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Out of Africa
into the layers of night trees
lingering scent of moist southern soil
sweet mold from sweeping
spanish moss draped across
moist ferns and swaying tobacco plants
superimposed like winding glimpses of truth
a history hidden
under chains of bondage
the drums tell the story
ripe powerful painful rough
thick scars healed on the dark back of a man
too proud to bend down
skins vibrate against hot palms
mahogany arms wave wildly
the Gods stir
clouds rumble
a thunder deep
eyes roll back seeing past lives
the ancestors call
sound of rattling seed shells
shake like venom sharp
strike of a copperhead
a maleficent hiss - remembrance
centuries of brutality
hot leaves burn crisp
in the belly of fire
form beads of sweat along tree bark
and ebony foreheads
drip slowly like tears
along searing skin
sparks of fire lay sizzling
in sooty locked hair
as ancient chants hang thick
in humid air
sounds from the motherland
as darkness wanes
time perpetuates
black misery
with blood red earth
under our feet
Freak
You think you know me.
simple, a crazy girl
with a beer in my hand and a flow
to my hips, an easy catch
watch me
move fire with my hands
challenge the stars with my eyes
smoke glides around my face
an invitation between smiles
You want me.
my bag of tricks is tempting
promising a fun night
nothing more
just a wild story to tell
your frat punk friends, a joke
around the next poker table
Listen now.
watch me
flick my tongue with fury
(what's the difference between yes, please and fuck you)
watch me
go from sexy novelty to an insult
in your petty existence
watch me
change your opinion of women
with two quick words
alter your shallow perception
with too strange thoughts
for your simple mind
to grasp
(this is what a feminist looks like)
Lust can turn to hatred
when you find out how deeply
my fire flows
Discovering Spirit
Finding darkness
amidst blinding electric light
Moonbeams blotted stars reach lost
in a new frequency of sky
Seeking earth soil
through harsh reds and metal
flash sharp against concrete
street signs and gas pumps
break remnants of tree lines
where forests once stretched
Searching for mountains
thick with moss crusted aged bark
and sweet grass
blankets of pine along hillsides
dense green with spruce trees
branches saturate
where the wild ones dwelled
slopes of woodland recede quickly
in noxious fog of progress
Discovering spirit
hidden within asphalt
where tiny stems of daisies
push through street cracks
a primeval life blood flowing deeply
aligned with the tides -
reflecting moonlight
in a lost emerald labyrinth
alive from a time
when womyn were Gods
drumming defined sacred
and all acts of love
were our rituals
by Allyson Kirk
