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Best Ethiopian Poems

Below are the all-time best Ethiopian poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Ethiopian poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Ethiopian Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Ethiopian poems are below this new poems list.

Ethiopian Sun by Schumacker, Earl
MY ETHIOPIAN EMPRESS by Pierre-Alexander, Brian
Ethiopian Winds by Golden, Gregory
Your Ethiopian Eyes by Golden, Gregory
Ethiopian Eyes by Golden, Gregory

View all new Ethiopian Poems

The Best Ethiopian Poems

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Pride of the Motherland

Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak

Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands 
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept

Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity

Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~

Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~


Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010

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Africa, O Africa

Africa, O Africa!
Home to such wonder and diversity- 
From the Sahara to the Namib
Up the Highlands and down to the Savanna
From the serpentine Nile to the great Kiliminjaro
And from the Rain Forests to the Serengeti-
How we have loved you!
But your love is bittersweet
Your lips drip with honeycomb
Alas, your kiss is the kiss of death.
You slash and you burn
You rape without giving back
Spiritism pollutes the very air you breathe
Your snow-capped mountains bury secrets
While your ancient rivers run crusty dry.


O Africa, sweet land of the ages!
Your lush forests and plains breathe life-
From the Wildebeest to the Lion
The stately Giraffe to the powerful Rhino
From the Great White Elephant to the Boa
And from the Chimp to the Gazelle-
How awestruck we are!
But your lust for wealth is insatiable 
Your desire for riches has blinded you
Mother earth gently weeps.
The rifle has become your lover
The machete your constant companion
And with your slaughtering knife you maim
The spirits of the dead have left for
A distant land - never to return.

Africa, my Africa!
An eclectic people you have always been-
From the Masai to the Aborigine
The Ethiopian to the Egyptian
From the Hutu to the Tustsi
And from the Kenyan to the Zulu-
How impressive you are!
But your tribes embrace hate
The killings, O God - the killings
Weep for your children, the innocent babes.
The graveyards are not yet full
Sheol hungers for her prey
Hades cries out for more victims
Satan presides from his throne on a crag
His angels are giddy with lusty delight.

Africa, our Africa!
Look deep inside yourself
Into the very depths of your soul.
Return to us with humble heart
For you are beautiful
Yes, you are beautiful-
And we love you


*For the photo

O Child Not Mine

I hear your cries, O child not mine
I sense your anguish and despair
your shattered heart whispers sad songs
your crushed spirit yearns for release

a world gone mad in a universe of madness
chilling tales told by old women
the rantings of useless and wayward men

what can be done to save a soul
who will speak for the downtrodden
who will listen to the desperate pleas

I reach out to you, O child not mine
your broken heart I shall mend
your silent pleas have touched me deeply
places concealed have been exposed

chaos reigns among the created ones
claims of godliness are circumspect
the trumpet blows, demands an accounting

who will teach the little ones
who will take up the cause
what will it take to move the hearts of men

I am here for you, O child not mine
with songs of love and tranquility
wings of protection are mine to give
freely I do give them to you

yes, freely I do give them to you


 



Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

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Where do we come in

Where do we come in
					in medias res  not knowing nor caring when
doesn’t everybody pine being number one we leave behind our lives in pages  pictures  or else make for images of what we saw dreamt of as part of our lives in marble  stone  rock  twisted metal  scrawled hieroglyphics of the tortured deserting mind do we have to leave then or when or do we strain for more  ours and others
lives in one vista of the whole on the tele they are playing games   plentiful games  rubber boats  caves and scaly cardboard mountains in gluey-glossy plastic colours each team was flown in on the sponsor’s purse each team member  tailored for each part  sporting spotted crocodile scales  bunny tails  blown butterfly ears  bearhair streaming down from head to toe in a brownish hugging fur hue before and after  the sponsor’s exclusive breaktime slot invited guests clapping deaf on peak dinnertime  and for millions and millions of others relaxing at home  or maybe standing leaning against the open door or lolling on sofas  sweetmeats within reach of crawling fingers  highballs in handsafter lush juices streaking down protein-heaped plates turned to a gravy curd on the low table that the au pair would remove before the programme end   while the prize board chalked hundreds of thousands  for those who merely did nothing else other than have themselves a ball
      in whose stomach-holes do the golf balls sink  	

