HAIKUS

Black Girl Magic

Ancestral soul song

mixes with my sublime jazz.

I am enchantment…

*****************

If

If the man I dreamed

became my reality,

then whose dream am I?

******************

Epiphany

Sunrise seeps thru blinds;

splendid hues examine me.

I know me bone deep.

******************

Abandonment Issues

I abandoned me

for you to love all I am.

I thought you would stay…

***********************

Good Night

Indigo sky falls

Slanted light from crescent moon

crowns our good night kiss…

************************

Good Morning

Dawn refused to break

Because you had yet to rise

The sun envies you...

**************************

Good Night Moon

Neon moon glows blue;

like I do when you kiss me

with sapphire silk lips…

**************************

Craving

Good morning, handsome.

That chocolate glow you are

makes my mornings sweet.

**************************

Reckless

Hey you, morning heat,

Your smooth brown sparks reckless thoughts…

I want to free fall…

**************************

DNA

With each thought of you,

I absorb your DNA

You are my heartbeat

**************************

©Impresse 2026

I Am

I am Gaia.

I am roots of my culture.

I am rich ginger spice & deep cinnamon kisses.

I am sips of caramel macchiato lattes & chocolate beignets.

I am easy days with amber clouds & cocoa shade.

I am fluffy layers of hazelnut flavor. I am the fulfillment of every craving.

I am rich & thick with a honey-coated switch in my hips.

My melanin is pure decadence. My magic is evident…

My essence is relevant…

A testament to enchantment

in its purest form…

©️Impresse 2025

Liberation

I need you to free me...own me...victimize me; 

TAKE it

AGGRESSIVELY. 

See, because I'm searching

for love poems. 

And I know I can find them where your lips trace kisses that outline my shape as if u'r a sketch artist. 

When I want inspiration

your eyes are motivation when you 

stare n2 me,  

letting me know you're n2 me ; 

I welcome your entering... 

n2

my intellect

reviving my thought process. 

You are the better version of myself ,

so, that makes you my auto biography. 

Words unspoken leave my pen w/everything 

2 say

until metaphors morph n2 syntax errors & similes run off the edge of the paper. 

I labor for your pleasure, 

sacrificing beads of sweat for

an offering, 

making your body an altar 

for my prophetic calling

to create you lyrically; 

because your poetry

is Gospel...

© 2016 Imprese

Sho-Nuff

What I thought was a gun was just his bloody pen laughing,

taunting me with distraction.

“Don’t you know who I am?!?” he kept asking.

“I am the inescapable fate of self-hate. I scurry in the shadows of doubt. I am the dance of self-destruction, forfeiting your identity when I come.”

I suddenly started choking on insecurity & couldn’t breathe.

I started crying and fighting, till finally I collapsed in agony.

 In the midst of my weakness I pleaded, “Why are you here for me?”

“I know you fear me. I am here to suffocate your creativity”.

 I  reached for my pen & pad I had covered in lime to prevent rotting, but my body started throbbing when he grabbed me and attacked me with flashes of my past, unmasked impurities.

I tried to run but, I kept tripping over my have-nots, my should’ve-beens & my never-meant-to-bes. Now I’m hurting and feeling worthless & again I collapse in agony. Finally, I cried out to GOD to rescue me.

He spoke to me and said “I’m sending my soldier Harvey”.

Now suddenly this entity that held me began to tremble. The foundation shook and there Harvey stood with his pen & pad, I mean his sword & staff, bringing the dance of the warrior.

He slayed the darkness and kept his heart as a warning.

All at once, I could breathe, but still felt weak.

Then Harvey stripped me and covered my body in loose-leaf and began to write. My blood churned and turned into ink.

Then I could feel it, the lyrics, boiling in the pit of my stomach, waiting for me to spit them up.

“Just one more touch.” He held my hand and singed my palms with his fingertips.

With my skin still burning, he commanded me to write.

My words rained fire onto the pages & he told me to swallow the ashes.

I began to glow and Harvey asked, “Now who’s the Master”?

I replied, “I am…”

He said, “Sho-nuff”…

And that’s how I defeated WRITER’S BLOCK…

©2016 Impresse 

Hip Hop

Hip Hop verses birth words that urge murder
& discharged nickel-plated bitch lyrics from
nigger mortis tongues...
Microphone check one

Rec execs slip chains around the necks of plantation MCs,
Black face rat race shufflin like Steppin Fetchit
content to fit in hauling buckets full of platinum bullshit for label pimps;
Jack be nimble, Jack be too quick trickin for a deal to sign.
Hip Hop is no longer about the righteousness of the rhyme;
it's about the ice, make a mill, keep a bill & use the rest to pay back the advance.
Understand the industry's plan is to destroy
the TRUE NATURE of Hip Hop...
The "Yes, yes y'all & you don't stop" 
See REAL MCs be microphone fiends...

Microhone check two
It's time to get back to the roots, the real, the raw, pure unadulterated lyrical rage, two turntables & a microhone stage.
Dope ass beats that rock the spot & groove ya ass whether u like it or not...

