Bronco* Voicc
January 12. 1997
d-
Hy
■‘-'JS
Nights of creepy passion
Forced interludes of sick ecstasy?
You came from God knows where
To climb your pearly flesh on top of me
The scornful night heat induces more pain
While I clench my lips and close my eyes
I picture myself in Africa wild and free
Awakening to the blood stained quilt where your
White demons lie
Throughout the years you have longed
For the touch of my bronze hand
To stroke your silky hair and kiss your white face
To feel my voluptuous breast and hind gland
Your Southern bell untouchable, dainty, pure
I have always been your sex cat, ripe, diiighted
Now that my big black buck has turned
His head from me, from our heritage where he was
rooted
He likes her long silky hair cascading down her back
Ocean blue eyes you fall into, like waves of the sea
She is no prize to have, no better than 1
She is nothing I haven't been, or can't be
Now you want to love me openly
Why would I want you
For years I had no choice but to say yes
But now I choose me. Past days are through
If my black buck finds me
Hard to understand and unable to tame
What makes you think this caged cat
When set free won't embarrass and put you to shame
I don't want you, right now, maybe later
After I get my mercedes and cadillac
WhenTmake you my unknown midnight freak
Until you move me to a condo from a shack
I am a sex cat, passionate, loving, sincere
Back-rubbing, stable, caring, desirable
Understanding in a time of need
Chin held high, wide eyed, admirable
All men dream of me
Asian, Puerto Rican, Canadian, Jew
Tall, short, ugly, fat, bald, even the blind
So why, tell me why would I want you!
Still Growth
^Andera Powen-Pinnock
Somewhere between that blade of grass and
that broken branch
in a negleaed field
My heart grows still
In silent contemplation of a thousand years of pain
the clipping, whippir^
weeding in and weeding out,
die wasting, killing,
cutting, and castrating.
Isn’t it amazing that throu^
all the raping and reaping,
that blade of grass is able to heal itselfi
a continual rejuvenation of the spirit
that grows fk>m ones roots.
Somewiiere between that blade of grass and
the next,
My heart grows with the secret it’s always known.
I am a blade of grass in an unnurtured
field. And I
grow
still.
Be on the lookout for {nformation requarding the Poetry
Guild, where we discuss, read and share great works and
our own. If you are a k>ver of poerty, this meeting group is
for you. Contact: 486>1357
k.
The Other Woman
By Yolanda A. Barnes (a.k.a.yogii)
The other woman
Someone i didn’t
want to be
but now that I am
hum...let me see
how much hell
can I raise
how much havlck
can I cause
and all because
He didn’t have the
big enuff bails to
tell the truth
instead
of a lie
and so now
i’m the other woman
and that’s why
I guess you see i
want him so bad
because it’s like a game
a new kind of fad
get with a man who’s
already taken
give him lovein and
try to break him
get him to spend up all his money
and to win this game
get him to leave his HONEY
and if you do it
your a bad woman
And if you did it your the
other woff^n.