there is no eventing on the horizon of giving-up . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

there is no eventing on
 the horizon of giving-up
(that it is what it is is never all
what is that it’s being as it is)

introverting eyes caving in on themselves
chancing no glacing just prancing 
the thumping hypnotizing soundings are
automating the syncopating bodies parts
so but we still aint dancing no mo’
we’re shattered shattering scatterings
coffling in delusioning illusionings

bumping and grinding
fabricating the heat of romancing
grinning here always looking ‘round
so enfolding in beholding 
own entrancing
while raising our hands
so like the roof is rising up
bodies bleeding tatoos 
is our democratizing proof
of this serpentining ruse  

cocooning here 
in a legislating somebody 
so not believing we’re dancing
right here on the cusp
of never ever seen being no more 

Copyright © 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

so just instead of being dead (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

*so just instead of being dead

all we doing in these fields here now
is shoot’n mess in our veins . . .
us aint used to no shit like this!
just treading water with no hands in this muddy hold
done give up on try’n to get to a shore
no matter how hard i’m wishing i caint
the gov’ment keep promising to massage
my tird aching joints and wrinkling hands
with welfaring drippings of fool’s gold 
but this trick aint working like dey say’n
all i’m doing’s just weathering here wait’n
pimpimg my vote to any somebody who
lying out real !loud! ‘bout how they
drawing some kinda goddamn line in the sand
when aint nothing but dirt in these fields
and mud hardening up ‘round my waist
 in this pond that’s here somewhere inside my head
but what the hell! . . . we too old
for thinking ‘bout any kind of sump’n else
got no choice but to keep wrapping up
in all us being given for to behold
“aint your fault neighbor
for be’n how ya’ll still being here is!

so we be feeling for least a minute
like us instead of being dead

Copyright © 2019, 2021 Asili Ya Nadhiri

sucking on the sugar titty of vicariousing . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

*sucking on the sugar titty of vicariousing
(elegy for those willing to be being 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 this i’m feeling that i cannot see
wandering all around here 
some where inside of me

how’s it my fault for this what i’m being
with this scared wrapping here
all up around my knees
and what the hell i’m ‘sposing to be doing
when aint nobody seeing nobody here 
not even some nother body called me

so if i’m the one always being ‘sposed to cry
and who everybody’s figuring’s be going to die 
why shouldn’t i be acting like somebody else  
numbing fantasizing and aint feeling no pain
by filling up this bitter hole i aint wanting to be
with anybody i’m told is mo’ better than me 

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

Atlantic Moorings (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)


glistening sheets of scrolling waters
drumming on’n’on in resounding billows
wet hummming oracles unfolding there
nourishing darkening trepidationings 
prophetically enthralling wonder’n tongues
sonorus echoes recycling their grace
undauntingly entangling on’n’on
here across your enfolding face

by the stark emancipationing of this moon
staring through cavern crevices handmade   
silently assuaging this kneading fear inside 
wrap’n ’round the musclings of our strides
so these bronze shackled imprinting soles 
aint froth abiding the leave of wet sands   
who’re always the shores there scared
drying in hubrisationing emulationing
there begging unbeknowingly awaiting  
the tutoring of shackled kindred hands
emanating out of our native humane

obediently we’re feeding 
snarling notion-nings crashing
in this tumultuous flooding
here in our wondering souls attacking
foreboding wallings of this hold and
nourishing this epic covenant unknown 
to all here bound forbear’n on
so quietlying on back out on into then
always coming fresh on up here again
so nourishing us all wandering here in
the belly of our carniverous dismaying
on and on and on in this cosmic swaying

Copyright © 1983, 2014, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

oracular (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)


only the smell is raising up
from the deep tribal markings
on the dark bodies laying there
in they kin folk bowels
shackled down to the bottom
on this cold damp floor
in the belly of Jonah’s slave whales
!and we was told they was coming!
was told way long long before
eating things for living they cannot name
scared about the night it filling they head
they listening for the drumming off yonder
low going lower it fading away fast . . .
they left naked there hummming
hummming here all alone 
in the loud throbbing silence
resounding there in
the undulating rhythm of the ocean’s roar
a mama crying there moannn’n 
gnawing on she baby’s throat
so he !never! gone die here no more
still having to feed them ones
who burdened there my !Lord! 
so for them to be carrying it on 
and sown here in this dirt 
by many other strange hands
like it long’n’longer is be’n foretold
howcome this all it’s having to be

Copyright © 1995, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

-ing (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

(on into one another)

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

I am talking with you
here in the mirror at dawn
at work in the dry spaces 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 beginning to explode in me rubbing raw nerves
with sensuous brushings and nourishing words
delicately etching in tracings of your smile
and I am beginning to come to you

the taste 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 musing
of sagacious African drummmings
of ancient Savanna Tomes
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 whispering in native tongues
tones sunging in us for so long
and now we’re overflowing
in the urgings of torrid new hungers
savagely grounding us down and
enfolding us in short orgasmic spillings
and we’re continuing to becoming to us”