Microhone check three
Roll Call
Chief Rocker Busy Bee, Run DMC, Afrikan Bambaataa & The Zulu Nation, KRS One, Common Sense, Black Thought, DJ Kool Herc, Guru, Q-Tip, Yo-Yo, Lady Of Rage, Roxanne Shante, MC Lyte, Dead Prez, Da Roots, Dougie Fresh, Rakim, Sugar Hill, Mia X, The Queen...

True Hip Hop is the unruffled voice of the masses.
Fuck these two-bit ass rappers that wouldn't have lyrics if it wasn't for sampling...

©2016-Impresse

Spring

Spring

It’s spring again.
Knowing again this is the time to begin again,
feeling easy & free;
moving cool like lips over ice cream.
Curves enticing warm breezes to tease my skin
winds sneak underneath the hem of my dress
exposing just enough
of my soul
to the sun
rays
paint me ultravioletly the color of honey so…
I’m glowing again.

Grew wings and planted trees in flower pots during the winter
so I could fly high when spring came around again.
Walking on clouds with manicured toes
watching for rain
drops
fall like perfume for the flowers
and shower giant oaks with green afros.
Gonna sit underneath & let the velvet grass beneath
envelope me like the kiss of emerald from a thousand lips
and sip pomegranate tea
cipher with the bees
while humming bird wings scribe lines to my poetry
The universe knows its me
when I send vibrations thru my pen
cuz I’m connected to my gift
like my hand’s connected to my wrist;
Watch
gravity reverse
as I conjugate verbs
and manipulate words
cuz my cipher’s connected to this earth.
Call me Gaia
cuz I give birth to new beginnings
and creativity
and new theories to relativity
Seasons change at the mere mention of my name
Mother, Goddess, Queen
The universe knows it me,
when I send vibrations thru my pen.
Impresse ©2014

JAZZ

Last night, 

you felt like jazz.

Ur fingertips improvised complicated vamps & rifts in the key of ecstasy.

U made my heart beat in swing,

keeping Count with ur kisses like Bassie.

I tasted ur composition

on my lips.

U wrote 8 bars of a love song on my tongue

with no lyrics;

because we were speechless.

With the moon as our witness,

the stars danced to our rhythm.

And the night wind tried to mimic our emotion,

but it was encoded like;

"Ski bi di bi di do bap do

Do bam do" ...

U harmonized 

with my bass line

& my treble clef trembled in staccato

from the tempo of your percussion.

Made me wanna blow 

ur trumpet 

like Miles, 

as in Davis.

Please,

let's press last night's soulful memory in vinyl.

then, we can replay it on an old turntable;

or maybe

download it digitally 

onto an ITune 

& put it on repeat.

And we can hum our melody whenever we wanna remember JAZZ...

©Impresse 2015

AMY WINEHOUSE: Greatest Hits Full Album || Best Songs Of Amy Winehouse

You're STILL my GIRRRRL AMY...

A Poetic Conversation

*Silence falls heavy*
*I find my wave*
*WORDZ*

I miss the days of Miles Davis & John P. Kee,
When there was no FACEBOOK, Instagram... or mobile T.V.
TOGETHER...HAPPY...
JUST...U N ME...
YOUR EYES,
the screens I was longing to see...

Admittedly... In today's world of technology,
I've over indulged in touchscreens.
So I couldn't see
the cyberspace between us.
Let's make up
the algorithms to reconnect;
& I promise to disconnect my profile...
just to focus on your smile;
while
we sit quietly
spoken silence mixes with Miles & Stevie
weaving images of chocolate chip kisses laced with Bitches Brew...

U knew
the me I was
before
inbox messages;
So, let's recapture images
without camera phone clicks or downloading memories thru Instagram selfies...

Just u & me
investing
in real organic sensations.
Like, soft-lipped kisses on fingertips,
lingering embraces that leave Dolce & Gabbana traces on my ear lobe
or
spontaneous pecks on your collar bone...
Just to remind us...
that human touch is beautiful...

And the you that is me
And the me that is you...
is altogether
wonderfully symmetrical...

SO if I "Like" you....
will you "Poke" me back;
like we used to before the damn I Mac?

Give me face time... at a five n dime, while I buy u cheap trinkets, that'll make u smile.

We can reconnect, without internet.

Let me touch YOU, not yo screen....
come HERE,  gimme yo neck.

U see cold lemonade, on a warm front porch.....thts what I MISS.....
I would wait until you sipped, before I asked for a kiss....

Now its OMG, & LOL......GTFOOH WITH THIS!!

Don't you send me NO MORE selfies!
NOT another BLACK and WHITE pic...
What you can DO, is slide in a CD, while we vibe to a lil Slick Rick! ;-)
Hehe, ha ha, ctfu....thts what weve become.
Im only allowed so many characters.......so there.....NOW IM DONE.

Of course I "Like" you... I checked the box that said "Yes" on the sheet of loose-leaf u gave me;
along with the sandwich bag full of penny candy.

Reminding me of that ol school Mary J "Real Love"
When you would slip a touch
on the small of my back;, the back of my neck
the round of my hips...