	the postman in the morning brings in the Waste Industry’s thick envelopes stuffed with multi-coloured magazines together with ball-points with your name inscribed as though you were to be called on to affix your signature to international treaties that last only as long as the ball-point would that is to say three and half days if you use it only twice your name and add elegantly embossed on handsome stickers asking for handouts with glorious recall of their efforts for the poor the sans abri the diabetics the heart-stricken the spastics the handicapped the endless medical research for cancer how many million times can research be duplicated and all those lush colours in deluxe printed covers  if only they could print a poem for some poet without a literary agent every time they send out a bulging envelope  you give to one and the whole damned carnival is at your door cymbals clanging voices hymning every week of the year  year in and year out they send you their mag with professional photos of dying but well-fed sick forsaken-looking children posing from Ethiopia India Costa Rica ha the Rich Coast what you give in return cannot cover the cost of stamps after a mere stream of au secour calls for oeuvres caritatives during a period of weeks or months  
	in whose sick souls do the golf balls sink
what are they doing so wonderful that is not like the blaring blazé voice of the compère on the tele on a Saturday evening primetime show who gets paid in the hundreds of thousands just because he’s a celebrity and all the made-moi-selles in the front row with tongues lolling would at the slightest glance be ready to lick their hands  a tincan Saturday night chivalrous mounted charger whom the hebdomadaire hounds write pages and pages about their visits to any old place what they wear which senorita worshipping at their lapels  so often that people don’t look at their faces anymore for they know every feature by heart every trait every dimple and pimple  
in whose brain holes do the golf balls sink
right round the year shine tennis stars  the same faces jumping up and down the ATP  grunting and swearing after balls that bounce out and away from their needless hands their eyes straining beyond all measure of human endurance  each ball they hit virtually a hundred dollar bill  and when they are pushed down in the ATP list by the fresh teens buoyed by muscle tyre-lessness  there’s always the clowning in the rigged up exhibition matches or the doubles or mixed doubles Man and John  Yan and JM to take the laugh out of the bounce in the yo-yo ATP also-ran list
	in whose psyche-holes do the golf balls sink 
what do they send in the post to the directors of the beggars’ opera  what do popstars contribute they who sell the I heard that classical melody song on bandaid to millions and get gold in return infinitely more than they can use   who filled the paupers’ grave with Mozart  who gives a thought to the lonely pilfered Cervantes but the Sancho of his delirium
in whose a-holes do the golf balls sink
was that MJ gyrating grabbing his crotch in a spacecraft  the decor specially ordered and paid for   for the nonce  what did it cost  what’s the cost of an Ethiopian peasant Indian meal a day  uncooked corn or flour douzed in tinned or dried milk  the surplus waste of white markets  all above-board of course   eaten out of rusty discarded worm-twirling tins and cans and shells of infested coconuts
	in whose dream-holes do the golf balls sink  
	where do the directoires of the beggars’ opera dine what do they suck on  and how often do they sup together in the name of the needy all over the romping world  do they wine themselves while gobbling on foie gras caviar shark’s fin and pheasant or is this an impudent question  you the charity-mongers
   so here we come in   
in medias res
	it ain’t mon problème that the needy can’t ask but in the street   i’m not the conscience of the world  the grapes of wrath  the martyrised conscience of the common Indian patting tortias on the mud patch a strong people don’t need a strong man how do you make a people strong if not with tortias and chilli con carne  are they still strong where Zapata left only his riddled body in straw sandals  has the Indian peasant still enough fight left in him where drug cartels rule a kingdom where ideals hardly thrust up on reefers
follow the golf balls and squirm jumping up and down in a squirting frenzy on the mons veneris
© T. Wignesan –Paris, 1997  From the collection (revised) : longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999.


Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

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I am Stephen

Can you not see?
All the ducks inside your arm?
Did you think hotel paradise,
Came with no illusions attached?
Violins and rats
Rats and violins
Conductor in a white suite
Playing musical roulette
Slow motion squirrels a symphony
Dancing death on my head

Hotel paradise is the rats meow
Old couches and peeling paint
The evil Mickey mouse is really quite quaint
Oh Susanna sings in this hotel
Ethiopian Nelly checked out long long ago

Dear friends and gentle hearts
I pass on with 38cents in civil war notes
With 3 cents to spare
Bury me amongst the minstrel songs
Among quiet flowers gleefully listening

I have composed stately song
As I decompose, My epitaph shall say
Beautiful dreamer down below
I lie in my suitcase
Ships are made for sinking
Whiskey made for drinking
I am Stephen but who am I?

