#035 Call it Creativity and Commitment via Autumn LaBella

We're On Instagram! 

& we're welcoming March 2022 with a heart full of creativity and commitment. Thank you all for your patience while The Movement recharged its soul power with an intense mental, physical, spiritual detox process. Renewal feels like the first drop of rain in a dry spell as I make room for Spirit to let movement, music, art, and literature provide the discipline I need to propel myself into a more potent miracle zone. I truly am looking forward to indulging in so much amazing poetry, especially poetry created by Afro-American women, with you all in this New Year. 

My prayer is that each poem on this page inspires you to fill more spaces in your life with as much love and liberation as possible. The Write Sis Poetess Movement inspires positive behavioral change by centralizing and sharing the creative and expressive poetry of Afro-American women. In the past year, The Movement has strengthened its core values, has created a catalogue of over 100 poets who identify as Afro-American women, has expanded its social network through with new media platforms, has featured in The Chocolate City Monologues held in SE, DC, and has been nominated for a WammieDC Music Award for best Hip Hop Song. 

So welcome back family! Stay awhile, and let the literature enlighten you. 

With Love & Literature, 
AL

#034 Egypt English, 2020

In the Trenches

We been watching from the cut, moving in the dark, slipping through the cracks, sneaking up on you like Winter right after Summer in September, now it is our time. The skies look black and lights are dim, but we have night vision that pierces through time like cosmic threads through the eyes of our needles. Witness me, us stitch masterpieces out of the rags discarded from the rich's waste. Watch as I transmute these bricks and sticks, pains and tears from the ruins of our tragedies into gold, silver and celestial bodies that rise from the voids in space and time and matter like mountains emerging from ocean trenches.

written by Egypt English, 2020.

https://egyptenglish.com/

#033 Egypt English, 2021

Sister, wife, mother, poet, and creator Egypt English captivates readers with her ability to intimately dance with words that come from a place of raw emotion. Her poetry addresses themes ranging from self-empowerment, natural cosmological order, and religious, spiritual, and socio-political allusions. This queen was raised in Ringgold, Virginia, and later studied creative writing and theatre at Frostburg State University where she met her husband, King Frank May.

She writes on her blog, From Wrong to Write:

"Over the years I have found myself on a unique path to self-love, truth, peace, freedom, and justice...It is my desire that through my writing you will find your way to your own rising."

Egypt English is a refreshing reminder of WRITE SIS's mission to inspire behavioral change through WRITING. It is an honor to share your works sis!

Among other incredible productions, she has a beautifully arranged spoken word album streaming on all major music platforms: (click this link) Opening Ceremony Vol. 1: The Birth of Egypt English

Follow her on social media, (@leideenglish) & let her words carry you...

Misnomer

I washed up nearly frozen from a warm tide

onto a desolate shore, white banners blowing about the masts of sunken shipwrecks 

I only see red, and no man strong enough to lift me. My legs are weak, heavy, not stable enough to carry me. So I wait for him, like the weight of icebergs drifting patiently toward an uncertain melting point beneath a darkening sea of constellations. 

It is in the grains of sand I see my reflection, a consortium of stardust and molecular compositions that morphe without hands to mold them. In their folding I see myself sufficient—

lifted— 

high above the glistening crystals. 

And so I begin to rise,

unsteady, but sure, and from afar I spy him. As if he is crossing a bridge of waves, he moors ships in the distance summoning me to stand tall like flags mounted on top of conquered nations. 

You see, many have called me confusing weather, but I do not know this name like I know these winds. I know the rains, as I know this earth, like I know those flames that propelled me far above those higher glistening plains to stand atop mountains no man can claim.

written by Egypt English, 2021

#032 Jessica Care Moore, 1997

 This is not an instrumental 
To real MC's and Poets across the globe

Recorded for Japanese recording artists, Silent Poets, 

"For Nothing" Album. . Toy Factory '98. 

From Japan to Motown

Seven mile to Fulton Street

There is the word unrehearsed - hungry for truth

Not always found in the poetry scene

Without a musical backdrop to make your head get loose

Cause it's the words we speak leaking messages to and - From our youth

Poetry shows how verse is always fundamental

In case you're confused, this is not an instrumental

Thee is an afro ready to bloom and a flower waiting to die

Maybe's killing maybe's and somebody knows why

In slavery we trust complacent with nothing much

Eat your people's humanity over politics at lunch

I gotta hunch your gonna make it the big time

We didn't create it

Yet we think we have the right to desecrate the rhyme

With rights come responsibility

Bring the truth with a prophets humility

You be killing me!

