Monthly Archives: February 2012

Ye ye o (between a dancer and a drummer) :: Jessica Horn

…embodying Oshun….from Jessica Horn’s debut poetry chapbook Speaking in Tongues.

yellow petal falls

into oshun’s river,

flows golden

*

waterspirit awakens inside

our pores bloom with drumbeats

melodious skin

*

I cover my hair with

white cloth, bathe in amber water-

falls of drumspeaksound

*

intoxicated

by space and sighs

we travel

from neck to ankle

charting

our incompleteness

our

divine humanity

*

we dreamed

we dreamed

we dreamed

we could

make love

to music

ride high

on the sound

that     slips    off

leather and

mango wood

old

in its sap and

skin

*

purpleblueblackpurpleblueblackbeads

purple blue black

purple blue black beads

skins beads sweat beads skin

salt wet salt skin salt wet salt

tongue. teeth. thighs.

(c) Jessica Horn

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Mariska Taylor-Darko’s poetic reflections on domestic violence

A beating for love
Your fist pounded my face
In shock I stood there
Not moving, not screaming
The first time it happened
You said you beat me because you loved me.

You put the blame on me
I don’t remember doing wrong
Your gambling and drinking
Your womanising and flirting
Your problems and woes
Were all my fault
And you said you beat me because you loved me

I asked you why you did this
“You made me do it “you said
“I love you, that’s why I beat you”

I never knew love was like this
Maybe no one ever told me.
I thought love was loving and caring,
Laughter and happiness
Not this—a beating for love

I grew old in my heart
My love turned to fear and hate
I lived only in dread of that fist in my face
Why didn’t I go, why?
Because I loved you
And you said you loved me that’s why you beat me.
I cried myself to sleep, silently
So you wouldn’t hear in case I got another fist in my face.

Is this love?
A fist in the face
I must have dreamt the other love
The movie star love
The storybook love
The pure clean love
What have I done to deserve this?
This angry fist in my face.

The hand that beats me caresses me
I can’t move away
Can’t say what’s in my heart,
No one must know my shame
I lay there beaten inside, dead inside, hating inside, dying inside
Holding on to you- not in love but in fear
While dreading the morning because I’ll get another fist in my face
And you’ll whisper between the kisses, I beat you because I love you. Bull Shit!
(C) Mariska Taylor-Darko 2007

For more check out http://africanwomenspoetry.blogspot.com

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