Form: Disjointed Double Verse

Can you guess who is Stephen?


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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Your Ethiopian Eyes

Against your
Smooth skin
As dark as this
Ethiopian night
Your heart sparkles
Like candy red apples
This I am sure and still are
Exquisite orange sunset sail
Across your Ethiopian eyes


Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2009

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MY ETHIOPIAN EMPRESS

My I-thiopian Empress
With skin so smooth and fresh
My I-thiopian Empress
You’re divine, my royal tempest.

My I-thiopian Empress
With lips of gentle tenderness
My I-thiopian Empress
Behold the beautiful covenant…I kiss.

©Copyright January 22, 2012 by Brian Pierre-Alexander
© All Rights Reserved



Copyright © Brian Pierre-Alexander | Year Posted 2012

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Ethiopian Sun

            Ethiopian Sun

My first born son, Bon, died today in my arms
Thin arms, swollen stomach, flies touching
The cold glazed eyes of his tiny body
My tears can’t save him
Quench what was thirst
Or wash away the sins of living
He will never know to read or write
He did not know the name of his own land
And killer Ethiopian sun
Which he just died under
Or his sister, sweet Biny
Who lost her life at the hands
Of the bandit war lords Marxist Berg
I laid her ravaged body down under sun and dying
Endangered Hagenia Abyssinica tree  
With no hope in Ethiopia  
Soon, all would be gone

9/23/14 Free Verse Poem- Poetry Contest


Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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KAZAKHSTAN ON MY MIND

(Transit Lounge, Dubai International Airport, circa 2007)


He answered
that he was from far Kazakhstan, 
“Exotic place,” he added,
which I know but could not pinpoint 
on my mental map.

She smiled
and said, “I am from India somewhere
farther to the northeast bordering China.”
“Hence her fairer skin,” I thought.

And she piped in,
“From Ethiopia,” and I could not
but think of just how much she paid
to have her curly hair straightened. 

From the counter
of their air-conditioned, compact
caravanserai, they all chorused 
the suggestion that I opt
for king prawn salad 
which, indeed, was so delicious
to the hungry eyes but just so rich
for my already travel-thinned billfold.

Thus I settled
for some salmon sandwich
and a bowl of curly noodles
that the Chinese had perfected 
long ago in those steaming kitchens
of their fabled silk road inns.

“Fragrant tea
from out the hot and humid hills 
of southern India,” the Ethiopian
said with flourish, bringing me
my mug to wash away
the fishy taste still lingering 
along the silk roads 
of my taste buds, as I vainly tried
to pinpoint far Kazakhstan
on my travel-weary mental map
while waiting, sleepy, for the call 
to put me, once more, 
on my way.





Copyright © Miguel Mendoza | Year Posted 2013

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In the Name of the Pope

Vanguard in death and deception,
Innocent hearts heed to his illusion.
Cry Mama Africa, cry for your children.
Angels with dark countenances are raised against them.
Rise black man, awake from your slumber,
Inactivate the medium that is deceiving you.
Understand, no! over stand the number:
Six, six, six is the number of a man.

From the west they came, with bibles and guns,
Igniting a fire, a burning desire to be like them.
Lost in the labyrinths of prayer, summoning gnomes and goblins;
In persuasion we fly with angels and jinns,
Incarcerated in spins of sins.

Dark is our external shades, but our heart is as red as blood.
Ethiopian blood stained the suit of the woman we dearly loved.
Is the black child a sacrifice to god, their god?



Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010

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Jewels of Africa

Jewels of Africa.

The saffron Queen spins the lilac sky,
her rays flick crimson cinders into Royal Blue Oceans.
Submerge, sizzle, frizzle...going, going, gone! ...But Not.
Cumulus clouds drizzle pepper fog over pink Flamingos, homeward bound.

Tea-green Botswana bush,
teeny, tiny Hummingbirds hover over brink-pink Balsams,
feast on elixir of nectar.
Royal Albatross rides the last whip of wind.
Sulking Stork swoops through veiled mists above marshy meadow ponds.

Sword sunbeams lash chrome, coppery twilight.
Mooned dusks, a violet cape cloaks bathing blooms.
Nightscape sky sparks, preparing morning’s thin blue...aurora hue.
Camouflaged branches stretch, tickle studded clouds
as ribboned roots cling to crevice homes.

