Peace, Love & Poetry

 

As the morning sun kisses the tip of the horizon, I am reminded you are Zion's new dawning.

And for your sake I will not keep silent;

as impassioned rifts of energy tear thru me, splitting me

n2 wisdom.

Now my vision is clearer 2c u r exceptional.

 

And as the day mixes within the night

causing midnight and midday somewhere in the middle;

we agree to meet with methods and melodies that produce the morning
 
dew.

 

Snap snap as my hands clap...

exposing poetic expos inking with inkling as I clue u in with examples as I feed u samples of poetic snippets…

 

U make me squeeze my thighs together with your verse.

Unrehearsed metaphors invade my sugar walls.

It’s all I can do to keep still.

 

Fingering my…

similes…

until I come…

closer to the sensational tingling you bring when you lyrically lick my syllables.

Blissfully rhythmical when I grind my clitoral cortex up against your intelligent word play.

I appreciate that you take the time to tease my mind’s frame… make me say your name…

 
 


 

I see you came to play as you painted a pretty picture... that I will mentally frame... and sexually color with disdain...

I maintain my composure, while erecting thoughts to make you spill your sweet metaphors;

as I use my figurative language to spread between your lines, reading from left to right... horizontally.

 

I lay my syntax real close, almost touching and teasing you until u are climatic.

Having u implementing an implosion of mental and sexual sins...

and before I am finish I will ask...

do you want me to begin again?!?

 

Shay & KFarrell

Wordsfromourpen

 

ISLAND FANTASY

 

Feeling high, like extra fly; free like a tropical breeze.

Thinking of things like glazed pineapples and sipping on

coconut crème.

My heart flutters like the lovely swing of butterfly wings,

cuz I’m in love with the finest man with a Cuban tan.

Wanna take his hand and do an island dance

n2 the last hour of the night,

like right before sunrise.

 

Then we’ll close our eyes & I’ll

rest my head on his chest & he’ll

rest his thigh over my hip & we’ll

slip into a beautiful slumber

until another forever begins.

 

© 2013 Impresse

Writer's Block

Writer's Block

Lately I have been wanting to write. 
But the words just will not come. 
Feels like something is suffocating my cerebellum; to the point where I'm dizzy. 
Because you see, writing is like breathing for me. 
And if I needed a transfusion I would probably die, 
because I bleed poetry. 
It is so exasperating trying to set my thoughts free, 
So many ideas, concepts and theories trapped in my mind... 
damn, I need to write. 

I'm desperate to scribe my mental text into manuscript. 
I'm tired of pacing, concentrating, waiting on my muse to visit me. 
The state of my ability to create is at a critical stage. 
My heart rate quickens, my pulse weakens & 
I think I might flat line if I don't come up with some type of composition. 

See, I'm a poet. So lyrics have intertwined themselves into my central nervous system; 
so not to write, is to die. 
And I am feigning for some spoken word 
wishing I could shoot it into my veins like a good drug 
and get so high that I'd be saved from the despair 
of staring at blank sheets while they stare back at me: 
expecting my words to write themselves. 

Writer's block has me vexed. 
I always thought it was a myth until it hit me, 
Now I'm tripping; 
expecting the paper to tell my pen what to say. 
So actually I'm battling principalities; 
searching, even rehearsing my old stuff. 
You know its messed up when ur lyrical appetite leaves you 
hungry for words and u can’t even get a meal. 

But I know I can feel it, 
the lyrics 
boiling in the pit of my stomach 
waiting for me to spit them up. 
But I'm frustrated, feels like my brain's been castrated, 
because still no words will come to me. 
So now desperation has me up at 3 in the morning 
thinking about who I should call to relieve this stress. 
But, I digress it will be a fruitless enterprise. 
I need my cipher opened, not my thighs. 
I need a lyrical dick to penetrate my mind 
and climb inside my vision until I'm filled with rhythm enough 
for me to bust 
open 
and words start flowin' and no matter how tight I squeeze my 
thoughts together 
I can't stop the poetry from coming all over the paper. 
And the aftershock's got my pen shaking and my arm aching 
from the intense friction between my left and right brain 
communicating their word mission. 

And I know I can feel it, 
the lyrics, boiling in the pit of my stomach 
waiting for me to spit them up. 
But still no words will come to me 
and I got this going insane feeling inside of me. 
I'm skimming the surface of my creativity 
can't get deep enough to be free of this impending insanity. 
I'm panicking 
preparing for a head-on 
collision with creativity 
I hope it hits me 
like a mack-truck 
but for now 
I'm still waiting 
making friends with writer's block...

(c) Impresse

 



We’ll dig deeper than magma, we’ll discover the lava; the lava of years past waiting to be released from beneath layers of burning flesh.  Do your best to dig deep n me to the core & discover your rebirth inside me.

