MAHOGANY L BROWN on BLACK GIRL MAGIC

From PBS 

Brief But Spectacular

ON BLACK GIRL MAGIC

A POEM

Phenomenal Woman By Maya Angelou

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. 

Artwork by @tycheriee

I walk into a room 

Just as cool as you please, 

And to 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.
~Maya Angelou, “Phenomenal Woman” from And Still I Rise. 

Creativity Credit belongs to Brown Girl Collective https://www.facebook.com/BrownGirlCollective/photos/a.193731154592.121720.110155684592/10154880725849593/?type=3&theater&notif_t=notify_me_page&notif_id=1485105045496086

WHAT MY WOMANISM LOOKS LIKE by TINA B MARIE

A POEM

THAT

EDUCATES

AND

GIVES LOVE AND LIGHT

TO SISTERS


A definition of womanism is here at
"WOMANISM IS TO FEMINISM as PURPLE IS TO LAVENDER" -Alice Walker
http://thankherforsurviving.blogspot.com/2015/05/womanism-is-to-feminism-as-purple-is-to.html


LISTEN!

apathy by warsan shire

So what are you going to say at my funeral 
now that you've killed me?

* * * * * Here lies the body of the love of my life 
whose heart I broke
Without a gun to my head
Here lies the mother of my children, 
both living and dead
Rest in peace my true love who I took for granted
The most bomb pussy 
who because of me sleep evaded

Her shroud 

is 
Loneliness

Her god 
was 
Listening

Her heaven 
will be 
a love without betrayal

Ashes to ashes
Dust to sidechicks

~Warsan Shire

~Performed by Beyonce, 

 LEMONADE 2016

THIS WOMAN by Alysia Harris

THIS WOMAN

A POEM

BY

ALISIA HARRIS

A 

SEQUEL TO

THAT GIRL 

Link to Prequel 

That Girl
http://thankherforsurviving.blogspot.com/2016/08/that-girl-by-alysia-harris.html

This is an elegy to all the things that we become before we're done becoming women




One,
Elegy to the freshman girlfriend whose optimism 
was buttermilk at the breakfast table turned sour by a boy 
for whom my face wasn't pretty in the way he preferred

Baked my body into buffet, 
a pie he could cut open and sample
Take a slice of what he liked
Eyes like flies, 
all the maggoted compliments I swallowed
because somewhere this must be a delicacy
And somewhere I must be really lucky
Though not Christian enough to pray for
Not even trophy enough to pay for
I spent half of college trying to get this boy to love me
Wrote dozens of poems
Well "that girl" shes been dead for years nowShe's been dead for years now but yall keep asking me to conjure up a ghost

Two,
Ode to the slut who doesn't f*ck 
but still a slut for not letting him hit

Remember 
there are always two ways of looking at a condom in a wrapper, 
open your p*ssy and you won't find freedom
Close your legs and you won't find purity
Purity is just contraception
Freedom is knowing your hip is a hinge, 
use your body at your own discretion and seek your own pleasure
What lies between your thighs is a man's Genesis 
so how dare he spit upon scripture

To all the girls who've been propped open, pried open, and jada posed
I'm sorry there was no funeral for the going out of your smile 
and the coming in of strangers
Hoes, boppers, and skanks
What's in a name but a whole lot of rape culture
What's a slut anyway, but a pimp in sheep's clothing

Three
Ode to the bitch who's not a bitch, 
just doesn't always feel like shaking hands after the show
I tried taming the Leo
Cut all of my hair off to get rid of my ego 
but still it comes roaring in like a red dragon
She be my protection, a pitbull in a skirt, 
please I'm a bull massive on the scent of a kill
I'm still learning how to heal

Four,
Ode to the surgeon
To the knife we wield deathly in our right hand
And to the sutras we made of our own mouths
Where nothing else could close the wounds
My first love, I had to cut him out first at 19 
and then again at 21 and then again at 22
The field doc like a field doctor without supplies 
on the battlefield, I had to improvise
I marched through my own heart, arms with nothing but a bible, my knees and came out the other side
My hands were killers but my shirt clean, my Coach white
Sometimes love is surgery but it is always a sacrifice