And killing you and those other two that came with you

who thought they knew

A rhyme was about talking about your silly crew

In lieu of all the death they'll soon be nothing left

The because of things will be taught to the blind and the once def

Lyrics are already outlawed on major radio stations

Conversations are a fantasy and there's a chocolate candy named

after the Temptations

Follow me to where the music always plays

The bouncing ball is tripping cause the world cares what you say

Lyrical police are unleashed as we try hard to say the least

Still there is no such thing as silence before the peace

Musical inflation on the rise, watch the voice increase

Keep me out your stores, I'll kick my poetry on the street

In my pants there is no crease

Academically elite please take a seat

Welcome to the reality of the poor and the nameless

To poetic to get famous

Suck in a daily dose of Dean

Sitting on the broken knees of uncle remus*

Blame us, the Hip Hop generation, for taking poetry back to where it

started

Corners of city blocks, rolling dice, on a hill

In the alley, in your aunts basement, at a protest in Harlem

Prepared to be killed

It was about politics and courage and the integrity of being an artist

Sonia, Gil and The Last Poets still talk about it

My name is grace and I'm married to Hip Hop, buried under slow sand

Dirty round my knees I draw with brown hands

choke for air

breathe for no one unless the mic's checked

Turn off the light, raise my head give the sun love

It isn't here yet

Reach in my pocket watch the real clock with my eyes closed

I hear the tick, I grab my bic

Least that's how the story goes 

Traveling with full pockets just trying to find my way home

But all I got is the sun, two pieces of lent and four new poems

On my journey there will be many that I meet

Sniff out the vibe, check the label closely

For the other white meat

I press delete and a new poem begins

It's not a coincidence, since without a princess there is no prince

And cinderella's left shoe has been missing ever since

She went commercial and thought she'd be better off alone

She drove herself to the mall, sold her carriage for tiny stones

Some called them diamonds, she traded them for her blue yes

And now when she blinks truth sounds like lies

When I go home to Detroit I love eating chili fries

And I hope that all this sounds written and rehearsed

When you think of poetry

please listen both ways before crossing the verse

Sign my name in she-brew black girl juice can heal you

It doesn't matter how big your words

If the people can't feel you

written by Jessica Care Moore, The Words Don't Fit in my Mouth, 1997.

*see: Uncle Remus folktales

#031 Jessica Care Moore, 1997

 BLACKGIRL JUICE

Maple syrup

In the morning

Brown Sugar that sweetens

Cinnamon twists in apple cider

Magic Black dust is inside her

Wheat bread with homemade spread

This juice goes straight to the head

Coffee without dairy cream

Any man's dream

Black cat That will bring you luck

Aphrodisiac you'd love to suck!

You wish! Black twisted licorice. 

Cooking black-eyed-peas.

Wearing black knee-high stockings

Black pumps. black hair. black dress.

black eyes.

This juice makes you wise

Allows the sun to shine

Black eagle. black butterfly.

Black tears she sometimes cries

But one sip and you'll believe

Braided hair natural cut or curly weave

Nails with acrylic tips, and wide-shaped hips

Most men fiend to hump her

Nails cut off she has a nice touch on her jumper.

Revolutionary waters she's your mother, 

auntie, sister-friend and daughter

You oughta recognize her eyes

She rolls them when she's mad and

she keeps her eyes wide open when she makes love

Cause she's bad to the BONE!

Blackgirl Juice is a nutritional boost

Bananas Strawberries and Melanin Nectar

No average man can affect her

Ingredients are Spicy-Mild-Sweet

Burns your tongue like an Jalapeno

Pepper steak with authentic chopsticks

First round draft pick. Black Afro Pic.

The one with the fist!

    Tight.

Deep.

Loose. 

 Have you ever tasted Black Girl Juice? 

You might want to pour some inside a jar 

let it linger on your top lip 

Take it on a trip 

 

Or dab small circles of it on your wrist ankles or ear

And if you're daring enough to ask...
I've got some Black Girl Juice
If you have an empty glass

written by Jessica Care Moore, The Words Don't Fit in my Mouth, 1997. 

 

 

#030 Jessica Care Moore, 1997

Detroit native Jessica Care Moore is a renowned poet, author, playwright, performance artist/producer, and community activist. She is the CEO of Moore Black Press, executive producer of Black Women ROCK!, and founder of the literacy-driven Jess Care Moore Foundation. Her poetry has echoed throughout Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center, and the London Institute of Contemporary Arts. 

Thank you Jessica, for sharing your work with the world...

I Bet You Want Me To Write About Fiction

I could paint my front porch green

Smile through my teeth so I didn't seem so mean

Give you a glass of water so you could swallow my reality

Without Guilt

Warm your heart

Spend time showing you how to sew up the holes of my

African Quilt

Guess I could write a thesis on why I write

With Black dialect or diction

I bet you want me to write fiction

Cause you can't handle my truth!