A spook- silver ring appears from nowhere, pearling ripples aluminium.
Beams spill across the sea like lines of glittering fire.
Ethiopian wolves howl composed solos, 
phantom echoes shudder Tarantula’s lair 
as Flax Lily spurts scent...Frankincense and Lime.

Sultry Savannah’s secrets passed on by rhythmic lip-smacking Baboons,
cracking jokes in the knitted canopy, 
teasing and tickling clowning Hyena’s below as
a blinkered platoon of Jet Wood Ants march to their Majesty.

Dawn draws indigo voiles over Nephthys, Goddess of Night
slashes of Sunrise surge shadows as the Bush Lark spangles jewels in the air. 
The Alize wind dies in respect to heavenly panorama...
Mountains reflected, seen to be varnished into still, smalt-blue sea.


Copyright © Geraldine Douglas | Year Posted 2016

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Almaz Made The Flowers Arrange-

As I did gaze upon her for the first time as she labored in small shop in what appeared to be 
a hole in a wall that open into this place where she did work all day. Almaz was an Ethiopian 
beauty with gorges reddish color hair which was filled with big curly locks that seem to flow 
into an endless chasm of never ending twist and turns, with a smile that seem to light up that 
tiny little room. A rare beauty was she to behold, elegant yet graceful and humble in her 
soul…as I did watch her as she did strategically place each flower by hand one by one and 
with each gentile twist or turn of her soft golden tone skin colored hands until a work of art 
was form inside of each vase that they did adorn.  

Sometimes the vases were made of glass or maybe of some type of fine cultivated stone …
but each one that was made to become a work of art made to express someone else’s 
declared love or concern for a love of family member or even the lost of an unrequited love 
and she did do her best to express their thoughts with the arrangement made from the heart. 
With her beautiful brown eye’s that seem to tell a story of a pain and a deep love for her 
family… that she displayed with each piece of work that she did make. With each day of hard 
work in this small shop where she toiled all day in her endless attempt to repay her family 
for a debt that she so desperately wanted to repay…for it was the love of her father that had 
brought Almaz the flower arranger to this place. 

So many people do take the love of their family for granted, but… no not this lady…no not 
this lady…no not her ever, not even for a second in a day. Almaz made the flowers arrange 
all day, all for a debt of love that she wanted to repay. Little did she know that it was already 
repaid in full… with a father’s silent pray of love to see his daughter in a place where her 
dreams could blossom in the promise land, were no Kings are crowned or Queens ruled, but 
in this place of commoners were freedom was born to rule. Were even the poorest of men 
could rise to the highest office in the land. Truly your father has completed his arrangement 
in the vase with the most beautiful flower that he could find to place it in for the whole world 
to see, Almaz you are that flower that completes his arrangement.


Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2009

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Ethiopian Winds

can we hear
the indigo smiles,
the golden laughter
and the
spiritual
chants
of the
Ethiopian
wind


Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2010

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Uriah

The old Hittite came through the gate
Battle sharp and dripping
With the blackness of an Ethiopian night
The Kingdom of Zion to replicate
The compass star of David's sight
And through that gate walked with him
A destiny invisible of all the world
The crisis of a man by sin made grim
And vaster yet
A family's sun about to set
In immense sea, a national grief
Beyond mere historic proportions.

Raising Yahweh's standard the Hittite went
Sent by a virtue spent
With shadowless sword against masked Ammonites
And she the vessel of his heart
Dripping the sapphire of her African skies
Her purging task did initiate
Before the uncurtained eyes of Israel's prying king
How she daggered his faith
And staggered him like eddying dust
Crawling before the throne of savage lust
Her beauty and her will to yield -
This limping, shallow Vashti overthrown
Sealed Uriah's fate

Great warrior of the ancient clan of God
Yahweh's noble steward
Canaan's scion and stem of mystery
Conscripted to a Gentile race
Dravidian's doomed cornerstone
Summoned from the battle heat
Had no trumpet in his heart to blast retreat
And suffered where his soldiers like victors hold
Where Jacob slept without a sheet
The light from beauty's breast is cold
A common curse and old

And did not know
When sent away defied because he would not relent
That in his hands like in our genes
He carried that cold warrant of his own death
And the prophetic time
When Israel's sun would set


Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2010

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' Which Is Allegorical and Which Is Real (Radical) ? ... '