Five,
Ode to the martyr also the mother, 
who were once daughters of God and therefore saints
How many times, girls, 
how many times have we tried to save someone with our love
Been bread, butter, and breath
Done done our best to give birth and give good head
I mean wisdom, knowledge

Six,
Ode to the impossible
I'm still a red head in my heart
Believe that I am prettier than 8 out of 10 girls in the room
I've traveled to 20 or more countries 
and love what I do 
but still wake up every morning wondering if I'm doing enough
Sometimes I am tired
Tired
More tired than a bag of old diamonds
All these words and no answers
But everyday I ask myself if today were the last today, 
would I be okay with the life I've lived 
and then I forgive myself till theres no more sand left in Egypt
I remember the mountains in my last name 
and the victory in the middle
Say it over and over as a reminder, 
Alysia Nicole, the unforgotten victory, 
the victory of the truth
It took me 7 years to go from 
that girl to this woman
7 years 
but ain't God good and ain't I great

BLACK PRIVILEGE, a poem by Crystal Valentine

Think you can't "get" poetry? Think again. You'll "get" this.

Don't Miss
Crystal Valentine's
Black Privilege

GIVE YOUR HEARTS AT THANKSGIVING

Give your hearts, 

but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Kahlil Gibran ♥

Praying For the DAPL Water Protectors today and through Thanksgiving and beyond. The police brutality there isn't getting enough coverage

IN HONOR OF THE KKK ENDORSING TRUMP IN THEIR NEWSPAPER, A POEM FOR FANNIE LOU HAMER

I don't believe in anybody's purity as far as bigotry is concerned. In my mind, the way black and brown men treat women's issues should be all the proof that anybody needs that this is true: Virtually no individual is absolutely pure when it comes to bigotry.

But let me make something else clear. The various forms of power-laden, white racisms aren't all the same either. There are different versions. Our ability to make Hillary Clinton responsive to black and brown needs may be limited. But Ronald Reagan dog whistled his KKK version racism and WHITE MOB VIOLENCE increased ALL OVER THE COUNTRY. 

And Donald Trump ain't whistling. He's not even close to whistling.  Trump cannot be allowed to be president of this country. If you were in doubt of that before the KKK endorsed him in their official newspaper. Doubt no more. 

And remember this: People died so black and brown people can vote. Fannie Lou Hamer was severely beaten for your right to vote.

So let's get out there and do it. 

Voting Hillary Clinton in may be voting in "business as usual" But letting Donald Trump slip slide is way into office is "business as usual" in an 1880 to 1960s style. Let's not go backward. For those who don't know your history, as high profile as black death at the hands of police have been lately, we have a lot to lose.

VOTE

* * * * *

1977: Poem for Mrs. Fannie Lou Hamer

Related Poem Content Details

BY JUNE JORDAN

You used to say, “June? 

Honey when you come down here you 

supposed to stay with me. Where 

else?” 

Meanin home 

against the beer the shotguns and the 

point of view of whitemen don’ 

never see Black anybodies without 

some violent itch start up. 

                                       The ones who   

said, “No Nigga’s Votin in This Town . . . 

lessen it be feet first to the booth”   

Then jailed you   

beat you brutal   

bloody/battered/beat   

you blue beyond the feeling   

of the terrible 

And failed to stop you.   

Only God could but He   

wouldn’t stop   

you 

fortress from self- 

pity 

Humble as a woman anywhere   

I remember finding you inside the laundromat   

in Ruleville   

                  lion spine relaxed/hell   

                  what’s the point to courage   

                  when you washin clothes?   

But that took courage 

                  just to sit there/target   

                  to the killers lookin   

                  for your singin face   

                  perspirey through the rinse   

                  and spin 

and later   

you stood mighty in the door on James Street   

loud callin: 

                  “BULLETS OR NO BULLETS!   

