Poet's Soapbox

A Poet’s Creed

Within the essence of my imagination
I build a foundation
From a muse or inspiration
That transcends into verbalization

My soul gives birth to poetry
An accumulation of soliloquies
That gives a poetic harmony
As these words become the essence of me

I grasp fantasy
Embrace reality
Within a rhythmic melody
I express what I see and feel in this society

A poet’s creed
As their pens bleed
A river of imagination
That transform into an ocean of
communication

Our words are an extension of our souls
As we capture each verse as a whole
As we come to find
That there is a world of imagery within our
minds

We write for quality
And not quantity
We write to shed some light
If only for ourselves to bring some insight

We write for salvation
To bring some inspiration
As we build a written foundation
To express life becomes a poet’s motivation

Gaze at me
Through the syllables of my poetry
And there you will see within the rhythmic
harmony
The essence of me

Through my words
A poet’s creed

©2005 An EbonyPoetJoint

"THE VISIT"

I come to chase the sunlight
from your skin
My cautionless arrival
comes without surprise
But who could move that coolness
you exist within
Who could redeem my guilt—
So predictable I am
Your every smile conceives
my secret sin
As shadows on your body taunt
The envy in my hands
Could I but move the Maker’s light
And steal beneath that barrier to
Your dream borne skin
But who could move that coolness
you exist within
Can I escape this guilt—-this sin
Must I be one you call mere friend
Or shall I cover you in worship, ever warm
And be the sunlight
on your skin

Ballardt ©2000; all rights reserved

Storm In Fantasia Minor

I gave myself in amethyst thunder
riding the storm through clouded skies
I absorbed your love in satin plunder
wrapping your fury between pliant thighs
windows splattered in torrential rain
shielding lovers slick soaking wet
a cyclone held in passions chain
Venus enslaves in purple lace net
.
Howling winds wove a sensuous strain
upon our flesh, dripped in sweat
I glimpsed the rapture upon your face
as thunder reverberated in my brain
tsunamis release posed no threat
drenched in a memory of purple lace
SS
Scorpiano
copyright 2002

"Not this time"

Ain't gonna be that way no mo',
Got your numba this time.
You wasting yo' breathe pleading yo' case,
'Cause I ain't going that way again.
You coulda stopped it when you had yo' chance,
But you had to do it like you did befo',
You can plead all you want baby,
But I ain't walking that path today.

You think I'm gon change my mind,
Like I always do,
But I'm sick and tired of your mess,"Not this time"
Don't bother me with yo' crap.

You should have told me when you had the chance,
Instead of keeping it in,
I ain't giving one inch you hear,
You betta go to plan two.

If I had done that, your mouth would be out a mile,
Your hands on your hips,
And your mouth stuck out,
And your eyes bugging at me.

Now you think I'm weak,
But sistah, you wrong today;
I'm ready for your games this time,
Might as well fold your hand.

This could have been avoided baby,
All you had to do was open your mouth.
Coulda told me how it happened,
Instead of me finding out in the street.

I know you're showering and getting ready for bed,
But I ain't through with this,
So you might as well come back out here,

Is that a new gown baby? I haven't seen it before,
Are the lights too bright? Why you turning them down?
You want me to come there and do what?
Do you have on a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g under that robe?
Say that again Baby?
And you want to do that?
Oh my,

I loveeeeeeeeeeeee making up

Andrew Johnson
Copyright 1999

JUMPING THE NEW BROOM

“Don’t throw away the old bucket until you know
whether the new one holds water” – Swedish Proverb

The old broom knows all the corners
But so clean the new broom can sweep
Are words she smugly uttered
Those words that seemed so cheap
She spat those words so fiercely
And had no problem inflicting pain
Her thoughts were only of the love
She thought she stood to gain
He started the fiasco in opening the new door
That shattered the many promises
Like confetti on the floor
There was no reason to introduce
The new love in his life
When still the old one was around
Expecting to become his wife
So now she’s really sweeping
The old life from her room
While he is steadily making plans
Instead to jump that broom

By Lorna Lorraine
 Copyright 2004

Jane Doe
My experiences never heard of poetic expression
Just a pen and a pad and a way out
I like to read poetry anthologies
Full of famed eulogies and last rites
Searching for me in the pages
Trying to find my voice and where I come from

An imagination is what I lacked all my life
I still lack--lies
No stories to tell or untruths to web
Words are as invisible as blank sheets of paper
without witness
I confess to the God of my pen
My pad
My way out