You want novellas that tella pretend made up existence

With fairies

When I fly without wings on the weekend

And you want me to wear a costume on stage

Depict a fictionary tale that deals with Black rage

On an island far far away

On a planet that no one's every heard of

Want me to chop off my female into

Carefully constructed chapters

With titles like Snow Black and my seven boys

Or Mary had just a little ham

But I don't own shiny red shoes and 

the green witch melted

So when you read my work you felt it

Now you want me to write fiction

With happy endings

Typical beginnings

Want to imagine my existence

Is a figment of your twisted imagination

With lots of exhaling and no breathing

You want a black women's story bout how she's so alone

But I got a good man at home

Think I can't compete with those who test my black power temperature

With panting wet dog tongues

You think I'm too young to have a relevant truth

You want to paint my experience in bright pastels

As if my brown is lacking color

And you want me to speak to my audience

Lying on my back

On top of a long Black couch

As publishers posing as psychologists

Analyze my analogies and antonyms

Trying to figure out where the hell I've been

But Black women don't have time for therapy!

 

You want to marry ketchup with my blood

Too thick

Pouring so slow drops of my watered-down life

So you can enjoy a glass of black girl juice

With your morning paper without choking

You want me to write fiction

So there's no way of connecting my words to

something tangible

Down the road you can write me off

Calling my characters fictional

Their lives false

My afro grows too thick to please the animated cartoon

You've outlines in one-dimensional crayons

Representing a generation without a last name

Building wooden tables of continents

Take a valium

This is only my first

And there are others like me

I have their phone numbers and bra sizes

And the fact is your fiction can't be created without my blue print

Dipped in fresh Black ink

Cause this poem is real

And if you're really afraid

Why are you here?

At the end of my poems life

And she doesn't commit suicide

She survives

With a wicked smile

And the story never ends cause my girl

T.Tara Turk said

In real life nothing ever does

And I believe her

Writing her way out of fiction

Sitting on a green porch in Harlem

recreating the spirit of a woman named Sugar

Ain't our reality a sweet thing

A taste you can't seem to place

Can't pretend not to know

But we exist

Yes we do

It's a fact. 

written by Jessica Care Moore, The Words Don't Fit in my Mouth, 1997.

#029 Jessica Care Moore, 1997

Wherever you are, and whatever you woke up feeling like, know that you are loved, and know that you have what it takes to make the world around you a better place. You have ancestral intelligence, passion, and rhythm pumping through your body with every breath you take. 

Follow the movement on Instagram!

Explore ways to let poetry inspire your everyday lifestyle: 

 @WRITESIS

I'm still on a high from indulging in so much of Nikki Giovanni's incredible poetry, but as of late I've been buried in the work of Detroit native Jessica Care Moore. Sis has such a down to earth writing style that reminds me that poetry is a transformational tool that provides clear and relatable communication about what is going in our current world. 

Thanks to Amazon, I was able to start reading "The Words Don't Fit in my Mouth" which was published in 1997, however, I plan to work my way through "Sunlight through Bullet Holes" (published in 2014), and then listen to "We Want Our Bodies Back" (first published in 2020) on Audible.

I'm Done Dating D.J.'s

I'm done waiting around

at the end of the night

as the club clears

For the very last time

I'm done being the supportive sista

willing to hear your latest

Craziest track chime

I have NO more requests

Take me off the guest list

Before I have a fit

I'm pretending like it was a mirage

How's it feel to sabotage someone's heart

Then sample the sound on a new track?

Musical heart attack

I'm tired of conversations at the club where you spin

We're always vibin' about the world

fake people and jinns

No more saying yes

to late night invitations to listen

Wishing

You were putting ME on wax

Throwing my heartbeat on your headphones

So, you'll never be alone

A loving lyric

If you payed attention

you would hear it

No more sitting at the sidelines

laying my heart and soul

on your turntable

So you're able to create a fate

you're afraid to recognize

Dee-jaying with closed eyes

Is a cute trick

But, it's wic-wic-wack!

As you concentrate on your bobcat

To ignore a sista's that got your back

We're a perfect blend

Don't flex

Cause I can make you flutter

Sound smooth like butter

Won't tell me how you feel

I admire your passion

Trying to make cash and

Your blend is truly tight

But I kept you warm last night

Don't know what you're cuing, screwing or doing

With your "phat" party tricks

On stage doing tricks

I never gave you ultimatums

You gave me your milk crate full of records

And I played them

Hey, Mister DJ with your trunk full of vinyl

This song is final

You've lost the light in your better days

I'm done dating DJ's

written by Jessica Care Moore, The Words Don't Fit in my Mouth, 1997.