen leaves from trees

That have stood still longer than mans first will

Yes I should beg or shall I plead and seize

the nectar the essence of how you spill

Your will for me sweat pressed flesh making deals

With me to soothe this fire that I feel

Life, Style & Privilege

In the future, I must insist that your cease and desist in referring to me as a lifestyle. A lifestyle involves choices between a love seat and a chase; a day bed or a king sized spread. The difference between Tommy Hilfiger and Phat Farm name brands; Martha Stewart Magazine and an Oprah Show favorite or Land's End.

Although this may fall upon deaf ears, my life is not a style. A style adds no purpose to the fabric of this pile, of flesh. A style is just worthless, when stuck in the pine wood strife of other's misled materials unblessed.

Moths won't feast within my closet of tart flesh because style adds no value to the flavor of truth within my voice, nor my moral choice between right and wrong; the tenor tone to the songs I sing; the color of my skin or the love I hold within.

Keep condemning me, judge the person you think you see as decadent, a social malcontent, stuck in hedonistic cacophonies. And I'll keep uttering, my life is not a style for you to bury six-feet under a red dirt pile with other fads.

Me a man not afraid to be called a fag, so don't let the smooth taste fool you, and the moral truth that lags your naked truth. The straight privilege that serves as your unbridled proof that I'm less than a man; lets your God daunt me less than, giving you a choice to bash me upside the head with your own sexual insecurities.

My mission is to check, and dismiss the delusion, I'm okay with being terrorized by my own kind. Within the confusion I'll go down fighting, not for a lifestyle, but for my life. I peep skin-folk who act like kin-folk, but no better than Nazis' faking like a catholic Pope, pulpit prophets spewing toxic ciphers to dash my hopes.

What concerns me are your choices as straight folk. Your mob mentality entitles you to feast on assumptions while frolicking with morality at your leisure. Demonizing the wickedness within your own fleshly pleasures.

Let utterance of this phrase resonate epiphanies; my life is not a sin, nor is it a "style". My God doesn't make mistakes. I didn't choose to be gay, it choose me. I just choose not to fight it. Embrace it, and not deny it my own naked truth.

I admire your ferocity to protect your life, style and privilege. Walking hand and hand on any city street; kissing in the park; government sanctioned unions that provide your children healthcare; no preachers yelling blasphemy at you and your lover after dark; bedroom activities free from public glare.

So I fight for a life that's limited with very few privileges. Me a black gay male, in a white straight world stuck in someone else's choices to define me, a fashionable fad while straight privilege allows you simply to love like decadent nomads.

Although this may fall upon deaf ears, my life is not a style, and let utterance of this phrase resonate an epiphany when you refer to me as a lifestyle again.

© Johnny Lee Jenkins Jr. | JyObadele

Greensburg, Kansas | June 2007

On a recent trip across the United States I drove though Greensburg, Kansas. The town was recently flattened by a tornado that destroyed 95% of the town. It was horrific just driving through it. Temporary hospitals were still providing service months afterwards. We had no idea we'd drive through the center of town.

Nestled In Nooses

i am conditions

nestled in nooses

walking fences

wary of a naked truth

who whithers like

summer into fall

conditions upon a

journeys path dissolved

whithering like ivy

upon a crumbling wall

i am conditions

nestled in nooses

wary of a truth

naked anxious like a

flower begging for

the spring sunshine

refreshed with the rain

hopeful we might fall

in love again cuddled

in the tight embrace

of how it all began

how precious were we

so i held you like autumn

holds gold in maize

a blazed in indigo sky

and cinnamon haze

still i am conditions

nestled in nooses

while the seasons

keep passing us by

Mies Van de Rohe Plaza

Spring In Hart Plaza

The Imperialist

compassionate conservatives
save fetuses kill faggots
and pray

lady liberty
weeps a tragedy in spring
hide huddled masses

bomb the bastards back
to mesopotamia
the black gold is ours

ice shelfs keep melting
consumption is a birthright
buy more suv's

my father's father
plucked cotton for founding
fathers who plucked flesh

strip her dignity
pilfer her peaks and valleys
crown ourselves in jewels

duck a terrorist
back in the day communist
next month a neighbor

don't admit mistakes
paint yourself a patriot
concede basic rights

evangelical
chatter permeate a war
guised in moral values

and what moral values
exclude famine, poverty
and universal health

: : BLUSH ( The Viral Vibe Mix ) : :

[Jy-Obadele]

i blushed a little
then a lot when i realized
he pinned a poem to me
i the romantics romantic
left a little silly at
even the possibility
i blush a little even
at the thought

[Diamondancer]

he blushed
i saw in
one instant when our eyes met
he got the message
he was flattered
and overwhelmed
i dared to share my adoration
anonymous with the room
personal with him
and he blushed
i smiled
the warmth of my cheeks
emanated from my lips
as my mind wondered
on possibilities...

[Omari R. Sankofa]

she blushed
and I felt refined
worthy of her smile
I blushed in kind
content to be the moon
that reflects her sunshine

[Christina]

It was the he
who once made me
BLUSH:
I felt that if his smile
were any brighter
the sun would be jealous,
being the lesser star.

My words were formed
because of him
and at that memory,
I smile at the happenstance/glance
of his welcome into my space.

