for the love of debbie cakes
by Abiona
Copyright: © 2008
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my little
swiss cake roll,
honey bun,
have i told you lately
you're the one
that leaves an aching
in my tooth
for the sweetness
of your sugar.
sugar sweetness, you're so fine
mi rude gyal
lemme make ya dutty wine
with the rhythms of my hunger
for your
tropical dessert
oh dora,
i wanna explore ya
build castles in your honor
on the shores of
sandy beaches of Discovery Bay
island breezes, they may
carry us towards
a whole new world
in which we shall finally play
grab a carpet, and i'll grab jasmine
and together we'll all fly
towards Wicked Angels
dancing amongst Starrs
in the darkness of a Heathen Sky
im a genie in a bottle, baby*
wish upon me with your kisses
i promise i shall grant them all
when you let me show you
what bliss is
*christina aguilera
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I'm her American Boy.
by Wordz
Copyright: © 2009
Her electoral college voting
arrogant capitalist playing
nuyorican salsero
whose hat is straight but head is crooked.
I give her the English
foreign schools don't teach.
She likes to play customs,
so I pat her down
and stamp her passport.
Tell her poems about Pangea,
a time before oceans seperated our home lands.
Our lanuage borders dilute
any knowledge of conflicts of interest,
this is a free trade.
Kisses sign treaties
over diplomatic closed door meetings.
Inhibition gets taxed
and natural resources
are shared. On the International market,
we're illegal in dozens if countries
and frowned upon
by domestic religions.
We're terrorist
to our home lives, destablizing
racial pride
and tearing down cultural facades.
She revokes my license
and makes me sing a new anthem
after the crush crusades,
after the overspill of the Atlantic
after we both after.
It makes me want to leave home.
Pack-up comfort
leave the spanlging stars
and say goodbye to New York pizza.
I invite my citizenship to a dual,
no longer content on just one contenant,
one of us
is going to have to assimilate.
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Sun-Stained
by Safia
Copyright: © 2008
His voice spoke of Columbia Heights
But its rhythmic lilt
Told me stories
Of the Senegal
Full lips perched
Atop ivory molars, strengthened
From years of grit
Grind, and
Grinning,
He sang me songs of crossed coasts
Clashed cultures
Vying for prominence
Between the kente
And cotton
Draped across his broad shoulders
Rippling expanse of back darkened by the
Inks of the million masterpieces
Embedded in his flesh
Seeping into the stitching on his white tee
Attracting the vandal in me
We
Trekked back alleys and train tracks and
I loved the ink-smudged fingers
Of this sun-stained man-
Child, he
Embodied the collaborative allure
Of rugged masculinity and boyish charm
Characteristic of a continent
Of men,
All their mothers’ sons.
My hair wafted incense into the still winter chill
And the cowries clinking on my wrists were the percussion
To the lullabies he’d hum of lands we’d once
Loved, lived
And left
Like
We ultimately knew that we’d do
To one another
Yes, I left
Because raw sandalwood no longer invoked smoky scenes from a Sudanese childhood
Instead reminded me of the reasons I loved him,
Columbia Heights instead of Khartoum
And how dare he have interfered
With my memories of home
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