The Bible Itself, Explains Itself   (2 Pet. 1: 20)
Explains It Better, Than Anyone Else
Once, It’s Taken Off The Shelf
& Explore Complete Message Left

The Bible Tells, Which Words Are Allegorical     (Rev. 1: 1)
The Bible Tells, Which Verses Are Metaphorical    (Lu. 8: 10)
The Bible States Which Are Proverbs Or Parables  (Lu. 15: 3)
& The Bible Tells, What To Take Literal   (Matt. 24: 6, 34)

Noah & The Ark: Is That Allegorical Too?
& The Rainbow: Was That Just A Metaphorical View?
& The Apocalypse Vision: Will It Do What It Says Will Do?
Even Symbolic, Revelation Is A Literal Warning For You

66 Little Holy Books: Sacred-Lesson-Libraries   (Heb.  4: 12) (2 Tim.  3: 16, 17)
66 Detailed-Tablets: Devout, Divine Documentaries
66 Spirit Inspired Scrolls: Authorized Manu-Scripturally   (2 Pet.  1: 20, 21) 
66 Recorded-Notes: A Matter Of Life & Death- Must Reads   (Matt.  24: 38, 39) (2 Pet. 3: 5-7)

Some Bible Scholars, Only Point Out Cynic Commentaries
& Passages That They Find Arbitrary
But It’s Real Faith Whose Tongue Speak It’s Vocabulary
& It Takes Holy Spirit, To Clear Up Disparity    (1 Cor. 2: 10, 11)

It Takes Holy Spirit To Find Facts, Necessary   (John 14: 26)
& It Is Prophecies, That Makes This Book So Noteworthy
It Takes GOD’s Power To Fulfill Prophecy-Itinerary
It Takes The Power Of GOD … To Grasp Its Entirety!

(OK, I Got The Gloves-Off, I’m Punching It’s Enemies!)

& The World Has Spurned It … They’ve Burned It!
They’ve Refused To Have Learned It
& Have Even Tried To Turn It !
(God’s Anger, Yes, They’ve Earned It!)

They’ve Bashed It … They’ve Trashed It!
Claimed, Human-Knowledge Has Surpassed It!
Humph ! … Theirs Won’t Outlast It
When God, Has Finally ‘Had It !’

The Bible Itself, Tells You What It Means
Stop Messing With Sentences Of The Supreme
Don’t Get Caught Up In Fault-Finding Pretext
Don’t Take Words, Out Of Context

Look At The Surrounding Story Verse
Soon, Confusion Will Start To Disperse
Remember, Jesus Said To Keep Seeking   (Matt. 7: 7)
So Wait, ‘Til You’ve Heard The Whole Thing Speaking !

I Have Read The Whole Blessed Word
& GOD Spoke, In Each Word I Heard
No, MoonBee Doesn’t Hear Voices
MoonBee Just Hears … Which Choices !

Remember That Ethiopian Eunuch
Who Questioned Phillip, Who Knew It
Eunuch Said, ‘I Don’t Understand, Walk Me Thru It
Since You Ran Beside My Chariot To Do It

& Man Can’t Live By Bread Alone, Said Christ
A Metaphor, But It Was A Real Man & Advice!


Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

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Woe Is Me

Words have no more Meaning I find myself Deadlocked In an Ethiopian Night I Could go recklessly on But with what Hope? Will I Glide on? The Only thing I can find is woe only woe, only me, woe is me Voided since the start I'm contradictory in Armenia desert Mountains are more like rusty daggers pierced in my stomach; what else is there but pain? only pain, only me, pain is me


Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

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THE FIGURINE

I saw an ogling eye whispering at me
We were at the anthill of a dried a night
Like a duck in a thunderstorm

I drawled before her wet lips
She inserted her passion into my clay, dangling my balls
I became a saint-sinner singing in the euphoria of her nipples
I am an innocent globetrotter who throttle in the winds and whims of her imaginations
Now am sucked and soaked at the sea of life
High and dry because I fell head-long to her waist
Chewing the cuds of delusions
Being at the cross purpose with my very being
A glance of her beauty is out of question
Last night, I saw grass growing under her thigh
In a twinkling, my pipe was like that of the Ethiopian Eunuch
Well, her red lips fell of the mountain
Blowing out the heat and the gush from the Nile
Confining my element with her red clay
Oceans of rumbling and tumbling escaping
Emotions mixed in motions, tongue erupting
With her powdery milk she dissected my Jupiter
I became half gone, in a half day
But her lull resuscitated me
Guess who she is?
She is Figurine.