[Elaine Finley]

Carmel oooozin, lips moistin, loc's gracfully dancin, no.... dwellin
on a streamin neck line......mochca ,chocolate
Flushed........
Shit! I've lost track of time: danglin on his lips, in his eyes
imagine his flesh touching mine,
If only he could feel......what I feel
grantin we to caress souls
finger feedin from bowls
full of spiritual revelations.....
BLUSH
almond hemed in carmels &bronz
focus deep in-on me
he feels me..... feelin him
see thee.......oooh wee
he's lookin at me.

[Tonya Medlock]

i peep my future king blushin
i am smitten so do i
i entertain the possibilitiy
of a chocolate cover dream
my spirits lifted
i feel high
BLUSH

[GodSpaz]

Our hands whisper touch
a sudden softness of warmth

the intangable female
becomes tangible woman

thoutghts rush into mind
As Mind emptys of words .

I'm 16 again
High on that first kiss
long hair and a sent of hair spray
Word dumb, yet speaking
flunet
blush

[Christina]

Much younger than I was the he who touched me
Not with his hands...well, maybe once in passing,
but more or less, with his eyes
that seemed to dance as I passed by.

Wondering why, I've decided not to think of him,
well, not as much as I used to...
We loved one thing and in that thing grew a love for each other
Respecting the BLUSH that he generated,
my cheeks are bare from the flame that once burned,
the lift he gave my spirit,
the confidence he built...
And though the words are absent,
Unspoken, I write of him still.

[Suave']

Treasure every moment spent together. Each drop of
nectar lapped up is named time...
Precious thing that cannot be taken back, yet we
partake of it selfishly in our languishing reverie's.
Blush....
Unconcious actions and caresses exchange that
rearrange the thoughts of our heads and hearts.
Will things ever be the same...I think.
Blush...
Only to find that unsurpassed valleys and nectar
filled lakes lie between us as we lay in sweet
embrace. The scales tip as our hearts are weighed....I
am at a loss....
Much to my sorrow, you don't measure up
Blush...

The heart of the matter, is a matter of the heart.

=================================

Thanks to all the poets from NoirAmerica Online that added to this piece. I love the organic nature in which everyone became so expressive over a simple blush. God I love poets, what would the world be without us.

Peace. Blessings
Mad Luv & Respect.

Jy-Obadele

: : BLUSH : :

i blushed a little
then a lot when i realized
he pinned a poem to me
i the romantics romantic
left a little silly at
even the possibility
i blush a little even
at the thought

PicNap-Poetry 2.o

Now that the slam team is back from nationals in Texas, I can sit back and analyze how to improve on one of my favorite projects, the PicNap Poetry Series.

It's been a blessing to be able to associate with so many positive, talented folk. Somtimes the weekly series can be a bit of a drain... at least until I walk through the doors and see all those big smiles, to be greeted by even bigger hugs.

The homophobic, spiteful and jealous folk still hate, but they can't blunt the genuine energy that radiates from the Meetery Eatery every Friday. We truely celebrate all kinds of poetry and all kinds of folk. From gay to straight, to black or white, we embrace everyone who will embrace us without malice.

It's like a beacon to the sane who wish to avoid all the negativity in a city that seems to cherish it like a rosary to a nun. PicNap-Poetry is a bastion of truth, where real folk speak personal, and sometimes revolutionary.

I'm looking forward to 2007 already.

Middle Passage (Epigrams)

We are braided tight in complete submission;
A plight plagued by the man’s crooked condition?

Its been four plus decades in the masters wrath;
It brought impotence to our own ancestors path.

We wonder why we simply can’t get along;
Because massa’ only taught us how to sing songs.

Petty envy and jealousy, man’s self-hate tools;
crabs in a barrel fight like ignorant fools.

Brainwashed brotha’s take millennia to cure,
while some brothas’ just happy doin’ jail-time tours.

Traditions drowned in mid-Atlantic slave boats;
black flesh in soiled rags on a ship with no coats.

One who holds his race and culture back.
Jeopardy’s retort, what’s an American Black?

Black-eyed peas, collard greens, a box of Jiffy Mix;
boost yo’ self-esteem, stop jonesin’ for a fix.

Uncle Sam, he'll do all the grocery shopping;
so stay home, make babies, watch stories, do mopping.

We kill for items God didn’t give a soul;
man, take this damn coat, crawl back in yo’ fuckin’ hole.

Gangstas, players, inner city houchee hoes;
Crack ma’s and dealer pa’s create juvenile woes.

Some families find refuge in lily-white burbs;
we label them sellouts, why are you so disturbed?

Grown men obsessed with where to put the dick.
Duped women, be selfish make him respect you shit.

Disease, guns, drugs are rites of passage today.
The master just called collect, tell me who’s gonna pay.

© Jy-Obadele

Lafayette Park @ Dawn

s u n s h i n e

its sun-fall i feel he needs me
different from days before
his sleep restless and his
dreams nightmares

his eye lids drawn in fear
from constant tyranny by petty
tyrants who rear swords drawn
toward fruitless battles

only he awakes to more
tattered tales casting spells
upon flesh-eating soul
sucking slithering

yet only today yesterday
and maybe the other day too
i feel my brothers need
moreso today than most