Tag Archives: lust

Finding Fruit

I stopped by your poems

Hugged them line by line

Our heartbeats fell as silken petals

This long lost love made Courtney Pine

Silence eavesdropped on mystic kisses

Eager vibrations rekindled the affair

Your swirling prose meditative.

My unchained cadences cohesive

Perceptive curtains arrange our winds though

Love isn’t lost if the heart’s still beating

Is this mine or our evocative secret?

A final kiss on our achievements?

The silence still eavesdrops

The longing lusts evermore.

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Filed under Random Poetics

Sounds of Blackness

sounds-of-blackness-cover

These are the sounds of blackness

If we stay measured by our grinding we’ll never sharpen up our axis

Scene stealers bring the heat but it seems we lack match practice

Not light on our feats, we’re dancers when we ought to be actors.

We stage plays until we’re lost in scrabble like crabs in a labyrinth

Quoting Lauryn Hill until our X -Factor becomes an ex-factor

Command and conquer has me on red alert with our allies fakin’ basement jax

Hipsters’ hula hoop with hegemony until free style is legalized and we remain blood donors

We say the onus is on us to own us so that we are for us by us

Yet mantras dissolve like sugar cane in coffee cups because nobody wears F.U.B.U

 

Its heir conditioning

We love a smiley culture, accepting urban as our synonym

Lost in the dark the loan sharks claim all the benefits

We do the mathematics while the denominator plays percentages

The N is friend and nemesis yet the beaten tracks remain pendulums

I’m so stirred by the barge pole to our differences I boil with my pencil tips

I question time while I mastermind stealing money from penitentiaries

There’s no full disclosure why we play Uncle Tom to get Meredith

 

 

Bludgeoned by the tomato in the melting pot, our fruits become vegetables.

Insanity is palpable when we become cordial, edible, diluting our primordial forces

3 percent leviathan there’s simply no denying the 97 percent are buying us.

Hoodies and patois mean gangster until the right people license it

I turn off the radio because folk only listen to what the pirates’ ship

Twerking their blurred lines old as the night sky

Don’t be naive as the promise of fidelity during a summer of 69

They may think they’re robbing thick; it’s more like shopping from Be Wise.

Do popular culture aborigines need a rabbit proof fence?

 

Questions posing for the picture I hate this i-coonography

Boys dancing in their Jordan’s we see no trainers like Michael

Worship at the church of struggle using perception as the bible

We’re making up the numbers 

It ain’t fair ground with these Malibu minded 

Coconut shy stunters

 

See though frames display anything, it’s self-love before any man 

Soul raw like Tracy Emin giving birth to a tribe of Eminems

I fight for coffee’s place at the table and inhale the war of the roses for water has no enemies

Where choice is a figure of speech undressed by extra capital

We’ve all got across to bear, don’t call me Paddington

Survival tactics like silver back ants in Saharan Africa

Best work in the sun, rest in the shade, upgrade your engine room

I mean there’s no use plucking Garveyisms like the last feathers of a Christmas turkey hoping the message strikes when even the teachers aren’t learning

London’s bridge is burning; I’ve got Fanon, Farrakhan, and Martin Luther to listen to

Living’s a tough job we’ve got to make it out of the inner view

With these, the sounds of blackness.

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I hope she cheats on you!

