You look at me and see: Black African Evil. You turn up your nose and like a pig you snort… Or is it a sneer? Or maybe… just maybe… as you scurry away like a cockroach do you wonder what I am? I am Black I am African A child of the continent you once…
Dear Daughter
Dear Daughter I have never loved myself enough To laugh through the rough times I have seen different colors Fading in the beauty of the flowers I have woken up to different nightmares Only to calm down through the power of a Prayer I know of those days when I needed someone beside me to…
Hypersexualization of the African woman
Fetishized My worthiness is measured in cup sizes and big booty. Integrity is dismissed and compromised. Body parts named policed and sexualized. They say: “it’s the sway of my African belle derriere the clumsiness of my breasts the fullness of my lips and the arch of my back”. Objectified by the media, my nudity is…
Float
I’d wake up at night wondering if The mildness brewing would turn into a fight Never asking if he could dump his Insecurity, his anxiety, his inability into you His semen and demons would wash away your purity Your intensity, your decency Baby faced you’d turn to me, wide eyed and frozen When he’d spread…
Tied and Untied
I wrestle with my-self, With a battle of the mind which never ends, A race of thoughts which never Fades, I wrestle with the spirits in me Which feeds me doubts, Spitting darkness and unveiling lies, Tearing down hope With strange rhymes, Rhymes with strange rhythms, Rhythms which plucks my peace, Sabotaging my inner strength…
When God Makes Love to You
When S/HE enunciates I Love You It can take you a lifetime to really believe IT As to accept this endearment Is to learn a whole new language Altering the rhythms of your heartbeats forever As you now appreciate subtle motions of Love In the mundane & profound Much like clouds wafting, mutating Yet serene…
Roberta Turkson – Robbie Ajjuah Fantini
Roberta Turkson’s career in poetry started in 2011, as a way to drive the pain off her chest, after failing to fulfil the fondest dream of having her own traditional Ghanaian restaurant in Nashville. “With lots of time on my hands and pain in my heart, I took to writing which turned out to be…
The sun e sons of Africa
They come here with empty faces Looking for the sun The equatorial sun rays hit their eyes, They blink and find the son, Poised, smiling at their wallets With a hot, hard, black, cocked gun. There is no argument to be had with such a gun between your legs. Between sips of badly brewed, black,…
The Broken Mirror: to teach people to hate themselves…
Who are you? I am Angel. No, really, who are you? I am George Stop playing around! I am Hanson, Ferguson, Manson, Johnson, Ellison I am… Zombie Lost in the ways of my people, my identity, my heritage I am the soulless black-white being that haunts the screens of materialism in the face of my…
My Mother in Three Photographs
Her face looks out flawless her sexuality electric in a mini dress and sheer satin stockings the girls of the 1960s beautiful beyond belief. She is looking through the camera like her space is here and beyond enchanting and enchanted by the times when the dreams of freedom were young the fortunes of Uganda hot…