Instead of responding back
to emails & texts.
Maybe we can connect turning pages of a book in our faces
as we share space with sunrays & rap a taste
on Kush & Kemet, modern day hip hop prophets & our favorite incense.

Communicating in our native tongue is what I miss...
Now everybody speaks in hashtags, anagrams & abbreviated sentences.

So, maybe we can use the moon to illumintate our kiss;
Poetic lips
composing 8 bar lyrics beneath the stars;

That's who we really are...
So let's get back to basics,
You & me baby are a simple equation...

  2 Lovers
+2gether
---------
  4ever.

©2014 Tyrone Moore/Impresse
All Rights Reserved

GOD-LESS AMERIKKKA

How My Suga Got So Flyy

I was dancing with King Moon Pie on Mars when my Butterfinger lost its grip & I slipped and slid down the Milky Way. I started to Snicker because it tickled my Good & Plenty. I was feeling the Mounds of Almond joy rushing through me so; I bit my lip as a little Bit-O-Honey slid from my Whatchamacallit.

When I finally made it to the end of the Milky Way I landed on some Pop Rocks and that made my Tootsie Roll. After this, I needed a Boost & wanted to get in touch with Mr. Goodbar real bad. But I remembered he spent all his time at a Sky Bar. So I called instead to see if I could get Hershey’s Kiss; he said he would come thru and swoop me up in his Cadbury Dream. We arrived at Baby Ruth’s & stopped by the Galaxy Counter to get a room. What went on next was a Whopper! He snapped off a piece of my Kit Kat & I screamed “I love your Sugar Daddy!” I think he almost cried when he found out I was into M&M. In the end I sent him into Orbit when I made his Starburst.

Skittles went all over the place but I managed to catch some with my choco taco. 

Now, if we recorded what went on in that room, the tape would be worth ten times a 100 Grand easy. F*ck Nikko & Mimi…

(And that’s how my suga got sooo flyy…)

If Only...

 

 

IF ONLY…

 

"When did I eat celery?" I was thinking to myself as the remains of my stomach floated in its porcelain grave. I cannot believe this. After nine years I decided to go down this road again. What the hell was I thinking?
If I had just listened to the transmission the little oracle inside me was trying to send to my peanut brain, I would have followed my first mind.

"Hey Gi-Gi. What's up?"

"I'm not taking "No." for an answer. We are having a girl’s night out and the group is not complete without you. You're getting out and having some fun for a change."

"I'm having plenty fun chatting with my FB fam on my lap top, in my bed, under the comforter."

Get yo punk ass up and put on your "I-won't-have-to-buy-my-own-drink-all-night" suit and let's go!"

I responded with an "Aight damn!" to finally end her relentless tirade.

So, again ignoring the oracle's transmission, I got dressed and met her at The Plaza. Its an upscale (bourgeoisie really), afro-centric, networking lounge. Really only professionals frequent it. So this was not your run-of-the-mill shake yo ghetto booty club. I made up my mind to show my face and have one drink then be out. Boy was I wrong.

My one drink obligation turned into three. After the second drink, I asked Melissa (the designated driver) to take me home and she could spend the night at my place. Everybody else was cool in our group, so she agreed.
I downed my last Sex in the City martini and went to the ladies' room.

On my way back up the dimly lit corridor, I saw him. He saw me. My heart felt like it was playing polo in my chest as he approached me. It was just my damn luck he was over 6 feet, smooth & chocolate as a Hershey's and built like a mountain of hot basalt.

All of a sudden, some unseen gravitational pull scooped me up into its vortex and threw me into his arms, like someone dumping the contents of a wheelbarrow into the eye of a tornado. I mean I had no control of what was happening. He picked me up by my waist and backed us into the men's washroom. We made it to one of the black marble stalls. He sat on the top of the toilet's tank lid and pulled me onto his lap. Its funny that I don't remember removing clothes, I just remember his entrance inside me, full and strong. I most remember having the type of climax that could relocate your spine.

So here I am 8 wks later, free from HIV (thank the good Lord above) but suffering from morning sickness. My youngest child is nine and at 36 I am pregnant with a man's baby whose name I don't even know. And to this day, his name doesn't matter to me. Shit, I'm having a hard enough time trying to make this baby matter to me. How do I answer the inevitable question that will haunt me and this baby for the rest of our God-given days, "Who is his father?" What am I supposed to say..."I don't know"? I think the hell not. Now that would make me look stupid wouldn't it?

I am now faced with the decision between murder and moral responsibility. I know you may be wondering how I could even consider one over the other. But, I'm also sure you've never been in a situation like mine. My children don't know, nor the rest of my family. I'm the back bone of my siblings. Even when my husband died, I was expected to bounce back with no consequence, hell I had to help everyone else get through it. For this reason, I am alone. I must clean up this mess on my own. My family would be so disappointed in me. So, what do I do?

"You have to look inside your heart. Your heart will tell you what's right."

"You mean I paid four-hundred fifty dollars to lay on this ugly, uncomfortable, art deco piece of shit couch for an hour for that cheesy, commercial bull crap?!? You can go straight to hell and give me my effin' money back before you leave…

 

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