Image

I hope she cheats on you
I hope she locks eyes with him like a sniper rifle in a night sandstorm
Exchanging heat seeking glances that makes her skin dance the nut cracker
As her sugar walls melt into liquid caramel at the scent of a hawk circling
And her hips start gurgling the flow of his fitted polo neck that drapes his 2 litre turbo engine
Swaying like the hands of time on his watch and you ain’t even clocked him
I hope she works the room at her convenience store of lust
Serving tantalising tremors with each touch and his eyes light up the earth
As she crosses Jordan to Canaan as you the Abel want to turn to Cain now cos
Your sugar’s ready to be felt cos she feels her strawberry fields deserrve better
I hope she makes out he’s a friend but the sweat drips slowly as she wraps her arms around his neck
Inviting him to the party you’re supposed to attend and bends over so he can comprehend Boadicea’s bountiful bosom
I hope their lips perform the duet their minds wrote across the room and encore on repeat
Scratching your record of being a smooth criminal like Grandmaster Flash was on the decks
Every peck on her neck causes her eyes to inflect ecstasy that you took for granted
I hope you’re there standing with a high definition view wondering if this moment is defining you
The sore us, is the meaning of pride raw uncut before you
I hope your heart feels like a serrated edge is passing along every nerve as you
Stand there thinking she’s your life, your girl, she’s your wife, your girl
You’re the lord of the rings and he’s just Smiegel,
You’re the one supposedly fighting evil, I hope you see her leaving
Hand in hand with the king before she crowns him and you’re drowning in rapid rivers of despair
I hope you arrive home just to hear what you didn’t want to
I hope you listen to every giggle, every last word he tells her
How she’s beautiful, best he’s ever had, never wants to leave her
Wants more of the night they just had
I hope you’re there in the morning to hear it all again
Raucous till they collapses happy like (the record company) Rawkus feeling fortunate to the rafters
See the glisten pouring from her forehead and ripples of laughter
Hangs on every word like a pendant on an indie chick
I hope he makes you sick and want to commit acts you’d never think to commit
As she cooks him breakfast like it was the first day of a beautiful life sentence
Replaces your plans with his in a second because his word is a bond with license to protect hers
Trims the bets your hedging that you’ll be the one to lecture her
See the man she’ll be dating will be that light with a vengeance
See the man she’s making hay with, is your reflection
I said I hope she cheats on you
To bring you to repentance

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Filed under Random Poetics

Love Letters from the Hood Vol 6.

Our passion burns so much I call hours with you green days
Prepare for the haze
Let me lay you on the green baize
Haunches raised on my axis
Fax this fact that
I’m lost in your amaze
This ain’t the Hyphy craze
You got walls by I’m here to roof raise
Here to stay like rap
I lean back turn the tap
Got your tongue running call it a doggie lap
Spinning your records of the last rhyme
The way I queue balls in your pool hall
Ready to shoot the white ball
Turn your house into white hall
Give you that night crawler water
I’m dripping
From Capitol Hill
Killing your bill of rights with my first finger amendment
Have you stammering my name in Latin
Calling me Addendum
Ad nauseam
Imploring your pores to applause
Baby I can take your flaws
See I turn your floors into a stage as I give you the mic
This is solar powered loving the way I twist you over night
This is Classic
Let me play your with your back track
Flip you on the A side call it the return of the boom bap
Greet me with Aloe Blacc
Wu me with your movie scores
See my seed has a stem sell
Clause
You can labour for my metaphors
Knowing you’ve never met a force so consuming
Unassuming of race I ate the course
Digested good loving,
Good rubbing you know that you got that
Tease your beaver
Give you anaphylactic shocks with my nut sack
I aim to please you
This is a love letter right now we’ve got the lust back
See I like it
The way you writhe when I attend to your tender tendons
You render my slice of heaven a 3D melodic emblem
Los Angeles in sky only know which note you’re going to end on
But I don’t want to just eat lunch
Give me Hades in HD
Fluid motion don’t re cycle
Like a Buddhists first read of the bible I’lll find the difference inside you
This is love
Succour me with lips as I reverence your hips
Knowing your dynamite’s more than enough for my cue tip
This ride’s a born quest
You run the rule on my frame
Size up my coffee shot
Now can you handle my name?

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Filed under Collaborations

Love Letters from the Hood vol 4.