In my reading I discovered
Confessional poetry and epigrams within myself
A reason for authenticity and sarcasm
Laughter is my background
I sometimes hide behind a pen and a pad and a way
out
While I laugh
at me

Still trying to find the voice of where I come from

Mislead
Copyright 2001

HUSH

“Love is a canvas furnished by nature and embroidered
by
the imagination” – Voltaire

Hushed was the sound of your footsteps
The night was very still
Hushed was your voice in my fictive mind
Summoning me at your will

Oh how my heart was just singing
I was sure you were really there
Oh what joy you were bringing
In moments you would appear

Suddenly the silence was broken
As I opened my eyes
And found I was only dreaming
Imagine my great surprise

But then you entered the garden
I felt a resounding rush
I opened my mouth exclaiming
Then your smile said simply HUSH

By Lorna Lorraine
copyright 2001

"Fantasy"

baby would u walk me to the edge again
wake up at night can't sleep and I'm thinking again
your touch
your feel
my dreams all i can see is your face
picturing myself giving in to you again
giving in to me
shaken memory of when I wake up and no one's here with me
within your dreams I am almost free
deep inside your skin til eternity
the sensations hot enough to chase daylight away
damn
u getting deep on me
thirsty I seem to you falling back tired and afflicted
but moments pass I'm hungry
for your face i'm fucking addicted
can you outlast the aches in my mouth tongue and stomach
for what your body produces naturally
the thirst to hear you moan in exstacy and how good i can
make it hurt
the way you like, is it deep enough?
to get inside you
your eyes and mind are my windows in
around your fingertips I'm entwined
all the shit that I'm willing to go thru,
but you know almost how bad i want you
just saying this right off the top of my chest
and you had to come along now
when i was looking for someone like u
no one appeared
now here u are
and i want to be with u so bad but can't
now I must appreciate the game
the spot the stage where we share..
and the names are cristal clear
when I taste you
I know you lust for me
though you can see right thru me
one day you will ask me to stay
and we will be in trouble together...
addicted to endless supplies of talking shit and proving how
bad
you might be able to whip my ass,
but i can move my tongue lightening fast and make that ass
run for bedheads
clapping headboards to beated paths in the walls chipping off
cheap paint
gonna be dangerous to the point of painful fantasy,
because pride won't let a muphucka quit and be
it's more than pleasing, teasing, squeezing every inch up
inside, devouring, deflowering
riding, throbbing, head knodding from in between the folds of
seams that were in my dreams
feening to the point of almost screams
and having myself sink in between you like thru melted butter
and how the clit will fit in between my lips with perfection
kissing a pierced perfection in the form of a tongue
and baby I dare you to wear a thong,
appeal to that other side of me folks seldom see
where the love would keep me hard thru climax after climax
after climax and again
see i don't want this moment to be trapped in poetry without
ever becoming reality
i want us to be unified in a special memory then one day i can
sit on a sunday stroke myself to a mental picture reminiscent
on when a beautiful redbone reinvented me

and damn that's a mouthful

Rhyme4Reasson

"DAMN I LOVE POETRY"
Copywrote 2003

Morning Fires

I mourn for my children,
They are so tender,
They are so delightful,
And they are consumed,
By the slavers at night,
And we gather with the Elders,
By the Morning Fires.

We watch the dry branches of the
tree,
Broken and in disarray,
Kindle the fires of the circle,
That warms the Elders,
In the Village opening,
Where they gather each morning,
To warm themselves by the Morning Fires.
No one looks toward the highlands,
Where my manchild sought his test,
Consumed by his innocence,
Assured by all that is right,
And now he leaves us,
Near the spinning pool,
Warmed by the Morning Fires.
Upon the heap I toss his shield,
His head dress and his bowl,

His marking tool and his net,
And take a cinder from the midst,
Of the Morning Fires that warm the Elders.

I would linger for this moment,
And touch where he once lay,
Stroke the memories of my mind,
Wish that he would return.
But my custom is to cleanse,

And forget,
And to forgive,
While the Elders are warmed,
By the Morning Fires.

I watch the smoke climb toward Heaven,
As my memories of the man child fade from me,
The solitary tear that streaks my cheek,
Is a ship on an ocean of despair.
I cry for my firstborn,
As the Elders warm themselves,
By the Fires of the Morning.
My back is turned on his dwelling,
I shall walk there no more,
His spirit will linger only shortly,
For it must join him in the new land,
And it will turn its back on his dwelling,
And warm again for the last time,
By the Morning Fires.

Oh but if I ever shall renew,
And once again bring forth a son,
Will he burden my heart as he goes,
To the highlands to test his faith,
Will he be bound and laid in the castle,
Or will he once again,
Return to this place,
and warm his hands,
By the Morning Fires.

(for your Manchild)
AJohnson
Copyright 1995

THE SPINNING POOL

The harvest of the sheep is a special time,
In the village of my elders,
Where my ancestors dwelled thru the ages,
Where the definition of my lineage was formed.
The harvest of the sheep in early spring,
And wool is shorn from animals of honor,
When boys gather the wool and bundle it,
And cast it into the spinning pool.

When the elders of my village,
Gather beneath the mimosa tree in the circle,
When the smoke from the bark of the yew,
Mix with the spirits of the ancestors of old.

This village is nestled in the highlands,
In a clearing that is hidden from death,
The elders sit in the circle broken,
By those captured on the plains and sold.

The space provided for the return,
Is hollow and cold, barren and bereft,
The crying of the woman for the babies lost,
The weeping of the village for the lost on the plain.

The wool in the spinning pool is soaked with blood,
The ceremony of purity in Christian beliefs,
The whitening ceremony that's called baptism,
That washes all as white as snow.

The elders of the village mingle,
They ripple time with their long memories of yore,
They suspend the belief of all that we know,
They huddle and chant and pray to Gods forgotten.

The spinning pool is full this nite,
The girls have stomped the wool all day,
The men have celebrated the hunt,
The boys feel like men inside.

The women chant spiritual nothings,
That soothes the heart and the soul,
They gather at the pool,
To find the beginnings of their lives and the ends of the
wool.

The village storyteller starts the chant,
And oral history of the people,
He counts those who left the circle,
And went thru the door of no return.

He names them in families,
Extended and tight as a circle,
He mourns the loss from centuries ago,
And soothes the hearts of the descendants.

The spinning pool is a circle,
The wool is from the lost children of the village,
The boys are the source of the gathering and returning,
The girls add fertility to the pool.

The elders are the overseers
The men are the guardians of the village,
The storyteller is the priest,
And the women.....are the grounds from which all spring.
The spinning pool still sits there,
See it as you travel there.
Look for the circle broken,
Find my place....and tell my family I am safe.

AJohnson
Copyright 1995
29une95 (My mom's birthday)

Ode To Roomates

BITCH, WHORE, SLUT
Liar, Thief, Sneak
all synonyms for Roommate
It's in the thesaurus
Really it is
O.K. it should be
What if roommate ads told the truth
"Single female with neurotic/psychotic disorder
seeks roommate"
"must be willing to clean up, pay the bills
and listen to my headboard
night after night
banging against your wall
to yet another mans tune,
while
I eat your groceries and
steal your makeup "
"my mortgage is $900
but you will only pay $800
if you take the smaller room"
Any takers?

Scorpiano
Copyright 2001

SOUL FOOD

He waned some soul food
And I gave him my words
Which tantalized his mind
With spoken metaphors
As I manipulated expressions
To create images in his mind.

He wanted some soul food
And I fed his mind
As I gave him language
Which created visuals
While quenching his thirst
For spoken communications

He wanted some soul food
And I gave him a soothing, comforting feeling
Setting his inner being at ease
While relaxing his mind

He wanted some soul food
And I nourished his ravenous appetite
As He devoured my every spoken utterance
And begged for more

He wanted some soul food
And I delivered provisions
Sufficient enough for him
As I romanced his ears
With my figurative banter

He wanted some soul food
And I fed him oh so well
With poetry.

Vickie Oliver-Lawson
copywrite 2002

The Way the Movie Ends

I flicked through the channels.
Seeing the past ... How true love was registered via fade to black and
a spilled martini.
Click!
I wondered if I would ever experience the love .. the
misunderstanding...the hurt only to found true love that's right before
your eyes
Click
The passion of Seeing too much.. the lust..the desire..but deeply
disguised
there was love. Deep Love deeply disguised
Click
To hold a hand, and not wanting to let go..
To see the pink of the tongue.
To feel the emotion of the star and starlet .. the forbidden lover and
the forbidden .. the hero and the rescued heart. I watch.. and I want..I
feel and I miss..You in my arms .. Fade to Black..click

Bruce K, Woods
copywriter 2005