#African poets

[aslisjournal]

Before I start I’ll say I have a lot of flaws A couple of fears, And some deep rooted issues But there’s this dream that I have One that I fall asleep to every night One that’s so deeply woven in my heart I don’t care if I’m inadequate 

I don’t care if I’m not enough A life with out my art I lived it, I can’t fathom it It’s like I’m walking around with two weights on top of my heart And that’s not exaggerate I have to reach the life of my dreams By any means Even if I have to fight the earth Cause I’m only here this one time And I probably lived more than half of it So even if the earth decides I’m not enough And raises the standard above the clouds Above my reach Then I’ll go the longest route I’ll build day by day I’ll scavenge for pieces Finding new ways And if along the way I spill it all Fall on my face Even If the earth decides to laugh I’ll start again from scratch The reality is I’m not gonna stop So if we got to go back and forth then so be it It’ll be that way with me until the curtains close And when I die And the earth swallows me whole It will say this one...this one put up a fight I will leave on it a scar or two And when it is asked about it It will tell the story of a girl With too much heart Too much grit Too much love I promise you It will tell the stars and echo into the universe The story of our fight

[chrisevansmentee]

JUDITH

Today I met a man.

He had the most beautiful brown eyes.

A bright smile and my sense of humor.

I made him laugh.

It felt good.

What didn't feel good was the fact that he liked me.

He said I was jovial.

He wanted my number.

I freaked out

I didn't want to meet new people.

He asked for my name.

I told him the name I'd been recycling in my head, the one I saw on my friend's door.

I said "Judith"

He smiled at me, I saw the way he looked at me, he'd found love.

I'd found another burden.

I met a man, I made him blush.

I wanted to run away from the consequences of this blessed curse.

This curse of being jovial at all moments even when it's not needed, sure I've put a smile on a face but that's it.

That's all I am...the blue pill.

Right now I'm at this point where I don't want to meet new people.

I'm sorting through the old ones like the clutter in my room, I'll put away the ones I don't need...

I am fond of picking things that don't benefit me.

Beads, needles, rubber bands, pen covers, bottle caps, broken hearts, emergency calls, sadness, hard and tough emotions, strong ropes, other people's business, manipulative people.

So when I sort through all those people and I'm done, I'll move with the people that remain.... That is if they do.

Everyone thinks I'm happy.

I don't know what to say to them.

All I know is I'm learning...

I'm learning to love myself, to know that not everyone is as bad as my mind paints them.

I can't tell them how bad I want to scream at night, I can't, they won't understand.

They don't know how I lick my wounds clean every night.

How I pray to God that someone calls to ask how I am.

How I hold back tears even when I spread joy and laughter.

But that's not the point of all these words I'd written above.

It's just that I met a man today and it scared me.

[deadassdiaspore]

[heartsoundslikelove]

ANNOUNCEMENT! Book Launch Featuring Elizabeth O Ogunmodede with her latest Poetry Book "The Beauty of Words"

REGISTER for the VIRTUAL Book Launch featuring Elizabeth O Ogunmodede with her latest Poetry Book “The Beauty of Words” or send an email to admin@prolificpulse.com to register. Learn more about Elizabeth and pick up a copy of her book: Prolific Pulse Press Dive into the enchanting world of poetic expression with “The Beauty of Words: A Poetry Collection” by Elizabeth O. Ogunmodede. This…

[iambrillyant]

“your gut instinct is not a liar, those initial feelings exist for a reason, sit on them if you need to, process whether your feelings are valid or just projections, but never dismiss your intuition when the signs are staring you in the face and your nervous system is agreeing.”

— iambrillyant

[usefulquotes7]

When death finds you, may it find you alive -African Proverb

[alphabetsoup-blogposts]

Looking at the girl I love, A slim girl of the bright East, A small light of my life, I can feel the weight of the stars Bobbing on the empty palms of my hands; I can feel the surge of tides On the shores of the sea in my heart, (Come! The world becomes mine.) The moon pulls at my wax heart, Whose wick of honeyed love, Burns resplendent love out to a swooning world With a flame, red with the sun’s best blood.

...

