Listen – (c) Carmon Armstrong

“Listen to this fool
trying to put me down.
Calling me the N-word
just because my skin is brown.
…Well, I thought I told you once,
but I’ll tell you once again:
Anyone can be a N-word!
It doesn’t matter about his skin.
I’ve seen some high yellow N-word(s).
And some all white too!
And yes! I’ve even seen some N-word(s) who are deep black-blue.
So pay attention Mr. Know-it-All
because I want YOU to get this straight:
Just because my skin is black
dirty N-word ain’t my fate.”

(c) Carmon A. Armstrong

Breathe

I can be all the woman that u want
I can be all woman that u need
I can make ur wildest fantasy into reality…
But I cant now
Because I cannot Breathe

I could give u a love so unbreakably strong
I could give u happiness beyond belief
I could give u me day to night, night to day , day to night…
But I cant now
Because I cannot Breathe

Your 10 fingers around my neck are slowing griping tighter
Even when I notion to u that the white light near the end
Is getting brighter & brighter & brighter
From top to bottom I feel the
Jealousy
Animosity
Controversy
Hypocrisy

Lack of love
Lack of trust
Broken Promises
Empty Lust
Little Goals
Few Dreams
Restricts the airflow,
Suffocating me

You have a diamond,
A rare pearl from within the deep seas
You have what some men search a lifetime for…
You have all of this at your fingertips
But instead you choose to extract all of the air out of my body
Leaving me limp, lifeless…deceased
Because I could not Breathe

I Dare You…

This brown eyed, golden skinned beauty sits on a train
Watching the world fly by through her window seat
A knowing smirk appears on her face as if to say she knows the world’s secret
A man sits on the train wanting and waiting for something, anything to happen
Watching the people the train passes by and smiles slightly at the rushing and pushing to go where they need to go
The man turns his head slowly; he sees her sitting there in all her glory new and shiny
She feels someone is watching her as she is watching the world
She turns
He watches
She meets his eyes
Contact has been made
He looks away quickly
She continues meet his gaze
He sneaks a look, still looking
And then she smiles full and wide as if to say “gotcha”
But she continues to look thinking what the hell he is kind of cute
He has built his courage and begins to meet her gaze again
They looked in a stare the train and people the world passing them by
She stares, one eyebrow arched and forming a smirk once again
She stares saying “Challenge”, “I dare you”
I dare you to look at me
See inside to my soul
I dare you to see me for what I am
Tell me what I need
Show me what I want
I dare you to make me smile
Wide, then wider
I dare you to hold me till I cry and then no more
I dare you to want me
Need me
I dare you
I dare you to love me
I dare you
And with one look he says “I dare you to let me”

Tin woman, why do you kiss me back?

Why do you kiss me back?
Sista, you can’t give me what I need
Instead you only provide me with signs I misread to be something more
But instead of green lights to go forward
They are just misguided detours
Sex with you is a weapon
Leaving my chest open with a heart still beating
Seething for you
Searing like the steaming hot love scene we embraced
Dripping love oil from my lips to my face
Hot bodies gliding, releasing inward frustrations
It was needed, but only because I was convenient
A fool to your love, a toy for your baby boy
You played me, used me, and abused me
But why
For every tear that came to your eyes
I resigned to be your handkerchief
A Kleenex, a shoulder to brace your neck
For all that others did to you, I tried to mend
A light unreal lover and a deep true friend
Like a night without stars you could see clear through me
And all I wanted to do was be with you through the twilight
At night, drive to be by your side when you would arise from any nightmare
Just to be there
To put you on my back and carry you over hot sand
To pyramid castles, this man would build, just so you could touch the sky
To prove it was not a lie
So you could find something to equal your beauty
How could you do this to me?
In the presence of darkness you forgot how to love
But still want to be loved, hugged, and kissed
And with your lips, you turn Judas
And kiss me back, but like a tin machine you are empty inside
My queen somehow at some point was left by the way side
Like the Tin Man leaving Oz, you are left without a heart
So you can’t give me what I need
And I don’t need to misread your motives
And you don’t need to misread mine
The light has finally turned green for me to go
And you are left behind

Avid

The response

sex…cant be described in words
because its a feeling
like Marvin Gaye sang
my body needs that sexual healing
without being touched with hands
still magnolia
for every question
“it’s” the response
sweat dripping with juices only our bodies can produce
the good, bad, and ugly
truth
displayed in every moan and every motion
“its” the response
if the best is saved for last
then my last is all gone
because sex turns to making love
and making love becomes my bodies new home
“its” no longer my response
but a statement

