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
Amazing eye whites, perfect and pure
As glacial ice ... they draw me in, like
Diving into a clear Caribbean lagoon ...
(Fluid - cool - quenching!)
Brown iris so dark in contrast that
They're lost in the inky black of pupil,
But striped here-and-there with gold
Flashes that shear the dark, like streaks
Of yellow orchid on the back of a jaguar,
Residue left from a jungle pursuit ...
(Fast - bright - dazzling!)
The softness of the single lid is a quality
That has always charmed me, so warm,
Like the plush of a blanket, as oriental
As the lid of snow that winks its way
Over the slopes of Fuji in Autumn ...
(Keen - clear - byzantine!)
At their supple edges, the most delicate
And diaphanous of lashes, wispy black
Feathers that flutter like the wings of a
Lunar moth, drawn to the warm blue
Light of the moon ...
(Rare - slender - gossamer!)
Lashes that quicken the thrum of my
Heart with each batting, and frame the
Most enigmatic and mysterious objects
That a gentle, beautiful face could ever
Hope to brighten ...
(Coy - bright - abashed!)
Porcelain skin, soft as the breath of a
Hummingbird, painted by the hand of
Sublime Creation - an opalescence as
Flawless as the giggle of a child, and as
Divine as lotus blossoms on a spring
(Lithe - lustrous - seductive!)
Hair blacker than than the void, with a
Hint of blue lustre found so rarely in
Nature, perhaps in the mane of an
Arabian stallion, or the iridescent skin
Of an Ethiopian ...
(Dark - misty - tenebrous!)
With a shine and depth almost magical,
And a texture that invites the digits to
Explore its depths and lengths - parting
Bangs, gently raking through to the back
Of the head, sweeping to the shoulders,
Sifting down the back and further ...
(Smooth - contoured - electric!)
So long and straight and sinuous, flowing
Like a waterfall of inky dark silk, liquid
Tresses splashing playfully off the curve
Of the back, accentuating those limpid
(Divine - molten - libidinous!)
I have dreamed you a thousand times,
And a thousand more, I have Imagined the
Starlight dusk alighting on your form like
Fireflies, the sparkle in the expanse of your
Eyes like moonbeams peeking through the
Willows, as they waltz to the music of the
(Vivid - fluent - gleaming!)
Oh, but how the dance of your eyes
Shames all else, the willows in their most
Soulful weeping can not add measure to
The allurement of your gaze ... the sky of
Twilight in its deepest dreaming, is but a
Sad distraction to the wonder and charisma
Of your sight ...
(Intense - aglow - burnished!)
The near incomparable glistening of the
Moon, even in its most perfect rising, does
Not hold aspect or rite to the enchantment
Of your vision ...
(Catching - holding!)
The precise prismatic fire of the most perfectly
Cut diamond, can not hope to bewitch the
Mesmerizing spell that you cast with but a
Glance of your eyes ...
(Enigmatic - entrancing!)
They say the eyes are the windows to the
Soul, but I believe the eyes ARE the soul,
And yours are as deep, mysterious, complex,
And carnal as any I've ever known, with a
Bottomless acumen that penetrates my
Defenses with ease ...
(Enthralling - hypnotizing!)
I am helpless before your sight, as
Vulnerable as sand before the tide,
And easily as swept away by the current
Of your beguiling charms. Your eyes are,
To me, the very definition of all that the
Word "beautiful" encompasses ...
(Elegant - ravishing!)
They are as the most immaculate lotus
Blossom, floating on the inky black of a
Mountain pool at dusk, rippling with
Emotion and sensitivity, and pulling me
Inward to their sublime perfection ...
(Helpless - forsaken!)
I leap from the edge of my insecurity,
And dive into their liquid exquisiteness,
Falling down, down into their prurient
Expanse, to be consumed by all they
Wish to be ...
(Down - falling - diving!)
Consumed, by all they want of me, by
All they see in mine, by all that they
Bespeak, by all that YOU ...
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017
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
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
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
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
As dark as this
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
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
(Transit Lounge, Dubai International Airport, circa 2007)
that he was from far Kazakhstan,
“Exotic place,” he added,
which I know but could not pinpoint
on my mental map.
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.
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
can we hear
the indigo smiles,
the golden laughter
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2010
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
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
.......and then he created untested equations,
arranging them numerically in the blackboard,
as he sipped his Ethiopian coffee. "Something
is missing......" he thought to himself,
as he anxiously held his white chalk;
there was no duster - he didn't believe in errors,
yet he felt that his equations were inadequate;
He wondered whether his equations would outlive
the Great Flood of Infinity, after the end of Time.
Speaking of time, there was no time - his equations
were eating away his mortality, like a group of tiny
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2017
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
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2008
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
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
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
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
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
Copyright © Emmanuel M. Hitilasha | Year Posted 2014
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
Two men alone with their wounds,
following footpaths in the tall grass
so as not to be seen
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
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
Six months of starvation to reach Kenya.
There are camps along and throughout
And in each one, Death reigns
as the new and forever King of the Motherland.
Copyright © Peter Calvanese Jr. | Year Posted 2009
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
Heading in the deli
I look for what I want
I head to the counter
The man behind the counter
Covered in scars
Had a false happiness to him.
“One Beef Patty Special”
“You got it 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,
And stolen lighters
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
I sang a slow jam on the short walk home.
Copyright © Cole Mileaf | Year Posted 2015
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.
Who loves chocolate? ;)
*I* put the almonds in the milky way...
they help the memory remember.
the kitten playfully snickers ;)~
Copyright © Izzy Gumbo | Year Posted 2010