LOOKING AT THE GIRL I LOVE Njabulo S Ndebele

[yumesoraa]

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Its Spring time again. | 7.11.22 When I close my eyes, I ask us about the pillars we have held in our life, against the dark blue skies and thirty-three moons I am met with so much majesty, I close my eyes —again—. I can see now that we have come here to teach me about how my longing has to always be at our states of peace beck and call, that when our embodiment is of the lights we care to see…

[yourdailyqueer]

Stella Nyanzi

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Queer

DOB: 16 June 1974

Ethnicity: Ugandan

Occupation: Activist, poet, writer, medical anthropologist, scholar

Note: One of the first scholars to publish research on African homosexuality. International press has called her "one of Africa's most prominent gender rights activists," "a leading scholar in the emerging field of African queer studies," and a leader in the fight against "repressive anti-queer laws" and for "freedom of speech."

[thefugitivesaint]

Nikki Giovanni, 'Allowables', ''Chasing Utopia'', 2013 Source  

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy flew a short distance downstream, to a quiet spot where the burn trickled peacefully through a wee level channel it had carved for itself on its meandering journey to the sea.

The moorland was dressed in all its autumn splendour now, displaying its finest colours of the year in a jubilant burst before it rested through the darkest months of the year. Algy had never much cared for the brash greens of the short-lived Highland summer, and in the depths of winter the land too often looked drained of colour entirely, clothed only in washed-out browns and dirty greys. But in October it came into its glory, especially when the sun broke through after a period of rain.

Surrounded by the invigorating fragrance of bog myrtle, which rose from the wee bush on which he had found a perch, Algy contemplated the beauty of the landscape, reflecting that those dreary poets and writers who had likened autumn to a period of decay and death must have been blind indeed, both literally and metaphorically, for not only was the fall of the year magnificent in itself, but it invariably ended in a comforting period of rest and joyful festivities before leading once again into another beautiful and uplifting spring…

It’s all a farce,—these tales they tell About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o’er field and dell, Because the year is dying. Such principles are most absurd,— I care not who first taught ’em; There’s nothing known to beast or bird To make a solemn autumn. In solemn times, when grief holds sway With countenance distressing, You’ll note the more of black and gray Will then be used in dressing. Now purple tints are all around; The sky is blue and mellow; And e’en the grasses turn the ground From modest green to yellow. The seed burrs all with laughter crack On featherweed and jimson; And leaves that should be dressed in black Are all decked out in crimson. A butterfly goes winging by; A singing bird comes after; And Nature, all from earth to sky, Is bubbling o’er with laughter. The ripples wimple on the rills, Like sparkling little lasses; The sunlight runs along the hills, And laughs among the grasses. The earth is just so full of fun It really can’t contain it; And streams of mirth so freely run The heavens seem to rain it. Don’t talk to me of solemn days In autumn’s time of splendor, Because the sun shows fewer rays, And these grow slant and slender. Why, it’s the climax of the year,— The highest time of living!— Till naturally its bursting cheer Just melts into thanksgiving.

[Algy is quoting the poem Merry Autumn by the late 19th century African American poet Paul Laurence Dunbar, whose parents were both emancipated slaves and who was one of the very first African American writers to achieve recognitions and success.]

[aslisjournal]

The Choice of growth

In my latest blog post I wrote about my belief that growth is a choice, the consequence of apathy, the region beta paradox theory, and my attempts at living the most fulfilling life possible.

Do you hold the belief that every chapter in your life is trying to tell you something?

[chrisevansmentee]

we all dream of conquering time, so the knees may not grow sore with earth pleading, so death may be put to shame and into the shade. But time and death are what dreams are made of, banging at the very doors of the day-night eye. ~Titus chukwuemeka Nwosu.

[heartsoundslikelove]

ANNOUNCEMENT! The Fragments of my mind - the delicate lines to this place and time, is now available

For those seeking poetry that resonates with thoughtful individuals, poetry enthusiasts, children, educational institutions, and humanity at large, “The Fragments of My Mind: The Delicate Lines to This Place and Time” by Steve Anc is an excellent starting point. This anthology encompasses themes of hope, despair, love, self-care, power, fame, war, peace, and death. It showcases the allure of…

[uwmspeccoll]

Copper Sun

Last week we brought you Harlem Renaissance poet Countee Cullen's (1903-1946) first major poem The Ballad of the Brown Girl. Today we present Cullen's second collected book of poetry, Copper Sun, published in New York by Harper & Brothers in 1927, with illustrations by the same artist who illustrated Ballad, the unrelated Art Deco artist Charles Cullen (1887-?). Copper Sun is a collection of over fifty poems that explore race, religion, and sexuality in Jazz Age America, and particularly the possibility of unity between white and black people, as exemplified in the two Cullens, one black, the other white.

View more work by Countee Cullen.

View other books illustrated by Charles Cullen.

View other Black History Month posts.