Copyright © 1993, 2019, 2021 Asili Ya Nadhiri

stultifying in a ritualizing stupefying (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

stultifying in a ritualizing stupefying

our deceitful embouchuring 
of desperationing bodies performing
in call-and-response protestationings
is a foreboding insecure hsssss-ing
of the slither’n serpentine’n malevolencing
that’s long long be’n running on in our veins
—an essential companion of free willing 

but . . . vicarious syncophanting is no plan
it’s just another asinine’n sleighting-of-hand
so making like we’re all here take’n a stand
by masquerading in each others mirrors
in the same old pretentious camouflagings
like this time it’s sho’nuff gon be being
so mighty mighty goddamn real

but over’n’over aint nothing more
just go’n‘round coming’round
abetting our strutt’n here addicting 
hustling each other and ourselves 
with the same old same old
anesthetizing circularizing rationalizing
for so’us try’n to aint be feeling no shame
‘bout how us morphing so endlessly on into
shadows of our shadows’ shadowings

just aloning on in our aloning holding on
to kaleidescoping pixellating virtualizing
sparkling mirages in this darkening unknown
get’n high shoot’n-up on hypnotically chanting
 “!we’re going on our way back when!” 
to some potioning notion of a mythical then
that’s always always being 
some miraging evering never ever
Copyright © 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

The Flocking of Birds of a Feather . . .

The Flocking of Birds of a Feather
(Oh! How We’re Just Worshipping Our FOOLS!!!)

Indeed, birds of a feather do tend to flock together. Creation has evolved them thusly: They lack the blessing of free will. Human Beings of similar proclivities tend also to attract each other but not exactly in the manner of birds. We are blessed with a limited free will; this allows us sufficient capacity to choose with whom we “flock”. But, at the same time, we are also very prone to “flock together in the manner of birds and other non-human animals. 

Limited free will allows we humans to voluntarily flock with those who are habitually distinguishing themselves as fools. I am referring to the members of our human community who are blatantly and loudly demanding the right to command the existential realities of a significant number of us by simply and openly !SCREAMING!:  “I CAN’T SING, BUT I CAN DAMN SHO’ HOLLAR LIKE A MOTHER . . . ! ! !” 

Why do so many of us persist in following these fools so religiously without any significant questioning? Are we worshipping them, thusly, because they are so avidly demonstrating an overwhelming concern for our welfare, and because they are so obviously human beings of such superior intelligence and sense of humanity? NO! WHAT ARE WE GETTING FROM THEM? MONEY, NO; PERSONAL AND FAMILY SECURITY FROM SOCIAL MALEVOLENCE (RACISM, SEXISM, BLATANT PERVERSION, BOUNDLESS AND INSIDIOUS PUBLIC POLITICAL CRIMINALITY AND ENVIROMENTAL PANDEMICS)? HELL NO! WE’RE GETTING NOTHING!! NOTHING!! NOTHING!!! BUT AN EVER MORE RAPID AND SUSTAINING SUBMERSION IN ABOUNDING VARIETIES OF SYSTEMIC PSYCHOLOGICAL AND SOCIAL DISPAIR ! ! !

It does not matter how obviously absurd their behavior, how definitively they are demonstrating a barely mediocre intelligence, and the obvious and very pronounced extent that their self-serving behavior is reeking havoc upon our lives; we are ceremoniously gulping their addicting opium: ME!ME!ME!ME!ME!, with such volume and rabid GREED as to be always keeping ourselves on the threshold assorted existential calamities. We are ceremoniously behaving thusly because we’re drug addicts. Our only concern is our next fix; getting high on the booming mantra our fools are feeding us:IT AINT YOUR FAULT FOR BEING LIKE YOU’RE BEING; IT’S THEIRS—THEM OTHER THEMMMS!!! IF IT WON’T FOR THEMMM YOU’D BE UP HERE JES LIKE US(YOUR SELF-ANOINTED FOOLS). BUT SINCE YOU AINT LOUD AND BOLD LIKE US, YOU GON JUST HAVE TO BE KEEPING ON BUYING AND CLINGING TO THIS HIGH WE’RE DOLING OUT TO YOU AND DOING JUST LIKE WE’RE SAYING. YOU AINT NEEDING TO BE HAVING NO QUESTIONS ‘CAUSE WE’RE ALWAYS SCREAMING ALL THE ANSWERS THAT YOU’RE EVER NEEDING TO BE KNOWING WAY ‘FORE THE QUESTIONS ARE EVER KNOWN. SO YOU SEE: IF YOU GO START’N TO BE TRYING TO BE THINKING, ALL YA’LL GON BE DOING IS MESS’N UP YOUR FREE NICKEL HIGH: THAT FREE “PEARLY GATE FEELING”BRUNGING HERE BY THE ENTHRALLING GRACE OF WE PAPER MACHE MULES.

Copyright (c) 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri