Out for Delivery

God chose you, baby girl
With eyes like the moon to tell stories
His story, history
Of battles won in schoolyards and playgrounds
About the importance of following the king, Jesus

God chose you, with ears tuned to the ticking of a clock
That tell times of his grace and mercy
You are no accident, you are
the light, the essence of God's beauty

As you make your way here, baby girl,
Out of darkness and into free wifi,
May your first download be the bible app
For it will be your best instructions before life in eternity

I know you'll have questions about life
And how it is constructed, but just ask your auntie --
Black lives matter and no, you cannot wear your hair down
Because it is naturally kinky

Be GREAT, for GREATNESS is your predetermined journey
Be confident, for you too can steer a nation back to safety
The source of life on earth runs through your veins
So you will never be thirsty

God chose you, baby girl, to be courageous and to walk with dignity
To be mindful of others and their plight for victory
Never be so dismayed that you give up on life eternally
For your grandmother in heaven would not take it lightly

God chose you, baby girl, for his purposes only
That you may glorify him daily- you are a product 'Dunn' with 'Glory'
It was no mistake, so don't be late nor get here too early
Just be on time, I mean, Canadian time
For if West Indian time, we might have all gone on to glory

(Written for, and dedicated to, yet-to-be-born Zyann Dunn Malcolm)

The Love Poem

Penciled thin like the margin of a vein 

To my heart —he speaks.

His words, my last refrain

As I die in the interlude of his shrieks

What's a Vagina?

The moment you realized that you have taught her everything she needed to know about Reputation and Respect. How to sit up straight, and how to tie her shoe laces. How to love herself, and how to listen. How to speak up, and how to dream. You have taught her...but not about what a vagina is.

You want to teach her how it is public. How it shapes, defines, and positions her in the world. How it symbolizes power even in the numbing haze of patriarchy. How it is matriarchal. How it is a poem. How "cuss cuss" is a fake name.

 "Be careful you don't trip the wrong way and hurt your vagina."

 "What's a vagina?"

You point in silence. And all you can say is...

but she breaks the silence,

 "It's my Private part."

New Woman

Two degrees, no father, dreams stifled for a sleep
She steps at dawn, cell phone ringing, fully booked,--
hooked on improvement.

'The modern woman'
cutting lines in the sidewalk
She hurries to get the kids
you slipping memory like rainbow, yet
She has no longing to leave you, following

She swaying
pocketbook against the wind, behind
moving to the clamour of the job market
Empress in nylons, She on her way
quickening to get that raise

Now you swallowing gin to understand
how She flexing, unrestrained, menacing,
needing, but shunning you
She ain’t your mother
She moving too fast

No fling for cajoling, pushing you
you talking son to carry-on name
She saying tight schedule, more manhood
less bitching
She demanding you pay attention.

PMSing aint the deal
It's the weight of her lungs
the heave for status that keep
her going, on the go, stomping tradition
She flying red in darkness, still

Ain’t no falling short--'xcept maybe on the sex.

But We Already Knew THAT

The Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan

Black male endangered

"The black male is in a very particular place of endangerment not only by environmental factors, but the Black man's attitude, our ignorance, our savagery, are all lending to a plan, a conspiracy. The scientists say that when a species is endangered, the next stage is extinction. If the condition of the Black Male in particular is not checked and if God does not intervene, we will soon be extinct" ("The Final Call", April 7, 2009 issue, pg. 21).

Black middle class, crabs in a barrel

"Some of us look around at American society and we see some Blacks doing well, making what we think is progress and wealth and prestige, and we say, "We're moving on up now. Things aren't so bad. Why look at Oprah, Barack Obama, P. Diddy, Tiger Woods, Clarence Thomas. Look at Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice. Aren't they clear signs of progress?" Much has been said about the growth of the Black middle class and how it appears we have finally turned the corner in our quest to attain the American dream. But is this real? .... In reality we have the illusion, the trappings of progress, but little else to show for our 452 years in bondage as slaves and now as free slaves in North America.

Now, if we look at the proverbial crabs in a barrel, the crabs are trying to get up, but another crab is pulling the crab down. But just suppose somebody is at the top of the barrel looking at the crabs, watching the drama of the crabs. And suppose he or she says, "come, let us deal wisely with those crabs. Let's take a few out of the barrel and put them at the top of the barrel and let them look back down on the other struggling crabs. If we do that it will give the other crabs the notion that they, too, can get out." But the crabs at the top of the barrel didn't get out because of his own talent and ability alone. The crab got out because the master took him out and allowed him out for the master's purpose!

Now, let's look at the wealthy and the famous among us. They have become a buffer between the angry Black masses and White people of power and influence that have us looking at our own rich as though they have betrayed us, when the wise demons behind them have used them as buffer to protect them from the anger of the poor White, the poor Black and the poor Brown. That is why you can never be an effective spokesperson for the hurt of your people because if you displease the crab barrel master, you are afraid that he might put you back in the barrel and not pluck you out again" ("The Final Call", April 7, 2009 issue, pg. 22).


My thoughts exactly; i could not have said it better. I am still waiting for those phone calls btw. You know, those calls, after the interviews.

Slow Motion

I spread my thighs
you enter, My Style
full-sized, full-eyed
slow breathing exercise
lips charred. We cool

High moon, we spoon
deep, slow, solid
hips arching toward desire
hands naming what's required

You stake out landscape, yes
easy, open, body places
call each entry. Faces
masked in salt and tears

It's a shame there are boundaries
checking reality
no further skills-,
balancing budget, doing dishes,
treating me like a lady

I am a woman, with deep desire
deeper than my parts
wider than the space between my breast
come, come, come inside
my unborn, "about to happen"

Bring your paycheck, bring flowers
a smile; caring eyes
bring good reason and common sense
Diploma in Intuition.
Bring desire to segregate mood
swings, and calls for belly rub