Recent content by Giovanni

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    Black Poetry : ritual (for the fellas)

    every Thursday at Tryst, over a back table, Jati whips out his dominos case, Fred rolls up his sleeves the clinic`s open, yo ...who tryna see the doctor first? through late crowd chatter and the transitory pythons rising from cigarettes, Derrick shakes his head as we eye the...
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    Quiet Poetry Lounge : loungin

    the end of a freestyle cypher .....his room was hazy/ a group of 'em just finish'd smoking/ he lit an incense to chase away the smell of weed the red-light threw color off our bare backs .....we kept the TV on mute/ watch'd Japanese anime movin in-time to Portishead, playin through his...
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    Black Poetry : for the ladies of DC

    this is for the sistas who’ve stopp’d combin consciousness long enough for their minds to lock i’m a weaver of language, who knits you a tam to catch your thoughts ---the silken extensions hangin from your head like palm leaves this also, is for the sistas who vary in hue &...
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    Black Poetry : gypsies

    just what i need'd: .......................... the feel of friday on a thursday evening .......................... when you pick'd me up early from work & we wander'd the streets, aimless as vagrants or high school vagabonds cut'n classes—nomadic in our destinations before dining at...
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    Black Poetry : Lady Hip Hop

    thank you, yall... and exotiqua.. i'm glad my poem was worth every bit of your time.. that really means alot to me.. thanks again yall for the kind words and support.. but can someone answer me this? where in the world is N2UrSoul?
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    Black Poetry : Lady Hip Hop

    the 18th Letter made me a believer that hip hop'll be back soon, emcees would no longer rely on beats & corny cliches to carry their whole LPs i knew it when i heard, "Mahogany" ...before you were an acronym chant'd on the 13th track of an 8 mile struggle---audible & shrink wrapp'd...
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    Black Poetry : Q T...

    it's us, hand in hand peragratin through Georgetown after work with a cravin for Baskin Robbins or Haagen-Daz... it's us cookin together & you lovin me enough to show me your secret recipes... it's burnin African Peach incense in your livingroom, starin blankly into space knoddin to...
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    Black Poetry : black body marmalade (revised)

    I. we move like smoke through a wall of bodies--- wet from funk, climbin' outta' pores like worms crawlin' through soft dirt... tryna' find clearin' on a crowd'd dance floor... waitin' for the dj to take us there...take us where we're buoyant bodies; a smoke screen driftin' from a...
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    Black Poetry : the Chili Bowl...

    I. i heard Stevie singin' through an old jukebox in the corner of the Chili Bowl* on U St. i was orderin' cheese-fries...a chili burger... & iced tea...snatch'd a vacant booth while my girlfriend sipp'd her tea, waitin' on her chili-cheese-fries & turkey dog... II. my baby...
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    Black Poetry : moths..

    i. i can still feel your tongue in my mouth, long after we`ve part`d our lips in good bye whispers--- when our breath rode stale & dry through the humidity. we were black bodies temporarily outlined in blue hues from a neglect`d t.v. screen; unwatch'd movies workin' like acoustic...
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    Black Poetry : thursday's poem (for my cousin, Christopher)

    a balsamin` blunt lay`d diagonal in an empty ICE BREAKERS mint carton catchin` ashes. he holds the "roach" with his fingernails... takes a long drag...releases slowly, while his eyes fix themselves on a wall of thoughts below his eyelids. i watch the weight of unemployment...
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    Black Poetry : kissin' u..

    kissin' you is new everytime our tongues inter/lock us movin' ourselves...tuned like clock/ gears groovin' ---turnin' ourselves into one another. we fall, continuously into each other...let our feet leave the ground fuse our shadows together...& became the insoluble bodies floatin' in...
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    Black Poetry : so cool.. (for my brother, drew)

    you be that/ cool cat.. the hennessy river sippin' lip lickin' vessel of the bourbon liquor runnin' so smooth; the smoke from the balsamin' tip of blunts--- handroll'd, then lit like nagchampa sticks. the pixie stick funk fumin' kiss on the breath of kids, who part'd their lips &...
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    Black Poetry : Mr. Mrs. Ms. Miss

    ****.. this really does give you a lot to think about..
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    Black Poetry : invisible ink

    thank you... i just been busy with school and everything.. tryna' transfer over to Howard University and complete my undergrad education there.. plus, my poems been comin' slow to me.. so that's why i haven't been postin' much.. but thank you N2urSoul.. you know it means alot to me to get a...
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