Category: Uncategorized

Spoon fed by desire
Nourished by lust
Lavishly drunk on love

Satiation soon
Repeatedly reached
In phases

Joy brimming as
Fingers, fork, tongue, mouth, taste buds
feel, feed and sweet fill

Nourished to the brim
My essence is filled
Full lips wiped in happy delight

This poem was born from Noel Ihebuzor’s brilliant response to my poem; Untitled: Dinner. The second and third verses are by Noel, and the first and last were written by me. He does these duets so well, please check out his blog whenever you can for some more brilliant duets and poems. Thanks Noel, and thank you all.

By Susan L. Daniels and Noel A. Ihebuzor

S:
it echoes–
this pause before words
weighted breath

N:
It speaks loud
the empty spaces
between words

S:
those moments
minds falter before
sharing truth

N:
truth haltered
for so long, now free
freeing tears!

S:
and floating
on that salt river
soft releasing

N:
hidden fears
uncertainties now
flowing away

tumbling down
tongue now unleashed to
wonder why

 

***Wow–it seems two poets can say a lot about silence!  This was fun!

A lot bring people to my blog
My name unique and strange
Matched with my big African booty

These people want badly to know me
And what it’s like to make love
To an àbíkú faerie
Possibly with pictures of a black yansh

While maintaining an attitude of gratitude
Yorùbá words appealing to their sexual lust

A lot bring people to my blog
And boy am I glad they come
Leaving with short seductive stories
To tell horny girls
Bitches who love Europe

Life issues and the many
Unfortunate plights of mankind
Slipping past their Sunday night minds

Àbíkú- wanderer child. It is the same child who dies and returns again and again to plague the mother(An ancient Yorùbá belief)
Yansh- a slang, (often considered vulgar) for booty.

*I had a good laugh looking through the search terms, and spam….this poem, albeit ridiculous was born out of it all, so…

Dancing in the black tempest,
With a wild heart I’ll kiss you.
Soaking every drop of rain,
A strong little love will brew.

With the storm thundering away,
I’ll hold you tightly in my arms.
With the clouds laughing away,
I’ll make your world full of charms.

A striking thunderstorm fierce,
And the wind blowing in its full might.
Will make you feel my love for you,
As I’ll be clutching you so tight.

I’ll hold your hand giving assurance,
Of forever love and togetherness.
You’ll look into my eyes with a hope,
And a life-long faith you’ll get with no stress.

Seeking solace you’ll stay back with me,
You’ll know there’s no world without us.
I’ll give you the world’s best feeling,
With a naughty mess and a little fuss.

A lightning brighter than the sun,
Will strike us down from dust to dust.
Yet our love will remain…

Let my bones be better traveled after flesh has attended

and hindered.

Let them rattle on a string around the neck of creatures,

bold and roaming,

with beast hair, polished stones and a herbaceous plait;

charms healing.

Let my ribs protrude at a jaunty angle from plains, barren

and desiccated;

let them, though broken and hollowed, pick sonatas from hot

meandering winds

and with stealth and over-the-shoulder looks let the locals

gather to listen.

Let my femur be a gnaw bone for a she-wolf full bellied

and contented;

let her trot her bouncing-rear gait, muzzle lowered, wary

eyes intent,

to her suckling pups to share; accepting yelp-thanks with

long tongue caresses.

Let my skull be a prop held and caressed by sweaty hands

by those possessed;

let them hold my diminished, polished visage and declare,

“Alas, poor poet..”

and recite true the words of those aiming to discern order

from disorder.

Let…

there is love
we cross oceans or continents
to meet, finally

& love we stumble over
sleeping in doorways
comfortable, familiar

the magic in it is not so much
where it is found, or how
but where we let it lead

& wherever that is
i want to go there with you

It is a long time already since the Biafran War (1967-1970) to write a memoir, and it makes me wonder how affective Chinua Achebe’s narrative in The Guardian is to his audience. Achebe’s new book, There Was a Country: A Personal History of Biafra appears to have reopened old wounds and resulted in widespread debate, whether in op-ed columns, on blogs or on social media.