Black Poetry : The Pocket Dress (V-Day Submission)

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by Hunter, Feb 14, 2002.

  1. Hunter

    Hunter Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    THE POCKET DRESS

    I was born to keep the score and to use my fingernails to scratch my middle
    name on the inner walls of my mother's invisible vagina. My mother was a
    powerful magician and she perfected the uneasy craft of being overweight and
    invisible. This mothercraft served her well. It was a family tradition
    handed down from her own mother to herself. In time, I too inherited the
    treasure chest of unseen generational pains.

    I still breathe the mysterious odour, down there at the base of my mother's
    invisible vagina. I can still see flesh crawling inside of flesh every time
    my mother un-crossed her legs to grease my nappy hair. I was unfit for pony
    tails back then so the cornrows carefully ploughed through the repugnance
    between her legs. There I was. Somewhere between my mother's legs. Inside
    her womb again. My firt memory of home. Waiting, for the changing of the
    seasons that would bring her scents to harvest.

    During the winter of my father she smelled like bitter grapefruit crushing
    sweet pimento with the weight of her pulp. During the brief summer seasons
    of her children, she smelled like four peaceful sticks of Wrigley's
    bubblegum, the ones with the yellow wrapping paper. Each of us savoured the
    flavour.

    Unlike my three siblings, I chewed my mother up slowly, measured the width
    of her wisdom and the elasticity of life inside her bubble. I have always
    been able to discern between stale bubblegum and other temptuous aromas.

    when I was younger I would watch her lips move and avoid being hypnotized by
    the blank stare in her eyes like the others. My mother's lips would speak
    heights to me proudly and tell the tall tales of my infant life. Stories
    about how I was such a tiny baby that she carried me around in the oversized
    pocket of her sun dress.

    This dress. This pocket dress that tells babies they are equal only to
    clothes, has long since been my worst enemy. Has branded me cotton forever
    more. I am cotton like the others now. Those who came before me. Although
    I wear the 'Emperor's New Clothes'.

    I use to love reading that story as a child. So mysteriously drawn to the
    words and now I understand why. Now that my statistics have all been
    recorded and the magic spells and curses have all been accounted for. I
    stand before you clothed in my intricately sewn, invisible, purple gown. I
    wear the royal colours of this painfully purple robe just like my mother and
    her mother did before me.

    The world must love me now. Yes, love me. Love the magic of my mystical
    scents. Someday soon, I too will spread my legs and bring the harvest.
    Then my vagina will speak like the invisible...lips moving....frozen
    gaze...staring...and whispering to my inner thighs...generational stories of
    bittersweet lives and cornrows ploughing through a difficult winter.


    *Vagina Chronicles*

    Hunter
    All Rights Reserve
     
  2. Bishop

    Bishop Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Hunter you keep knocking me off balance with your vagina....:wink:
     
  3. wildflower7

    wildflower7 Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    ****, BELLE!!
    Let me know when you've chronicled the chronicles
    so i can cop me a copy!!!

    -7:spinstar:
     
  4. blackfox

    blackfox Active Member MEMBER

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    Poet

    You had my attention to
    the very end.
     
  5. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    now see hunter look at u
    done caught my eye wit dis vagina thang.....write dem words sis...
     
  6. N2urSoul

    N2urSoul Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Sistah Hunter

    You are so **** good! Such a well-poised writer...... :)
    You have the ability to capture the reader, draw them to
    the inner-folds of your scribes such as to wear your memories whether they be real or fantasy and to eject them from
    your third eye, leaving the reader -- living, breathing, & marinating on your every word.....

    How'd we come to know such a **** good writer!!? You're one of the best my sistah........ You assist me in expanding my own **** horizon :lol: :D

    Always :heart: N2
     
  7. epiphany

    epiphany Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Hunter...

    This ...
    is some pulsating, amazing
    analytical, emotional artistry goin on....heah!
    I am in total agreement...Pure Quality...


    Epiphany :heart:
     
  8. alyce

    alyce Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    And sista, I shudder when I think of all that you possess in the depths of your well. When you open up and let loose, allowing your pen to glide ...and in a trance-like state, you spill your soul having no control over the landscape that is being brought to life on paper...

    I can experience you through your words and this speaks of the best kind of writing. The most coveted kind of skill. Yes, perhaps "potential" is the word we must use in order to continue growing ~ lest we stagnate and lose the purity of the gift that has been given....

    But you are the real McCoy, and I agree with sista N2. And not just because I happen to love you. :heart: It's just true!

    I stay.... "blown away"

    a
     
  9. dnommo

    dnommo Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    there is so much i could say but the griots of the room and the elders in which you stand before have spoken...i, a humble servant of poetry, admire the gifting of your insight and i watch as the pen continues to grow into a new form of

    excellence...

    one.
     
  10. OneTyme.

    OneTyme. Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Yes...

    This is a beautiful piece scribed by a beautiful soul!
    Simply beautiful!:heart:
     
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