-ingly
(on into one another) 

you are here with me
long before you come
and I’m holding you so close
the warm moisture of your breath
is gently washing and massaging my face
and I’m hearing the thrumming of our bosoms
pouring one on into the other

I’m talking with you
here in the mirror at dawn
at work in the dry spacings of the day
while walking alone in the evening
when the air is clear
and generous with its wisdom
and your soft round browns
are exploding in me rubbing raw nerves
with sensuous brushings and nourishing words
delicately etching in tracings of your smile

the tasting of you is here everywhere
my mouth my stomach my eyes my ears
on the ends of my fingertips
spreading as oceans boundlessly
enslaving my thoughts . . .
to the smooth melodious hummming
of sagacious African drummmings
we’re dervishly whirling and twirling
warming each other as best we can
in this bubbular pocket of rented things
framed in cold and lonely sounds

by the time you have come here with me
there’s so little to be seeing
you’ve been consuming me for so long
only open and naked pores are left . . .
your eyes are pouring quietly into mine
and we’re whispering in native tongues
tones sung through us for so long
and now we’re over flowing
in the urgings of torrid new hungers
savagely grounding us down and
enfolding us in short orgasmic fillings
as we’re continuing to becoming to us

Copyright © 1993, 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

bags

these veined dark hands they shrivelling
in the hungry plundering
of her old crooked fingers
her shopping cart loaded it full
of rescued things
tied up in the arms
of her many little strings
silver aged trolley whose shine done gone
mumbling words grumbling ‘round
in thick lipped jaws wit snuff dripping down
‘neath the smile smothered there
in the still abandoned yearning
of her tird brown eyes
her losing what her finding
in the belly of this night
‘cause the wheels wobbling ‘round
us bumping here ‘gainst the ground
her squat’n there by herself
nobody somewhere
big wide bottom hips fart’n bare
for all those flies they hurrying there
looking on they going pretending no care
swallowing the syrupy spell
of this vulgar smell
slobbering mouths their hands dripping full
holding our breath
while her moving her bowels

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

the grave

this armless night is swollen in silence
and sudden echoes of broken glass
muffled in lowly mumblings
of drunken body screams
twisted dark faces surrender
frozen in the pain of having to breathe
and no one is ever here or even near
the ears are closed for all to hear
eyes they stare and on they stare
always there at what they stare

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

ghosts

the echoes of what there used to be
and the tease of those smells they bother me
dusty toes dressed in calloused corns
stomping and praying on dirt pourd floors
and them hands dark hands they clapping hands
here juke joint druming in rebok shoes
shadows of fires and fat blow flies
syrup they knots tied here in my head
the taste of things they holding me still
they keep on coming here humming
and drinking my time

keep on coming here humming
and drinking my time

coming here humming
and drinking my time

Copyright © 1995 Asili Ya Nadhiri

sculpturing 

i want to come inside you
with warm soothing balms
rubbing all the little things
chewd and used in many dark hands

i want to come inside you
with mused drum potions
spilling tiny child notions
whispered and done as other plans

i want to come inside you
with hot native eyes
burning homemade charms
combed and dabbled on
our cunning little shames

i want to come inside you
with soft chanted psalms
pouring tender little things
into tender little things
in tender little things

Copyright © 1990 Asili Ya Nadhiri

here just abiding on . . . 

the milk in your bosom is drying up
in silent behestings of suckling why’s
wandering in the meandering
of wondering alone and
cuddling-up with little furry things

you’re always there just being here
sifting through the blurring potions
of those same cavernous shadows
lying under covers but never sleeping
’cause you’re too scared of dreaming

teasing glimps-ings in enthralling eyes
of somebody here waiting underground
anxiously wondering along with us
is this what i’ll always be doing
and all we’ll ever be seeing of you

 Copyright © 2018 Asili Ya Nadhiri

Experiencing art should not be attended by the fear of being wrong. So What! if your interaction (experience) is rendering a visceral and cognitive interpretation that is differing from some establishing status quo. Of course, there is some reasonable and socio-psychological comfort in being in-step with mainstream. This, however, is not absolutely necessary for a most rewarding experiencing. Just tell me: How can one even pretend to be expressing/describing their visceral experiencing of the music of John Coltrane, Stravinsky, Cecil Taylor, Wayne Shorter; the visual art of Jacob Lawrence, John Biggers, and Picasso, the written art of Toni Morrison, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Richard Wright. ONLY YOU CAN HAVE YOUR EXISTENTIAL EXPERIENCING

