the all impoverishing arms of legacy chasing (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

the all impoverishing arms of legacy chasing

we’re just flies disguising here
laying eggs in this parasitic abiding
wooing on in the fawning eyes begging
of those echoing all around we all
hanging on to us here
like us doing to them and us too
inflationating everything we’re doing
swelling up but never growing at all
except here in our desperate exclaiming
“I’M this special one”
who auctionating other souls like me
into new little shiny old what-nots

politely embalming seditious thoughts
of another some ‘nother body else
sitting here magistrating after me
if this is no more i’ll have nothing left
“but what about us who propping you up
by grabbing on close all up around you
we gon be left here hymning by our self
‘til the next they coming along like you”

it doesn’t matter this how we gon stay
floating like straws scattering everyday
clinging on to whomever’s drifting by
dutifully touching-up my fading smile
on chanting pallets of your mouths
‘cause we aint letting you be forgetting
how you knowing this what you knowing
“all you ALL YOU supposed to be
is just grateful little memorials to ME”

swelling dung’s “dust bowling” . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

swelling dung’s dust bowling amber fields

we vitiating in abetting addictionings
riding sterile blinging loins
of our automated things
seducing everybody else
on in here with’us too
greasy hands so rapaciously gorging
aint even bothering defecating no mo’

look at how pompously we’re pretending
hustling ourselves with proverbial potions
in slippery metaphorical illusionings
and flatulating resorting fabulations
we making us all want’n to be
the one who up there on a stage
dancing lips syncopating enthralling us all
“♪hey! it is what it is how else can we do
it’s all ‘bout the me aint nothing ‘bout you
we aint needing no redeeming
just mo’ scheming and seeming♪”

on’n’on we’re impetuously harrowing
endlessly ‘round ‘n ‘round
judiciously eroding ourselves
serpentine cultivation of this fertile ground
we swallowing our tails strangulating
sopping here bursting from constipation
pompously strutting disputatiously cussing
“just tell me what else goddammit
should everybody be trying to do!!”

Arresting Desperation-ing

We are not being devoured in the jaws of hungry wolves; we are simply being progressively
herded and are herding ourselves on into invisibility by the gumming
(spinning/serpentine-ing) and desperating hallucination-ing of our arresting childhoods.
Children are always good at pretending to be somebody other. Their circumstances fetally
swaddles them behind the existential shield of making-believe (vicariosity).

Asili Ya Nadhiri
“Tonal Drawings Written in Poetic Form”

Artea Mae Beamon

she been walking here
on the other side of the road
since way back when
can you still remember then
mumbling to herself
in those low enchanting humms

thick dusty braids they crown her head
with eyes looking there in the yonder
in old clothes that never fit just right
her long bony legs they bowed
by people they saw her but never minded
her long melodic stride drumming here
in the squalor of splattered dark shadows
wallowing in the vomit of they drunken baptisms
mumbling to herself
in those low enchanting humms

and in the snare of a joke we poisoned her dead
burying all the words never did form on her lips
a moment’s reprise from our jealous despise
in the wake of her sordid demise
is all that she was ever given
mumbling to herself
in those low enchanting humms

and we go keeping on laughing trying to hide
from the festering guilt she bleeding here inside’us
with the strange haunting flaying of her eyes
and’us still standing around sitting
just like her seen’us here when
she coming along marching in a soldier’s splendor
dancing underneath her heavy load
that lightning stare daunting and cadently thrashing
scolding loudly in the silence of a mother’s care
at the swallowing enlarging of this numbing retarding
in which we all be always leaning on one another
just be leaning on one another here wait’n
and passing on all alone in her daily roam
mumbling to her self
in those low enchanting humms

woman on in’hur way (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

woman on in’hur way

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

en-wish-en (a tonal drawing writtenin poetic form)

en-wish-en

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

a-bet-ty-ing-d (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

a-bet-ty-ing-d

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

JAMAICAN SUITE-TING. . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

JAMAICAN SUITE-TING
(for Jean Toomer in Brooklyn)

the drumming it forgotten
in rhyming rhythm-d refrains
sorcering-d tongues de-juice-ing the cane
over turn’n-d in de palms
of slicken-d slaved hands
the cane in here de-juice-ing-d
in rhyming rhythm-d refrains

the big white house
still on me back it be
me head it holding it down
inside where under-the-neath
i herding me in here with shuffling hands
me drowning me in my lap
with my mis-forgot african

dark legs get they strong
through in slow dancing the sung
en-trancing-d ‘round in things
‘bout me i dont understand
i burying-d here in this fleshing-d
of my mis-forgot african

a-homing-d . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)



when i go home
when i go home
when i go home
when i go home
when i go home
when i go home
when i go home
when i go home

a-homing-d
(for little DeAngelo with his long thick braids)

my feet
they keep me reaching me back
where dont i still wanna go
to the frozen arms of plastic things
who they never quite feel cold
lobes i am surround this am-d
me they be damn-d
do not i care! and on i swear!!
i do not care and any wayyyyyyyyyyy!!!
a whiskeyed can dented i am-inged

in sneakered land
tried i can to rob the man
with my own bare hand
drunk not that i wuz
where lost here is the glove
made this for my hand
for to warm how i can

left sucking i here the thumb
of some body this who unknown
bumping my head with syncopated drum
‘gainst me inside who me this i in
‘til no body i here
when no body they come

water coloringed . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

water coloringed
(splashing)

they spreadinged and swallowinged on
in this low droning stare
of who this who in here
who for they selfing
purpled grey splotchings aloninged
wrinkling and drying on out on one another
growinged hard too soon

welfaringed moments
they chanting and caressing us all
bleeding on through the veils
of invisibled-ling faces
running on out here
all over us all

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