Language Love.

Believe in the ability of language to heal. Let these butterfly and love-laced words infuse your Spirit with the joy from the Cosmas: the feminine genius of consciousness. Ascend.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Am I too BLACK for You??

Am I too BLACK for You??

No really...

Butternut Toffee, Sweet Mahogany Coffee....I Am
Yet you tell me my taste is tart?

Am I...too Ancient in my ways?? Too star-like when I gaze??
Treasures that you can't appraise


Am I...too melanin-inspired,
Cinnamon-flavored torch to to your Fire
Everything you desire??
One hit of me will take you higher

I walk with the Sun, dance with the Moon
Wash away the world's ills--Afrakan monsoon
Yes, Revolution is coming soon
Hair standing high on top of my head, every eye on me in the room

Citrus honey kisses, golden hips mistress
A taste way past delicious....

Or strange fruit that hangs from trees
Flowers in her hair, Billie Holideez

The Renaissance of Harlem, death comes in threes
Black Leaders, Brown people, the Marcus Garveys

Am I bitter from the stench of Afrakan captives?
Inner-city ghettoes, street-sweeps, pissy mattresses
Blasphemous! Telling me my God isn't Black!
Look at my skin, how perfect is that?

How should I the trafficking of crack?
We lost something down the road, now I'm fighting to get it back...

From your reality, eye am mentally detached
I call it my call it being too BLACK!

Am I too Black? No really...
Born in Afraka....Roots in Philly
Rude gal tank you, sometimes eye be silly...

But still, I have to ask again...really?

I'm just trying to do me brother,
trying to be FREE brother,
show you I'm still your Mother,
Love for you OVER and UNDER cover,
probably will never be another

Soulstress from Down Under
My Voice vibration is like the roll of thunder...

Am I too Black? No really..
Look at me, my eyes...Black Royalty
Look into my heart, so much stone you see

Being Black is just my...actuality.

Black Woman. (An Afiyana Post.)


Black Goddess, dark in the night
Giving angels their wings for flight
Spinning around coconut and orange groves in Islands and Florida
Stopping in Georgia to smell a peach,
Hillside mountains like Minnesota
Her curves, well within your reach
If your hands were to create the perfect silhouette
Her body would be only mutely modeled
Your hands wander and you squrim,
you ain't get there yet
Her eyes mesmerizing you like a young toddle
And a sweet scent of Connamon she left on the Holy Land
Her honey brwon fingertips touching the Soul of Man
Adding more color to the night
Giving angels their wings for flight
Arousing many, yet taking no man as a prisoner
To her love and seductress glow though, they would all surrender

Blindly hunted by the meeks of men,
The sun glowing from her face
Her arrogance is well-respected, well-deserved even

Look at her sashay
Natura moevements of heartbeats, eye blinks, baby steps
Like the man whose grazed hands frame her silhouette
As Naturel as crysatl blue water found on Caribbean seas
Her cinnamon-scented kisses leave behind the sand of the world's beaches

Her breath breathes wind at the coolest of times

Her smile as wide as the sky, bright as the month of July

Her skin, still Dark as the darkest of nights
Giving angels their wings for flight

Naree' Renelle Post.