Ode to Black Poets
this morning as i started my day
i suddenly realized that i'm 25 now
and i'd like to consider myself a poet
i'd also like to think that my inspiration
comes not only from my own experiences
but also from the lessons learned
and the lives lived by my fellow poets
who have been misunderstood
and thought of as being too ethnic
because they wrote about the everyday
pain and suffering of our race
and too militant
because they wrote of their dreams
of unity for the empowerment of our people
and labeled too deep
because their readers uneducated minds
could not comprehend where their poetic
rhythm was trying to lead them
so if anyone who ever reads my creations
considers me to be
too ethnic, too militant or too deep
then i must have done something right
for that was the plan all along
and i pray that just one time
before my life here is said and done
that someone would compare
my poetic genius or ingenious
to that of my fellow poets
who wrote so realistically and so beautifully
about Black life and the Revolution
it would be precisely at that moment
that i would become Langston Hughes
and never again would i allow a dream of mine
to be Deferred nor would i ever underestimate
the power of My People
and i would become Nikki Giovanni
and while looking back on The Life I Led
and the lives i've touched
and finally realizing that all of the good
along with the bad was all part of the
Creator's Divine plan
and as i journey forward throughout
the rest of my life
stopping occasionally for just a little
Ego Tripping
daring anyone to ever be bold enough to ask me
where my secret lies
for then i would become Maya Angelou
standing proud and tall looking them dead
in the eyes and simply say
"I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal Woman That's Me"
and despite the worlds wickedness
Life Doesn't Frighten Me
Aria Nicole © 2005
Cover 2 Cover
Baby can you read me
I mean open my cover
And read me from the inside out
Taking me in and letting me
Digest in you
Like a scripture on Sunday morning
Read me nice and slow
Sounding out every syllable
While I linger on the tip of your tongue
Read me soft and as sensual as
Lyrics to a Luther Vandross song
Read me until you know my most
Intimate thoughts
Line by line
Chapter by chapter
Learning all I have to teach you…
Accepting all I have to give you…
Allowing only me to love you…
Cause what we share is like FUBU
For us…by us…and in us…
all our secrets we trust…
So read me and study me
Until I’m embedded into your mental
To the point that you can recite me
While your fingertips turning my pages
Will entice me
Into letting you thrust
Yourself into my story
Wanting to write new chapters
For your eyes have seen the glory
Read me like I am the first and last
Book ever written
Read me ova and ova again
Each time discovering a whole new world.
Aria Nicole © 2005
4 Days & 3 Nights ( A Freestyle Love Poem)
Rain falls again today
just like it did those 4 days & 3 nights
last week when u touched me oh so gently
taking me out of my comfort zone
allowing me to just let go and be free
making me your queen
if only for a little while
4 days & 3 nights I was the only woman in the world
in your world, in our world... or
at least that's how u made me feel when u spoke to me in your native tongue,
awakening places
with your tongue
leaving me totally sprung
as I try to comprehend reality from fantasy
4 days & 3 nights we lived in the moment
no talk of love and relationships to complicate
or stifle the magic... there was no need
we knew what we felt and we acted on it
allowing our souls to connect
passion was the guide
and now I’m open wide
basking in my memories
still wearing your scent
feeling your touch
missing u so much
need to hear u whisper
in my ear just like u did
4 nights & 3 days ago
Aria Nicole © 2005
Home-Less
A house is not a home when you’re living in fear
Walking on eggshells because you’re afraid to breathe
And within the confines of these walls live painful
secrets
Dark and ugly secrets, that little girls should never
know
A house is not a home once you learn that the boogieman
is real
No longer a figment of a child’s imagination
But a real force in the form of your father
Who terrorizes your dreams, even when you’re awake
A house is not a home when muffled cries go unnoticed
And silent screams are never heard though they fight
To break free with every shallow breath that you take
But you have to stay strong and endure for your little
sister’s sake
A house is not a home when your father rapes you
Body, soul and innocence lost to paternal hands
That are suppose to love and protect you
Instead they victimize you brutally without remorse
A house is not a home when the stench of incest is so
thick
It constantly smothers you, and the pain inside consumes
you
Wishing you could crawl inside yourself for a place to
hide
A place not yet tainted by the ungodliness of your
father’s sins
A house is not a home when you have visions of killing
him
Nice and slow trying to take back every ounce of dignity
Every shred of self-respect, every peace of your heart
and soul
That drains from your 12-year-old body every time that
he forces you
A
house
is not a home
when you’re
daddy’s "special girl."
Aria Nicole © 2005
