Rise to the Funk

Room swells so sweetly

Smoky atmosphere of blues

Working it’s taboo

Floetic fusion of 

Funk-a-delic filigree

Designed to entwine

Around your melancholy

Listen carefully to each 

Melody

Taking you back to

The days when women were bare

Breasted, baby rested 

Strapped to backs as they 

Danced tribal style to a

Tight sheepskin drum rap

Can’t help feel the bass-

Player and the high-hat. Nod

Your head to that. Sip

From your juice and re-lax

Saxaphone on alto 

Is about to answer back.

Reminds me of the waves from

The rough crossing. Tossin’

‘mongst those crammed in. Only the

Strong survived by keeping the

Rhythm. Sax removed the shacklin’

Hear the high octaves

Of the C-trumpet player, 

Man that man can play a

Haunting harmony to the 

Saxophony. Lips kiss it in

Cheeks blowin’ out and suckin’ 

In again

As I reminisce 

On the days when we were

Slaves and blowin for our life

Under Mas’as strike. Blow for Blow!. 

“Swing low sweet chariot”

Ye-ah ba-by play for

Me. Ignite the chasm 

Between my ear and my bossom

Create a prism of orchestral

Funk-o-gasms. Spasms 

That journey through me, running

Wild like a crazed banshee 

Not unlike the days

When we tried to flee slavery

At the cover of night, moonlight

And drums to guide we. Singing

The blues to charter the way

Help cover the footsteps of one

More runaway. Brave soul

“Coming for’ to carry me home”

Oh yes I confess 

I don’t understand a word 

She’s saying. Seems “Skoo-da-le-bap-bap”

 Is a new expression. A 

Better way to rid the pain. 

Immerse yourself in this wild

Deity before we. This 

Sultry songstress complimentin’ 

The blues quartet 

Reverberations

Of loveliness the day slavery 

Progressed to our own

Emancipation. Still waiting

For forty-acres and a mule

Reparation, repatriation!

Heck, at least I got an education

Out of Uncle Sam and Queen Vics

Institutions. The guilty

Graduation of tribal drums

To Jazz, Blues and Funk Stations

Put Black Men firmly

At the root of musical

Civilisation

Lets explode under the jazz

Firm-a-men-tations. Pick stars 

For our pockets, to pick our 

Souls and unlock it, to

Remind us of the journey

When music carried we from

Homeland to slavery

And then set us free. 

Shab-bab-skoodle-oo-wwee

Now ain’t that some kinda funky!

  

Dear You Know Who (a love letter poem)

Date: Today

Dear You Know Who,

I fought against the temptation to pen you.  Because putting you into words, might be the worst thing I could do.  But I’m doing it anyway. As someone as smooth and delicious could easily stray, unless I pen you right now, here, my way.

  In just a few days you’ve got to me.  So sincere.  So gentle. So manly. At first you were only electronic… an email, a text. Next: a voice, whose dulcet tones and non-premeditated choice of words, was all I waited up to hear... every night…at the end of the line. And in the daytime, I found myself steeling against the temptation to.bombard.you.with.a.deluge.of.SMS.messages.to.your.phone. Didn’t want to scare you off, or come across uncool.  I’m no fool! And although I don’t like playing games, sometimes you have to.  Till you don’t need to any more.  You know the score.

Then when we finally met. Stop.  Let me tell you how much I wanted to meet you: As much as the mountain wanted to meet Mohammed; as much as oxygen needs to be carried by the bloodstream; as much as labour pains want to scream. I tried to avoid a scheme.  Instead I wanted you the right way.  With you wanting me as much.  Never thought my luck would lead me to you. But it did.  And although I hid at first, my pleasure in your smile, your eyes, your embrace; you saw through me all the same. “You checking me out, girl?” You said as I walked your way. And YES I WAS.  Cos you looked FINE. And from there the day progressed.  Score: A Perfect 10, over ice.

Lunch was nice… check that… lunch was delicious.  As I wished to be the sauce on your lips for you to lick and “mmmm” as it slid over your tongue.  But that was to come.  ‘cause we left our Italian and walked and talked and learned about each other sons; past loves, past dislikes; how to avoid future spites. I could sense every sinew of you.  My sweet, icrecream dipped, coco flavoured lover to be. Then you kissed me.  

Two atoms collided. I was divided into twos and threes as you pleasured me passionately. Hands on the nape of my neck, just the way I like.  You never went further than that. A gentlemanly touch. Instead you drank ever-y-thing up that I had to give back, with my kiss.  Right there in the park. Sighs, like love starved teens. Grass between my thighs. I creamed. You hardened. Our souls shared the urgent burden. And I knew when my spirit took my steely will and made me whisper “Giving him something he can feel” – that. This. Was. Real. 

Now don’t get it twisted.  I’m not just a lustful sista.  I can see the vision of our future, of you and me in life together.  I can see so clearly that I am blinded by faith. Hope is my white-stick that is feeling for you, leading me closer to you in mind, in body, in spirit too.

See, writing this is tempting fate.  But it’s too late! I’ve already released it to the urban universe.  Let it do it’s best or worst and then be done.  I’m gone.

                                           

I feel you, You Know Who.                                          

Love, Me

A Favour of Sleep

Get me a bed

Make it fit for a peasant

To rest head

And weary soul. No 'stead

Is necessary

For this dilapidated sleep

Candidate is steady

On back, or front, or side.

As long as bed

Resides in the dry

And dark, away from stars

And cheery Moon

With her full intent to

Make me 'bey

Lead me now to slumber

I succumb.  Surrender

My thoughts

Remove them with my dusty

Clothes and timeless watch

And dreamlessly

Collapse.

No chance perhaps of

Cover? To blanket out

The stray ramblings 

That still wander aimlessly

Through the fields of thoughts

Like lost sheep.

Counting them never did release

The sleep

Instead it lead to more

Pointless counting 

And thinking

And rambling

And -

Dear God if sleep keeps a man sane

Then mad me not!

For simply sleep is my calling...

Not eternal. Just till dusk

Is dawning and shaking off night,

Carelessly sprinkling his dew

While pulling on morning.

No other mourning is required this night

Thank you Oh Creator.

And with eyes heavy with sleep

I bequest You

Forgive this demanding peasant

Who till now has done nothing

But ask favour.

At las-