tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-poems-i-leave-are-ones-that-meant.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Tuesday, October 22, 2013. I leave are the ones that meant the most to me. Thanks for reading - z. Posted by z.bediako. Leave a line, or two. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. A short poem for the ones who think we are free. Exiting the belly : birth rights. The day we go blind. In a dream: reduction of illumination. Black girl lost.in a book. The Unwrapped Mind Of C.L. Jones. My best friend gayle. Black Girl Get Free.
tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: flies.
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2011/10/flies.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Monday, October 31, 2011. Starving babies are quiet on my block. They suck on air like a breeze is a warm bottle. My hunger struck early, too. But slop still left a residue. On the outsides of my chestnut cheeks. There were many days when stale honey combs. A stink settling inside of urban black american poverty. Posted by z.bediako. Leave a line, or two. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Exiting the belly : birth rights.
tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: untitled.
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2011/04/untitled.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Wednesday, April 13, 2011. Them winged birds won't ever fly. Just jump up high to sift the sky. They'll go to the fair on lemon hill. Too afraid to hop on the Ferris wheel. Them winged birds will never soar. They'll merely strut the corridor. They'll hide behind the open doors. Then close them shut and kiss the floor. Them winged birds won't ever swoop. Shoot the shit inside the coop. Inspired by Gwendolyn Brook's WE REAL COOL. Posted by z.bediako.
tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: slither.
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2011/04/little-girl-blue.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Tuesday, April 19, 2011. It is 12:44 am. When the snake arrives. Slithering his sour self. Across her humid hips. Dipped dark in summer drape. Like two spiraling twist ties. On a white unyielding ironing board. He grows outside of her. He slinks against the. That she doesn't want him. That she will still feel him - crawling. Nor does he dare. To hurry or hush his heavy breathing. He doesn't even bother to avert his eyes. Posted by z.bediako. Leave a line, or two.
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The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: little casualities
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2008/05/on-optimism.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Saturday, May 3, 2008. How can i see rainbows. Through this cloud of grey smoke. From the heads of. 4 little black girls. 4 little black girls. 4 little black girls. Who liked to lick the. From big mamas spoon. Who laid their heads in the grass. And watched their brothers pass orange kites. Across the humid sky. To tease and tickle the clouds. Who fetched big buckets of brown water. From the nile for big sister. Next to debri from. Little sun kissed kissed boys.
tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: Exiting the Belly
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2008/08/exiting-belly.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Monday, August 25, 2008. I escaped right into a prison. I was the raise of the base. Just call me the logarithm. Encased above my mothers thighs. I was the truth. Now i am a. Maybe i was freer in two parts. Shoveled inside dark ovaries. Swimming in the sac. Maybe it was better. He didnt have the orgasm. To set me free. Though i'd know no taste. For i'd have no face. Maybe i was better. In my mothers mind. To exit her belly. Barely considering me”. The day we go blind.
tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: the fear of honeysuckles, i suckled.
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2009/07/fear-of-honeysuckles-i-suckled.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Monday, July 6, 2009. The fear of honeysuckles, i suckled. The fear of honeysuckles. For all that i have left are paper thin dreams. Laying flatly on pale pillows. Don’t mistake them for water colors. Just cause they dissipate at the touch. Diluted and bright;. Fragrant of moon beams. Through the curtain of blinds. Like the slow motion of swing sets. Stuck, speckled in a grainy old film. Fallen back in time. I still remember the sweetness of abundance.
tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: Cityscape
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2010/11/cityscape.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Wednesday, November 3, 2010. It is cold today. The wind is bitter and on a rampage. Targeting every one in her path. Folks are finally packing up their folding chairs. And abandoning their porches by reason of autumns bleak blossom. Vibrantly colored scarves are draped for the draft. Under ill fitting fall coats. Wooden toggles timidly stretch across satiated summer bellies. The loquacious mouths of the bus-stop regulars keep quiet now. While southern souls, like me,.
tonguerhythms.blogspot.com
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms: A short poem for the ones who think we are free.
http://tonguerhythms.blogspot.com/2009/01/short-poem-for-ones-who-think-we-are.html
The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. Thursday, January 22, 2009. A short poem for the ones who think we are free. A short poem for the ones who think we are free. You are so easily pleased. Is pregnant with stones. I shall open my legs. Posted by z.bediako. Labels: work in progress. February 16, 2009 at 1:23 PM. February 20, 2016 at 10:24 PM. Leave a line, or two. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Select Archives of Tongue Rhythms. A short poem for the ones who think we are free.