Copyright © awoh kingsley awoh | Year Posted 2012

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Ethiopian Eyes

This heart 
Shall rise
Like an 
Ethiopian sun
This night
Shall end
Through these
Ethiopian eyes


Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2008

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LET ME JOG YOUR MEMORY

I’m from Lift Valley
Deep in an over and done Ethiopian city
I come to lead you
How can you forget the architect of Egyptian pyramid?
Unless you are not part of this creation

The jungle raises me up
The only playground I master to play
While at the same time I became a pro hunter
Learning jungle survival vital lessons
But I'm not scared yet
Is in you, I value my jungle

And my central land of great lakes

is also available in my new poetry book
http://www.amazon.com/Wideness-Their-Voice-jungle-codes/dp/1495959538



Copyright © Emmanuel M. Hitilasha | Year Posted 2014

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ONE BOLD BLACK SOUL

often in the grand scheme of God's desires
He will use mankind to do what He requires
His providential purposes God's master plans
will utilize any and all types of man

the Pharoah declared a most horrendous decree
of infanticide on Jewish male babies
to put them to death to keep their numbers down
fearful of having too many Jewish males around
but history has a way of repeating itself again and again
as the young Black male populations today hangs by a fringe
with incarcerations, police brutality and killing each other
we're on the verge of eradicating our young Black brothers
a supposed threat to society that same old racist mentality

yet all it takes is for God to send someone to be bold
one person unafraid to break away from the mold
over 400 years of praying and keeping hope alive
a people once in slavery but today they now thrive
from Moses to Jeremiah to the Rev. Dr. King
to President Barak Obama God can change anything
One Bold Black Soul to say what needs to be said
One Bold Black Soul whose life is spirit-led

don't let the world compromise your moral integrity
let prayer be the tool you use to claim the victory
you need some solitude to simply reflect
on that which God desires of you and what of you He expects
God will be what you want no matter what you need
and He will do whatever is needed to help you succeed
so walk in the spirit and just wait for your time
and be ready to act when God gives you a sign
to be called into place with God's saving grace

Jeremiah told the people of the prophecy
about their demise if they confront their enemy
he was then thrown into a pit full of mud and slime
his death to be a certainty in a very short time
but One Bold Black Soul stepped up to the plate
and told the King to save Jeremiah before it was too late
One Bold Black Soul an Ethiopian man
told of the soldiers diabolical plans

to be bold, to be risky, to be resilient in your resolve
to step out of your comfort zone until the problem is solved
from Rosa Parks to Medgar Evers to Malcolm X
to do what is prevalent and not what society expects
creative in courage, inspired with innovation
by any means necessary to change the situation
One Bold Black Soul willing to step out on a limb
to stop history from repeating itself once again


Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2009

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I finally did

My eyes rolled, searching the ceiling
As if it had some reason to my demise 
Or was it the third dimension I was in?
I finally left your side by the bed

The suits, the dresses, the charms
They sure are expensive,
Made me almost forget why I cooked you diner every night
I finally did pack my suitcase you know

The coffee cup was full
Only this time round, I noticed it was used for tea
But always staring back as if full of Ethiopian coffee 
I finally left your wedding ring on the coffee table.



Copyright © Judy Oketch | Year Posted 2011

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Man-Children: Tribute to John Dau.

Two men alone with their wounds,
following footpaths in the tall grass
so as not to be seen
by militia.

Stealing pumpkins from farmed fields
chewing on grass stems to ease hunger
Listening to the sound of frogs
And followed to water.

On guard, always, at the pools
That is where they gathered
Learned how to submerge the body
With just a nose showing above water.

Hungry, thirsty, but mostly cold.
No clothes, forty-degrees F,  staying close,
To conserve body heat
While Hyena's and Leopards lurked.

Finding other refugees along the way
Comforted in the fact of comraderie
yet it was harder to move unseen with more bodies
and food became scarce like water.

The Kangen riverbed was barren
hot, hot sun
one adult amongst boys
The Lost Boys of the Sudan.

Finding muddy pools of water, they ate the mud
Just for the moisture, easing the pain
Tongues swollen, skin grey
No voices.

Utilizing everything, they drank their own urine.
Singing Christian songs
Asking God for water
he gave them vulture-ridden bodies along-side a swamp.