Soft Small Frame

Rain drops fall, splattering as they hit the ground
Masking the sound of quickly moving feet
A faster moving heart beat,
pulsating, vibrating a small frame body as it presses against an alley wall
Catching a breathe, pausing for a quick rest
Thunder sounds, lightning strikes high, splitting the night sky
Heaven cries, sorrowful tears indeed
Looking at her hands, water rolling from face to cheek meets salty drops
Young black seeds in hard earth soil grow solid like stone
Home grown to be hard like diamond, but many with a soul soft like cotton
Touched by God at conception, and kissed by the devil at birth
Earth is in its last days, and they are in a maze of confusion
Delusions of love are passed over for lust and sex
Regrets are made in the throngs of passion
Passion draped all over the hands of one young woman standing in the rain
Looking at hands that had just come from caressing soft brown skin
But not knowing though his body was within hers
His love was only between her thighs, her eyes regret the day they first saw him
And try as they may, they couldn’t wash away the memory
Flashbacks and visions of all she had seen of and in him
These things proceed and all of a sudden the rain gives way to sunny days of happiness
Picnics, six months of indulgence in a world that was not hers
Lured in by his charm, holding on to his arm everywhere they went
Seemed like a sign outwardly of his inward content
But content is sometimes only contempt in wait
As he played her with Veronica, Suzanne, Lizbeth, Shawna and Grace
From massage to manauge, from discrete circumstance to desecrate indulgence
His fingerprints on their bathroom mirrors punctuated his deeds
Tendencies are ironies in wait
Because as was his practice, as was his fate
She had left in a commotion as Grace came to confront him
Seeds that he had let grow inside her, how could he have lied to her
Her fingers on prints of pictures taken by a camera phone of a friend
When he was showing outward content in the arms of Suzanne
Perhaps one could have been seen as a confrontation of short will versus high heeled determination
But now, prints clutched in her fingers, him inside this young girl
When nightmares hit the real world, you get stab wounds to the tune of 143
The rain fell violently, a relentlessly hard picture caught in a soft small frame

Avid

I AM A TREASURE…

MY THIGHS ARE THE STRENGTH OF MAN
MY HIPS ARE WHERE MAN FINDS HIS CENTER

THESE ARMS ARE MAN’S ANCHOR
THESE HANDS ARE MAN’S LITTLE HELPERS

THIS WAIST HAS BEEN KNOWN MAKE MEN TREMBLE
THIS MOUTH HAS DONE MUCH OF THE SAME

MY BREASTS ARE MAN’S RESTING PLACE
MY EYES MAKE MAN PEACEFUL AND SAFE

BETWEEN MY THIGHS IS MAN’S BIRTH PLACE
BETWEEN UP AND ALL ROUND MY CURVES IS WHERE MAN MAY EXPLORE HIS FAITH

MY SKIN IS TO GIVE HIM WARMTH FROM THE COLD
MY HEART IS TO LOVE HIM

I AM WHAT I WAS MEANT TO BE MAN’S MOST PRECIOUS THING
NO NOT SILVER OR GOLD
NO NOT DIAMONDS EVEN THOUGH TO SOME A MAY RESEMIBLE VERY THAT VERY STONE
BUT A DIAMOND IS JUST A DIAMOND THAT IS A SHINY PIECE
I AM SO MUCH MORE
WARS HAVE BEEN WAGED OVER ME
PEOPLE HAVE BEEN SET FREE FOR ME

I HAVE BEEN READ AND WRITTEN ABOUT
I AM A COMMODITY
SOME MAKE MONEY OFF ME
AND YET I HAVE BUT ONE PURPOSE
TO BE HIS QUEEN

I AM A TREASURE
UNTAPED
UNREFINED
THIS IS HOW I WAS DESIGNED

I AM A TREASURE

Are you keeping your eyes on the whirlwind?

(PRLog.Org) – (Brookline, MA) – Tichaona Chinyelu is a poet and author of In The Whirlwind and Still Living on My Feet. She has conducted many interviews which include Artist First and LTH Weekly Show. Tichaona’s poem Weaver Woman is featured on the main page online at Black Poetry. She is the CEO of Whirlwind Publishing. For further information visit www.inthewhirlwind.com

About Whirlwind Publishing

Whirlwind Publishing is Tichaona Chinyelu’s publishing company and has published two books of poetry which include In The Whirlwind and Still Living on My Feet. For further information visit http://www.inthewhirldwind.com

About In The Whirlwind

In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!