© SH/TM

Dear Mother Africa

I apologize for our forgetfulness of where we come from;
our disrespectfulness of what you once stood for.
Because now all I see when I open my project door
is faded sunlight casting shadows on sinking concrete sidewalks
and chalked outlines of unfinished existences
cocaine kings
and heroin princesses on their daily stroll
trying not to trip over their dilapidated souls dragging behind them
intertwined with their collapsed veins
and their days begin to blend into weeks
and their weeks into months
and their months into years
until they no longer hear their own cry
because they've long since realized God has forgotten about them
Or really they've forgotten about him.

Because now they worship the pimps that promise them a better life each time they spread their thighs and contaminate the purity inside.
Open wide for twenty dollars;
swallow the polluted seed of a stranger.
Too numb to feel the anger
too cold to care about the danger of becoming a statistic.

Too busy chasing false ambitions
molested viciously by the hollow promises of the street.
Dear Mother Africa we need to be free from a land that we now see as a tomb for the resurrection of slavery.

We are shackled by our own deception and we need your protection.
If your people that are called by your name understood our powerful connection,
we would never question our freedom's quest.

And these words would be womanifestated in the chest of each brotha that could not breathe
and each sister that could not see
the beauty of our ancestry.

©2012 S.H

Supernatural

I pull gravity from the earth’s core when I write,
so my words levitate off the paper.
I can’t sleep at night, mind's too elevated.
Astral-projecting thru phases of the earth’s rotation;
as I hustle moon-dust and sling lunar rocks
and walk the surface of the sun
so my essence is made ecliptic.

With the power of a tribal mystic
I conjure ancient spirits
to extract the venom from my fangs
and decontaminate my veins
so the blood flow to my brain is pure enough to sustain my equilibrium.
So I achieve balance as I travel this middle passage

The path laid b4 me is righteous
I just stroll with the cadence of my ancestor’s drums.
Some can’t see the wounds festering on my skin,
I painted over them with the tribal symbols of Ancient Warrior women. 

The battle scars of sin discolor my melanin & I'm fading into an abyss, but I'm too fuckin rebellious to die from this...
Used night vision goggles to search for my identity in the darkness

Follow this path to the knowledge of self
the wealth of my existence no longer hinges
on politickin’ with signifying monkeys with funky breath
from the shit they eject  out of mouths with rotten flesh;
a blatant disrespect of my intellect.

I erect Queendoms with my innerstanding;
demanding the blood of false prophets, rocking the foundations of the wicked
in counterfeit temples.
Simple minds read the lines and never in between.

Never mistake me born a universal Queen possessing 3rd eye vision
Expanding ur knowledge like helium
or a mother’s womb like 30 seconds b4 birth.
Like ur lungs when u inhale my verse.
Giving you metaphoric indigestion
as ur mental intestines are digesting my lyrical lessons. 

With each meditation, I sharpen my weapon

and   

& I'm manifesting the spiritual

to make my thoughts 3 dimensional. 

So u can feel what chu readin' & see what I'm sayin'. 

I'm weighin' in heavy like Frazier. 

Pound for pound, 

I'm dope like that lime green loud. 

I be Queen Kush from Kemet; 

sculpted from the sands of Zion. 

Descended from Judah's Lion; 

I was pressed for this

Blessed for this. 

I was gifted this

soul of a lyricist. 

©2016 Shay Holt (Impresse)

©2012 S.H

Fantasy

Lines blurred,

reality deferred

because I love this fantasy too deeply.

Decadent images imprinted on my mind’s eye

simply by the way he looks at me.

Instinctively my heart beats to the rhythm of his speech

each

syllable

breathes life into my imagination.

So fascinated by his individuality,

his presence reinvents me daily.

Nightly, I pray for the gift of prophecy

just so I can predict what he needs before he thinks it
and convey every emotion before he feels it

I’m twisted

in my sheets from tossing & turning;
yearning for him to release me
from beneath the layers of my burning flesh.

Rest evades me because I’m up most nights past three

ritually lighting incense trying to cleanse my spirit
of what I’m feeling

But shiiittt, he's so beautiful,

falling into him is inescapable.

No longer capable of embracing the actuality of us

since it just contradicts the visions in my daydreams
of us tangled in the lyrics our spirits compose on bed linen
that resembles parchment scrolls;
because what we do is historical.

Categorical storms form in the atmosphere

as the Universe anticipates the new breed of revolutionary
we've been destined to create.

Days begin to blend into infinite time lines

as I count the 68,400 seconds

that makes up the 1,140 minutes
that make up the 19 hours
until I can devour his magnificence again.

I’m so far in I find myself jealous of the sun rays

fighting for space on his skin.

And I’m living in alternate spaces that bare no traces

of reality
because I’m loving this fantasy too deeply.

©2012 S.H.