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STILL LOVE- BY DOLISHA DEVONNE

Happy Valentine’s Day,
Reposting one of my favorite poems for love day, Enjoy

Dolisha DeVonne's avatarDolisha's Poetry

Photo by George Becker on Pexels.com

EVERY TIME YOU MAKE ME MAD, YOU FIND A
WAY TO MAKE ME SMILE,

YOU KNOW ONCE I SMILE, I LOSE.

AND I’M RIGHT BACK IN LOVE WITH YOU.

I STILL GET EXCITED WHEN I HEAR YOUR VOICE ON THE PHONE,

AND I STILL LOVE THE SEXINESS IN YOUR
TONE,

THOSE LIPS THAT YOU PLACE SO SOFTLY AGAINST
MINE,

MAKES ME WISH I COULD PRESS REWIND,

SO, I CAN FEEL JUST ONE MORE TIME,

THE WARMTH OF YOUR BODY PRESSED UP ON
MINE,

MAYBE THAT’S THE REASON I FIND MYSELF
BEING SELFISH,

THIS ADDICTION I HAVE TO YOU SOMETIMES
MAKES ME JEALOUS,

OF ANY AND EVERYTHING THAT TAKES YOU
FROM MY PRESENCE,

YOU’RE THE LIFELINE THAT CONNECTS TO MY SOUL,

THE REASON BEHIND THE GREATEST STORY
EVER TOLD.

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Eve Remembering-Toni Morrison

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Eve Remembering 

1

I tore from a limb fruit that had lost its green.
My hands were warmed by the heat of an apple
Fire red and humming.
I bit sweet power to the core.
How can I say what it was like?
The taste! The taste undid my eyes
And led me far from the gardens planted for a child
To wildernesses deeper than any master’s call.

2

Now these cool hands guide what they once caressed;
Lips forget what they have kissed.
My eyes now pool their light
Better the summit to see.

3

I would do it all over again:
Be the harbor and set the sail,
Loose the breeze and harness the gale,
Cherish the harvest of what I have been.
Better the summit to scale.
Better the summit to be.

There will never be another like Toni Morrison….

#HAPPYBLACKHISTORYMONTH

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Phenomenal Woman-By Maya Angelou

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MAYA ANGELOU
Apr 04, 1928 – May 28, 2014

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,   
The stride of my step,   
The curl of my lips.   
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,   
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,   
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.   
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.   
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,   
And the flash of my teeth,   
The swing in my waist,   
And the joy in my feet.   
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered   
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,   
They say they still can’t see.   
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,   
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.   
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.   
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,   
The bend of my hair,   
the palm of my hand,   
The need for my care.   
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

#HAPPYBLACKHISTORYMONTH

DOLISHA DEVONNE

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Dear John, Dear Coltrane- By Micheal S. Harper

Michael S. Harper in 1992. “My poems are rhythmic rather than metric; the pulse is jazz,” he wrote.

a love supreme, a love supreme
a love supreme, a love supreme

Sex fingers toes
in the marketplace
near your father’s church
in Hamlet, North Carolina—
witness to this love
in this calm fallow
of these minds,
there is no substitute for pain:
genitals gone or going,
seed burned out,
you tuck the roots in the earth,
turn back, and move
by river through the swamps,
singing: a love supreme, a love supreme;
what does it all mean?
Loss, so great each black
woman expects your failure
in mute change, the seed gone.
You plod up into the electric city—
your song now crystal and
the blues. You pick up the horn
with some will and blow
into the freezing night:
a love supreme, a love supreme—

Dawn comes and you cook
up the thick sin ‘tween
impotence and death, fuel
the tenor sax cannibal
heart, genitals, and sweat
that makes you clean—
a love supreme, a love supreme—

Why you so black?
cause I am
why you so funky?
cause I am
why you so black?
cause I am
why you so sweet?
cause I am
why you so black?
cause I am
a love supreme, a love supreme:

So sick
you couldn’t play Naima,
so flat we ached
for song you’d concealed
with your own blood,
your diseased liver gave
out its purity,
the inflated heart
pumps out, the tenor kiss,
tenor love:
a love supreme, a love supreme—
a love supreme, a love supreme—

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The first time I read this poem, I didn’t know who John Coltrane was, neither have I heard of him before. However, after being introduced to “Dear John, Dear Coltrane,” Micheal S. Harper gave me a perspective of a man fully dedicated to his music and his craft, while giving true definition to “a love supreme…”

Thank you, Micheal S. Harper

#BlackHistoryMonth

DOLISHA DEVONNE