old dark lips in red jump suits
is weavin orange colored tones
in rhythm words strut’n
in stumblin voodoo rhymes
for hypnotic brown hips
drum pumpin in DO’DUMP DO’DUMP DO’DUMP DO’DUMP makin throbbin sounds of ghetto rapin
they lickin mo’ sugar sweet
to pink colored night people
with shiny new gold teeth
sleepwalkin bones
and sho be do dancin feet DOOOM DOOM DOOM DO’DUMP DO’DUMP DO’DUMP DO’DUMP DOOOM DOOM DOOM DO’DUMP DO’DUMP DO’DUMP DO’DUMP
a tear is here
breathing softly
in round brown eyes
covering things you don’t reveal
and singing in the word songs
roaring quietly there inside you
and pouring on in still waters
waiting and waiting
for the flow of rivers
fat dark preacher hands
and preying ivory smiles come near
grabbing around you in silk white gloves
and smooth rhythmic pears formed
in the chant of dark plum lips
so close you come in stubborn hungers
drumming the echos of hot throbbing sounds
tempting parched lands
of a moist underground
and then
after midnight you bathe
and begin your prayer again
wove-ing softly in close up underneath
the blued maternaled dripping
of your longed dark nippled breasts
“-syl-la-bate’n-at-that-
-this-you-some-body-other-self-!” . . .
mumbling on through them soliloquies born
‘fore in ‘cross that passage on
and then on and on and on and on
and now on through you
in naked scared unguarded moments
longing for where you wandering
in brown trespassing eyes
with thick laden hands
too fulled to behold . . .-ding
your long praying fingers en-palming
them done forbidden things there warming
in amen amen en-tangling
waiting there stirring in syrup brown sugar ways
who they aint never caint never turned cold
you holding on to there to you holding on
pretending in sometimes ‘hind Sapphire-ing wigs
in a dimming purpled dimmed en-swallowing
your dark plum lips impounding your bosom
in hushed protesting vows
on and on O Lord and on and on
in this as you is been
soft dark berry
dark berry plum lips
whose succulent smile
never leaves their horizon
baiting eyes they posed
in a desperate silence
shouting!softly
to some thing where
inside in your self
scared and wondering
in the straw figurines
you floating all around you
in on your way going
your aging brown fingers
tracing out the tiny circle
in which you dissolve
an’hur here sitting there standing tall
lean’n over in’ur front door
where’ur at some where
in the hollow of’ur arms
runn’n ‘round’n’round in’ur head
hur here in there on’ur knees
in hur abandoning underground
begging scared in hur softly spill’n
cussing and crudely drifting on
eyes closed down feel’n ‘round
try’n’tuh see’ur self found
aBsTrAcTiNg DaLi StRaCtInG dAlIStRaCtInGs (me don’t me want me be loved want be me just me romance-inged)
**parramore-inged-ing (like they aint no mo’ playing checkers no mo’)
ah ju’ah’ju’ah juuu ju Juuuuuuu ah ju’ah ju juuu JUUUUUuuuuuu . . .
they dark faces wait’n ‘round
when they use’ta be stand’n dere lean’n here sit’n
stare-ing on inside veined browned yellowing eyes
who in dey heads black mans
who in dey heads jitterbugging
ah ju’ah’ju’ah juuu ju Juuuuuuu ah ju’ah ju juuu JUUUUUuuuuuu . . .
why do you look on walking
so far-ring away here
full-ling with what
it farther-ring you on
in the cover you warming
but will not let you see
ah ju’ah’ju’ah juuu ju Juuuuuuu ah ju’ah ju juuu JUUUUUuuuuuu . . .
arms on they alone-inged
playing on in they hugging
and all there is
is this all there is
ah ju’ah’ju’ah juuu ju Juuuuuuu ah ju’ah ju juuu JUUUUUuuuuuu . . .
corners they porches
slowly there quickly no parking
strolling on in they standing there standing
waving out through they look’n
nodded they nodding on nodd’n avenues
ah ju’ah’ju’ah juuu ju Juuuuuuu ah ju’ah ju juuu JUUUUUuuuuuu . . .
still hear this sump’n in’me feel’n
jes’ caint i tell what it say
still hear this sump’n in’me feel’n
jes’ caint i tell what it say
still hear this sump’n in’me feel’n
jes’ caint i tell what it say
duh rhyme it fake’n me out
aint what be me this any way
still hear this sump’n in’me feel’n
jes’ caint i tell what it say
still hear this sump’n in’me feel’n
jes’ caint i tell what it say
still hear this sump’n in’me feel’n
jes’ caint i tell what it say
duh rhyme it fake’n me out
aint what be me this any way
aint what be me this any way
aint what be me this any way
aint what be me this any way
ah ju’ah ju juuu JUUUUUuuuuuu . . .
**Parramore is the heart-street of the oldest African American residential area in Orlando, Florida
**audio available at http://www.nadhiriwrites.com
*the soft and tortured yearning of the yardbird (a song for Charlie “Bird” Parker)
will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo i’m somewhere here
in this crowded dark room
alone in a corner
playing on the floor with broken things
my veins they fulling with nobody cares
spilling my days in a small pint jar will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo my sophistication is a syncopated thing
the stagger and swagger
they all mixed up together
in sweet round hips and homemade claims
lonely bellies sucking on voodoo bones
and sump’n tied here in me sanging
dat got no name will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo no time!NO TIME!no time there is in here with me
the trip is quick
a few words cussed in vacant lots
and sump’n waiting out here
i’m buried young at the end
of some other day will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo will you hear me wont’cha do wont’cha dooooo
1.
i seeing creeks of seamless moments
in the thickening of wrinkles
rippling in stilled darkening faces
scurrying away back on inside
to a hiding from the dawn
2.
a small brown boy
squating down in a corner
bruising and silently erasing
in the fouling embouchuring
of this tribal embrace
3.
here some where there right in here
where long nights spread their rusing arms
rubbing as mystical promissory balms
against the rawed weathering souls
of urbaned vagabonds
1.
i seeing creeks of seamless moments
in the thickening of wrinkles
rippling in stilled darkening faces
scurrying away back on inside
to a hiding from the dawn
2.
a small brown boy
squating down in a corner
bruising and silently erasing
in the fouling embouchuring
of this tribal embrace
3.
here some where there right in here
where long nights spread their rusing arms
rubbing as mystical promissory balms
against the rawed weathering souls
of urbaned vagabonds
nadhiriwrites 