A swamp!  drank and drank
found tortoises and roasted them with grasshoppers
First protein eaten in so long,
sat in those marshes and tried to regain strength.

Crossed the Gilo, eyeballing the crocs eyeballing them
Dodging bullets from Ethiopian rebels
some lived.
Six months of starvation to reach Kenya.

There are camps along and throughout
Eastern Africa
And in each one, Death reigns 
as the new and forever King of the Motherland.


Copyright © Peter Calvanese Jr. | Year Posted 2009

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My Family Album: The Bible

many people refuse to simply believe or understand 
that we're all descendents from Africa, the Motherland
for anyone to have lived at all in that tropical clime
their skin color would have darken over a period of time
the rivers in the garden of Eden many have tried to claim
are not the same rivers in Africa despite having the same names
it's been proven scientifically and DNA does not lie
that every human being can be traced back to an African tribe
the original man, the first human beings 
but that is not what the world wants to be gleaning
it's has been substantiated and proven as a fact
that Adam and Eve were individuals whose skin color was black
take for instance the word Ham, it was the name of Noah's son
and when translated into English it mean black, sunburnt or overdone
Herodutus, the Greek historian and Dr. Hirshfield, a researcher have found
that no human being could exist in that region without their skin color being brown

yes, the Bible is my history, the family album of Black men
our lasting and living legacy from the beginning to the very end
Cush means Ethiopia, Mizram for Egypt and Cannan, the father of Israel
yet those are the very names of Ham's sons 
and from them great nations have prevailed
so if Ham was black, his sons are black and that makes them my family
my distant relatives, my ancestors, my historical legacy
and from them came great nations of mighty rulers, kings and queens
Egypt's Tutenkhamen, Nefertitti, Amnehotep and Amen
King Menelick, King Kashta, Queen Amanitore and Queen Candace too
were rulers of the Ethiopian Empire whose skin color was a dark black hue
so the next time I open my Bible about my relatives I will see
for the Bible is my history that was passed down through my family





Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2007

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Books and Covers

Heading in the deli 
I look for what I want
I head to the counter
The man behind the counter
Ethiopian 
Covered in scars
Had a false happiness to him.
“One Beef Patty Special”
“You got it boss.”
Boss?
I am no boss
I am a college student
I am controlled by everything. 
Just as that thought passes my mind 
Two of my friends spill into the deli like paint in a car
One humps the ATM
While the other sings slow jams
They high five me 
We have an established relationship
It’s kind of like getting support from George W. Bush 
I don’t want it. 
Once they get their ATM money,
Dutch wrap, 
And stolen lighters 
They leave.
The man behind the counter begins to speak
“Nobody is like me here. 
Some people think that’s a bad thing
But I thank god every day for what I have now.
Today I own a business
2 years ago I was imprisoned in Ethiopia without food or water.
Ain’t that just how it goes.
So smoke your weed
Blow your pills 
Whatever you get off on, 
Relish every moment.”
Just then I hear a voice from the back 
“Beef Patty Special!”
The man behind the counter senses my relief
With a perturbed grin 
He hands me my food
“Eat Up.” 
I sang a slow jam on the short walk home.


Copyright © Cole Mileaf | Year Posted 2015

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Cepheus

There is no pain Ethiopian Indian... this way to the Wind
Father to Andromeda and the phi is nominal, his
Argonauts strut true sense as the normal
Robes of gold counting coal as usual.
Astro nuts in the light of day.
We change in a constellation they say
Hobbit of the East the monarch mentions
.... as her Scotch goes vertical 
and she Lands the great notion.

.
Hey Chief... 
Who loves chocolate? ;)
*I* put the almonds in the milky way...
they help the memory remember.
Plate 4


.
the kitten playfully snickers ;)~


Copyright © Izzy Gumbo | Year Posted 2010

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[The Battle of] Alesia

starvation starts with a body 
to fill the cavernous
hollows formed by
out-jutting ribs and Ethiopian
belly:
      thin but distended

a body to warm the concussed
and frightened;
the
meadow lark lying still
on the dew soaked morn
grass
      hidden but yellow

                unnoticed
and asleep
            three hours. alone.

silent in the reeds
while the snake rustles: sneaking
uneventfully
through a downy, Moorish fog

father in the rocking chair
watching four, unaware
of his vacant, vaulted cathedral gut
shrinking, sinking - sewn up shut.

starvation always starts with a body.


Copyright © Paul Sylvester | Year Posted 2005