Our obsession with “ME!ME!ME! is continuing the curtailing conditioning of the existential promises (entitlement to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness) we so boastfully proclaim as the hallmark our society. Camouflaging pretensions of arrogance and other superiority attitudes are being inhumanely translated into the morality governing our interpersonal interactions; and the respective institutions responsible for the legislating of such. It is imperative that we eliminate the use of THEMMM when referring to persons whose thoughts are not aligning with ours. THE MANTRA “WE!WE!WE!WE!WE! . . .” MUST BEGIN TO RESONATE MORE RESOUNDINGLY OVER THAT OF “ME!ME!ME!”

sucking on the sugar titty of vicariousing
(elegy for those willing to be automatons) 

what’s this who i’m pretending to be
the one outside i’m seeing through
or some anybody else i’m wishing i am
what’s what i’m feeling i cannot see
wandering here in some where
like it’s inside of me

so how’s i’m the fault for how i’m being
with this scared wrapping here
all up around my knees
and what the hell you supposing i do
when aint nobody seeing nobody here
in this some body especially me

so if i’m the one who supposing to cry
and everybody’s figuring i’m going to die
why shouldn’t i be addictionationing
acting just like any somebody i’m told
numbing fantasizing feeling no pain
filling this growing hole
with whatever it is i’m calling me

Copyright © 1993, 2004, 2018, 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

and so softly jingling jangling

dancing is always a trancing entrancing
daringly chancing perchancings
’round ‘n’round in a somewhere else-ing
beholding here in your flattening bosom
singular behestings of plundering sighs
and opiating sang-songing denyings
marching to the falling of loose change
wandering in the meandering of wondering
abiding on in the hold of just abiding on
dancing is always a trancing entrancing
daringly chancing perchancings
’round ‘n’round in a somewhere else-ing
you’re wanting but too scared of giving-up
what it aint that you’re try’n to be doing
you’re slowly deciding on being no more but
how you know’n when there’s be’n no more
and where will you be go’n by pass’n on out
through whatever door on to some body else
you here running away from being before
dancing is always a trancing entrancing
daringly chancing perchancings
’round ‘n’round in a somewhere else-ing
your stoically warming and enclosing eyes
and laughing saddening beguiling smile
are conjuring up enthralling caressings
of make believe arms spin’n around too
making like this is all there is to do
is this what it is you’re wanting to be
all we’re ever going to be seeing as you
dancing is always a trancing entrancing
daringly chancing perchancings
’round ‘n’round in a somewhere else-ing

Copyright © 2018 Asili Ya Nadhiri

drowning on in our themmming themmms

themmms always here nowings in then
so themmming mo’ themmms
just like all themmm other themmms
wandering on out of primordial wombs
coveting themmm themmms
who’re blatantly cowarding
themmms like themmm
by flagrantly militationing
their royal disdaining
of oracular warnings of proverbial sins
blindly and arrogantingly propagating
more themmms so be growing more themmms
like themmm themmms themmming themmm
and they’re all addictionationing on
little scared desperationing gnomes
hyping fatal-cidal degenerationing whims
molding and infectuously enthralling us all
with confusing abusing algorithming refrains
rolleding-up in slow low mo’ mo’ hump’n OMs
hypnotic perverse-nationing drumm songs
keeping themmmings going ‘round
just keeping coming on around
like all the rest of us themmms
nowing in then here-ing when
always just trying to keep holding on
to what we’re told to be holding on
by themmm themmms who’re coveting
all themmm other themmms

Copyright © 2015 Asili Ya Nadhiri

GAMING

Our society is obsessing with the affliction of “The Game”; IT’S IN OUR SOCIAL BLOODSTREAM. Every human interaction is a life defining contest—”you vs. me”. This athletic metaphor (as metaphors tend to do) inform us a little in regards the nature of human interactions; but it is not the best way to engender the creation and growth and wellbeing of human communities.

Gaming morphs human beings into mechanisms most suitable for being controlled by fellow human beings. It accomplishes this by engendering feelings of addicting anxieties: aggressiveness, insecurity, defensiveness, and an overbearing aloningness— FACTORS DRIVING OUR CONSUMING ADDICTION TO !ME!ME!ME!It is imperative that we stop GAMING, and be making our interactions momentings of ONE-INGNESS that are always blossoming and being inhaled by us all