Poetry

Hug

If I fall in love
If he be white
Let him understand
The rarity of a black
Diamond and pearl
Disguised as me 

 If I fall in love
If he be from the middle east
Let him see the sun rise
By the corner of my smile
And know the darkness of night
In my right eye is even more beautiful 

 If I fall in love
If he be Asian
Let him find
The time to be proud is
When he catches me looking at him
When he wasn’t even paying attention 

If I fall in love
If he be Black
Let him know
I am a reflection of things he deserves and
All that he wished for when no one would listen

If I fall in love
If…whoever he be
Let him know
My magic to write poetry
Is my prayer to stop the wars
While protecting the children. 

If I fall in love
Let it be with me 

Kitchen Dreams

Rewind to 24 hours ago,

Unwind like you did, last night,

Drunk off wine and a feverish delirium. 

No sex, just sleep, you say. 

So we do. 

When you leave, my sheets reek

with your sleepy affection.

 

That next night, I am left

in an eyes-wide-open dream state,

My face sunken into my pillow,

memorializing a brief week’s fleeting affair.

*

I dreamt of bare toes on a kitchen floor,

With fresh-cut flowers on the table. 

The air smells like apple pie and cologne.

Their hair smells like the feeling of coming home.

Kiss

i know you really love me
because i feel your lips
on my neck at 5 am
kissing me straight out of your dreams 

i know you love me because
you don’t laugh when i laugh
instead you cry because you know
that’s what i cannot bring myself to do 

i know you love me because
you hold my promises to my neck
when i’ve proposed what i truly want and
began threatening myself potential

i know you love me because
you hold me
to it

You hold me to it

retrace: a poem in 5 parts

 

i.

last night, in 2012, it was raining and you were outside, 

this morning, 11am 12pm 1pm morning, you sit at the window eyes diverted and try to remember 

when the weather would weather your skin and pierce to whatever 

sits beneath, when the rain would hit the muscle only anymore reachable 

by your testosterone needles, every friday, today friday, yesterday morning friday but 

last night always something else. 

Note from Les

Love Village, as summer comes to an end, and we welcome fall off the backs of hurricane devastations, unexpected deaths and suicided from children hood remembrance to elderly forget and forgiveness, I want to bring all of your attentions to love.

Love still exists. It still scrapes knees on play grounds and makes the arguments between human’s worth it. This summer/past year, has taught those whom have chosen to listen (to people instead of your heart) that Love is indeed, not possible/not available and has no future. I offer this… “that’s some bullshit.” Love is indeed alive, breathing, kicking and is well. As temperature drops and we adjust to new places, people and try new things, my prayer is that you remember love is not a weird thing to carry with you.

Love is not a strange thing to desire and to hope to receive back. These next few months I will offer you a series of love poems only to be taken and received when you need it most. When you need a kiss on the cheek or a hug and you are all alone…please have enough courage to visit us here at Queeries Blog and get your monthly kiss and hug in the name of Love.

with so much Love,

Lester Eugene Mayers

TheLoverPurple

Celie
Was right to LOVE Shug and

Shug
Was right to be SCARED of

LOVING her back

After Sappho

This is an “after” poem in response to Sappho’s “He is more than a hero”.

Woman with wax tablets and stylus (so-called “Sappho”)

 

The man sits beside you,
a protective playful arm
draped over what can only be
mine when the stage lights turn off;
both our hero and the villain.

I sit still on the opposite couch,
holding a pillow embroidered God is Good!
only moving to accept each plate of cake or fruit
your mother offers from the kitchen,
praying the sugar on top is not salt.

Onto the stage she comes- again-
with the unnecessary second tray
of sweet plantains, hoping to catch us
holding hands or sacrificing babies-
whatever it is people like us do.

Then stage right, Prince Charming stands up.
His part played so perfectly, even I am fooled,
when his lips pucker out to meet yours
for the grand finale,
and my throat tries to swallow my tongue.

The curtain closes on the image of
your mother, smiling from the kitchen.

If he stays, death isn’t far from me.
If he goes, death isn’t far from you.

 

V.

that black girl is going to Howard
after she sat and waited
and waited and sat
traveled to Minnesota
where they told her to wait and sit some more
even went to the dry places that rains with sweat
where they told her “no“
but wanting it so badly
needing to get what she needed
she resumed her sitting and waiting
she even thought about running back to the palace and settling upon a random thrown
but with faith she sat and waited
and she got it cause she waited

for it to find her

she’s off to Howard
because she gots to go
cause she sat and listened
cause we need her
and we don’t just need her anywhere
because she waited
and was not moved so easily
she saved it

her destiny that is

for what she and where she
was supposed to be
that black girl hailing from the palace of Queens
is going to Howard with fellow queens and kings
there she goes
smile and wave

smile and waive

 

Succession

a painting of a river running through a mountainous valley. In the foreground there is a human skull, a crown, and some other artifacts. The image is overlaid with the following poem: We must own this grief we have inherited And wear the skulls of the queens that came before us as crowns Raise them high, honored, and remembered Raise them high as we must hold our own heads Raise them high- Raise Hell

We must own this grief we have inherited 

And wear the skulls of the queens that came before us as crowns

Raise them high, honored, and remembered 

Raise them high as we must hold our own heads

Raise them high- 

Raise Hell

 

I wrote this poem about a year ago.  I’m still pretty happy with it.  It’s a good segue, I think, from Pride Month into Wrath Month.  I thought it also deserved a painting, so I played with watercolor and pulled out some acrylics for the first time in a while. We can’t forget that trans women of color are the foundation of the movement, and we must honor them and the others who have fought and fallen in our community. And we can’t stop fighting.

To give credit where credit is due, the skulls as crowns line was inspired by Chrysanthemum Tran’s spoken word poem, “Vampires.” It’s heavy.

IV.

you ever wake up
too tired
too sleepy
too exhausted
to brush your teeth

but you do it anyway
out of fear
of what people might think

sorta like the straight people
that see gays and trans folks
being beat and say

 absolutely nothing

or a cold dreary day
where no rain or snow falls
and everyone calls that day

beautiful

like those who ask

why do we hurt the ones whom we love 

while in the process of hurting them