                  THE FOOD IS COOKED   

                  AN’ GETTIN COLD!” 

We ate 

A family tremulous but fortified 

by turnips/okra/handpicked 

like the lilies 

filled to the very living   

full 

one solid gospel 

                        (sanctified) 

one gospel 

                (peace) 

one full Black lily   

luminescent   

in a homemade field   

of love

BEAUTY IS NOT A NEED BUT AN ECSTASY

..And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. 
It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.




It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.
People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
But you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror. "

~Khalil Gibran~

THAT GIRL by Alysia Harris

We got that
waiting in the clinic silence.
That shhh
don’t tell nobody

what

we

did

silence

and Im so tired of being your hamper that
I’m about to dump out those week old
stained ketchup secrets
and do laundry in that silence

You like
keeping it quiet.

But my vagina is not your walk in closet.
You wanna stuff your unmentionables through me,
wanna place to hang up your insecurities,
want me to keep track of your hand me downs and Prada,
Waiting for every occasion
to put me back
behind closed doors in the darkness.

Nobody knows
you hold my hand

Nobody knows
I call you baby

And nobody knows
you write anonymous poems about me,
the type you can’t post on Facebook.

Because
regardless of what
you may think
I’m worth or what
you may think
I deserve,
I will never be

THAT girl,

The girl
that’s only allowed to make you smile
when she´s making you orgasm,

THAT girl

whose day job i
s daydreaming
waiting for her night job.

THAT girl

who´s so in love
she will turn her body over
for your superficial touch.

You hide me behind lock doors and bed sheets
because if you dare reached out
then everybody would still know
that it was still about me.
living in your heart
and in your mind
you're still wrapped up in me.

My teardrops
you own them,

My hearts strings
you got them
tied around your pencils and fingers.

Yea,
you may say it´s over
And you may never admit
that you love me
But you don’t have to
cause your silence
speaks volumes.

You wanna hold me in your arms
rock me to sleep
then act like you don’t know me.
As if the moments we spent together
are some kind of down payment.
As if my bedroom were layaway
And that’s all you ever do
is layaway
Pull up beside me
but in the morning
pull up the hoodie
and run the other way.
I’m like that bastard child,
the reason Daddy why never stuck around
in the first place

But for me
rejection doesn´t come every other weekend..
It comes when you lower your head
and pass by without speaking

And I remember there was a time
you could barely take your eyes off me.
I just don’t understand
why its not okay for you to love me.
I guess you just want me to be

THAT girl.

The girl everybody wants to sleep with
 but nobody wants to be with.

THAT girl

Only good enough for
finding a suitable replacement.

Not trying to make up for the mistakes
But you try to convince yourself
that she means everything
and you want nothing
to do with me

But come on baby
she looks just like me!

Read the signs
or at least it's not the facial features
Cause I was your first,
your only,
the prototype!
And she´s just a duplicate
And you can never make copies
without first consulting THE BLUEPRINT!

You know what they say
the sequel is never better than the original.
And she tries to write you stories
but you know they’re only half as good,
So half squinting
you only hold her
half as tight as you should.

Cause your other half
is tangled between my bed sheets,

And your other half
is complete within my mind, soul, and body,

And your other half
is french tonguing me Monday through Friday.

I’m not fighting for joint custody.
I’m fighting for RESPECT
Cause I will never be content with being

your back door ho.

your something on the side,

your something to do during those lonely nights,

your closet freak.

You will never reduce me to a skank
and a whore that will love you.
I’d rather spend every night

crying alone on my bedroom floor

than to ever be

THAT Girl!

"That Girl" by Alysia Harris

(You gotta hear this poem to FEEEEEL IT-)

ON THE ENJOYMENT OF WHITE BOY PRIVILEGE, A POEM

"WHITE BOY PRIVILEGE"
by ROYCE MANN
14 years old

8th Grade

Royce addresses white supremacy, patriarchy, class, income, and status

Let's call his parents

WINNING!