In the Whirlwind is available at
- Amazon.com
- Authorsden.com
- Oncewritten.com
- Inthewhirlwind.com
- Authorsbookshop.com

Excerpt

    Weaver Woman

I weave words
like a west african market woman
selling you my vision, my mangoes, my papayas
even my coconuts.
My finished product can be held up to the sun
illuminated, made to shine.
The skins of my poems have been submerged in mud
then laid at the bottom of the baobob tree to dry like mudcloth.
The blood of my poems can be as dry as the sahara;
as wet as monsoons;
as cutting as a machete in the hands of the mau mau.

I weave blood into my words:
red blood, dried blood, young blood.
An oversaturation of blood decorates my words
makes them pulse red.
My words hang from trees
like the bitterest kind of strange fruit.
My words find the peruvian revolutionaries
murdered while hogtied
and then buried in criminal secrecy.
My words were inspired by Rigoberta Menchu.

I roots rock reggae with my words;
have them jamming to the heart beat rhythm
of the warmest music.
The fabric of my words is at its lightest
when they’re in the dancehall or the yard.
My words sweep over people
like the softest caribbean breezes.
My words will have you dreaming of blue skies
white sands and coral reefs

and while you’re dreaming
I weave black people into my words
and I am done.
My finished product can be held up to the sun
illuminated, made to shine.

About Still Living on my Feet

Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep within the trough of her Y chromosomes; lacing it with truths, humor and sisterly compassion. Still uncompromising, Tichaona’s overtly articulates the primacy of black women without negating their compliment, black men. Using a sentence she coined a while back; the line of my back needed straightening more than my hair, as her muse, Tichaona retraces the spiritual experience she had in her early twenties revolving around the grandmother she never met. Drawing on her desire to respond righteously, she encapsulated that experience of love and consciousness to produce the progressive, relevant and textured writings of Still Living on my Feet.

Still Living on my Feet is available at
lulu.com
authorsden.com
Inthewhirlwind.com
amazon.com

Excerpt

    Wanton Woman

They say ain’t no sunshine
between my legs
just a wet satanic pit.
The pains I took to inform them
my name isn’t Lilith,
first wife of Adam,
runaway bride,
semen stealer,
wife and mother of hundreds
of demons
dampened my ardor
and pushed them
out doors
where they discovered
a newfound proclivity
to call me bitch.

I reveled in my bed
and the passion it could produce
without affiliation
or affliction.
Like Sinead,
I was no man’s woman.
Like Renatta,
I fought for the sovereignty
of my space.

Vituperative, claimed repressed
into goodness women
and their hypocritical men
as they dragged me
and my medusa-attributed hair
into the court of public opinion.

Lilith, the judge called me
but I only answered to Ntozake:
she who has her own things.

Eve, biter of devilish apple, he screamed
but my reply was Assata:
she who struggles.

Margaret Garner, he howled
and I said yes, I deny you
the right to raise my children as slaves.

Unreconstructed pagan, he spat.
Both the sun and the moon are my church:
the sun because it is the promoter of life
and the moon because it controls the tides.
Unreconstructed?
My ancestors didn’t ask you to come for us.
Why should we construct ourselves to fit your reality?

Harlot! Whore! Slut!
I laughed. I’ve turned down more men
than I’ve embraced
and the ones I’ve turned down
are the ones leveling these charges
including you.

Adorned with my free woman accessories
and sense of the sacred feminine
I’ve rejected your imprisoning baubles
and religious rhetoric
for the sacrament of she.

To order copies of In The WhirlWind and Still Living on My Feet, please visit www.inthewhirlwind.com

In The WhirlWind
ISBN-10: 0978935500
ISBN-13: 978-0978935504
Price: $12.95

Still Living on my Feet
ISBN-10: 0978935519
ISBN-13: 978-0978935511
Price: $14.95

genuwine

like a bird that flies
through the light blue skies
i feel free
like the sun that shines
and gold tucked away in mines
i feel free to be me
like sand on the beach
a soft blanket to the land
i feel free to be me because i can
like the moon at night
the worlds flashlight
i feel free to be me because i can, a beautiful sight
like a cool breeze
through the expanded leaves
of the wonderous oak trees
i feel free to be me because i can, a beautiful sight, touching all that have been blessed in my presence.

“shye”