I school you like black folk being shown the boondocks
Every time I tick your boom box
My second hand ruins clocks
With cold play the room the rocks
My motion is curt so I sniff Cobaine
Get you high and ready for my purple reign
In principle I’m weather vain
So blow me like the winds of indoctrination
See I lay you then lay claim to you
You are my patent
You’re micro soft to my bad apple
Peach queen,
Your juices energise my saddle
Reducing Ginuwine’s first line to babble
Said I’m not bachelor and
Your bad ass is making this soft boy harder
The way you rub so incisively
Decisively,
You thrilling me killin’ me
Said I’m so anxious
I’m trippin’
I’m stumbling
My lips are fumbling like a nervous young bomber
Mama, Mama, Mama
Martyr this moment
This is just a second row hit,
Don’t come till we hit the back of the line
You’re a serial killer with your tongue tied
Around my hung rhyme
My epic piece
Not written with a biro in hieroglyphics
I got a fountain pen
Recognise the thesis,
Acknowledge me like Romulus and Remus
And
When
You…
Respect the architect, like Guru and his nuances
I’ll show you,
You already knew what the blue print is
Yeah I got reasonable doubt like Hova did
I ain’t mad atcha cos I’m fallin just the same
Caressing those white cliffs of dover
I don’t want this to be a once hung
Over
Like Suge Knight trying to sign Vanilla ice
I need more than 20 stories
36 chambers
Most definitely
I want us to be the new danger
See a quiet dog may bite hard
But a real man guards the keys to a heart
Will you fight for this love
Or just watch the throne
I don’t want to be alone
Princess…

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Love Letters From The Hood Volume 2

Listen to Poetic7: Love Letters from the Hood vol 2. here

You are the last thought
The sweetest bitter taste on my lips
You permeate the saltiness of our….situation
I’m patient
Nursing my ego just to feed yours
You are what I’m all for
But when you’re on, all four
As two tapes spliced into one jam
We go H.A.M
Myrrh and tongues
Wrap our every right
To be or not to be
Exclusivity
Agreement with individual clauses
Think you got me in your claws?
Treating me like Claus
Girl you need prayer
Heck I aint Santa and you are no saint
But yeah….you love me

In spite of a caught case
The road less travelled post haste
I love that you lay waste to my
Waste man tendencies like you’re
Weaning me off my narcotic dependency
Replacing me with us

Let’s not make a fuss babe
I only put my hands on you cos you say you’re a bad girl
Step to my photo shop and I touch you up for real
Broadcast my zeal
Let the world know how I feel because you say your bad ass
A boss chick
I put you in the ring to see if you’re worth the ring
Ding!
We click like a terrorist with a pace maker
Every time we make love
We meet our maker to Nina Simone and Tracy Baker
See I’m a soldier of love
Always thinking about the frontline.
You’re the fit for my glove
Worth every punch line
You’re made up to make up when we break up
Cos yeah I love you

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Rosa King

I wanna know if our 2 plus 2 = foreplay
Or if finger licking will produce enough sauce to have me your way
If I squeeze s cream will it be raw gain
Get me loaded, locked for my pure aim
Will we strike chromo semantics spores, leave our flaw stained
How many time will I score in your lane
Will it change what you shout from my name to Your Dame
Knees bent like you’re praying, knowing I am Lord of the manner
Can I
Let our 2 plus 2 turn into 3 plus one
See 2 plus 1 = the words you plus gone
So I wanna know before I wear Trojan John
If we can see if 3 into one goes across your divide
I wanna start back at 4 if that’s alright
You choose the figure, when to multiply
When to linger
Your hands turn me into a singer
Where mine are tinged with lavender and hot lemon cinders
Creeping up your spine like a running vine without resistance
You call this a draft,
I call it listless the way I slowly strum your plum strings
The pick up is an early warning sign that rings and ring and rings
I am wedded too your chime
Doing calculus to the sounds of algebra for moment I play in your drumline
You are my snare
Your Berlin is the space for our fan fare
I could spit poetry and go where snakes dare,
I could sing floetry and roll tongues where fakes care
Instead I listen and know an end to the wait is near
I wanna quit playing and see if our instruments will take us there
Yet I’m the one delaying to know your worth it

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Filed under Relationships