I wrote this peom for all the real men, not little boys but real me. a man is someone who is is self reserverd, ambitious, knows his culture, morals, ethics, and the true maening of family and community. So if you real and you feel like writing, go ahead, just make sure you real.

Brother Shabazz

My Adam with chocolate complexion
Sophisticated yet reserved
Ruler of my castle, perfection
Respectful yet complicated
A Nubian Prince waiting to be King


King of my temple
Poetic intercourse at midnight
Born with natural rhythm and grace
I shiver as you press against
the southside of my world

I let you in without hesitation
Every thrust counts
Every breath expresses the feeling

Damn, this feels good
No man can do me like you, Black Man
No one understands me like
you do, Black Man
This is why I Love You, Black Men

Why do you write. Is it to escape reality, define it, or is it to compose a fictional world into reality. I write to express, to be free, to move, to feel, to exhault true meaning and identity. whatever the reason you write just make sure that you are you when you do it.


Brother Shabazz


King of my temple
Poetic intercourse at midnight
Born with natural rhythm and grace
I shiver as you press against
the southside of my world


I let you in without hesitation
Every thrust counts
Every breath expresses the feeling

Damn, this feels good
No man can do me like you, Black Man
No one understands me like
you do, Black Man
This is why I Love You, Black Men

s2n3 wrote:

I write mostly poetry that is directed to African Americans. I am 20 years old and I have been writing since I was 11. I love spoken word. And i loved Russel Simmon Def Poetry Jam. It was the real thing. If you want to know more about me, let me know. I can write about anythng at any time. i guess its a gift. Her is another poem by me entitled

Suppressive Ghetto

Colored chick with hands on her hips
Switching,
Behind swaying
Left hand flailing
Just coming from the salon
Girlfriend just got her nails done
Gel in her hair to slick it down
Blond and red ponytail
Needing that diva look in her part of town
Putting on airs thinking more than she is
But ghetto fabulous is how she lives
Attitude abounding, clowning yesterday's man
Cause the N****rh ain't got but a dollah in his hand
Swattin flies, with tears in her eyes
Lookin to be discovered by anyone who will notice
Her imperfections, by the rawness of her perfected womanhood?
Every drop of her dreams
Being poured into the reality
In the pale green Tupperware tumbler
A free gift, not being able to purchase the set
Setting her eyes on getting free of the hood
Un-announced and misunderstood…
Picking up on eyes on her outfit
Who does she think she is?
Rich?
Not rich, but trying to get there
Selling God's gift to any man who would have her
Trusting the mirror to love her with lies
Telling tales of ageless wonders
Thick thighs and big feet
Just strong enough
To carry her through the ghetto streets
Bright yellow sandals clicking on the vile infested blocks
This colored chick with a hand on her hip
Faceless black men make mention of her figure
Continued clicking, not noticing and not caring
None have enough money to offer
For the touch of her left hand flailing
The soft educated touch of this colored chick
Making eyes roll in the back of heads turning
As she rounds the corner
By the local bar
Standing, waiting,
Communicating
With old white men
Promising God that this is the last one
Only to repent daily for sinning
Doing everything she can
To free herself from the pits of
A ghetto's hell

here..

Nice pieces. Strong! that is how they should be.



Reshilpare