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“You whose day this is,

make it BEAUTIFUL

Get out your rainbow colors,

that it may be beautiful.”

~Nekoosa Indian Poem

Literature Voodoo is a page honoring writers and artists for their contributions to the world of Literature. Although writers and artists of African and Caribbean descent have a foundational role here, other equally important contributors include those of Creole, Latino, Brazilian, Native American and Polynesian decent. These are people who culturally seize readers’ minds through thought provoking… soul stirring poetry, fiction, essays, prose and art.

Literature Voodoo spotlights award-winning writers on the SAME platform as writers the world has yet to hear about. Artists, both well-known and unknown also receive the same spotlight. Here, their works have the opportunity to shine in a way that reflects their cultural identity while entertaining their readers in a very educating way.

Let’s Celebrate our rich global culture through the beauty of Literature and Art!

Bienvenue! :-)

Arose N Daghetto

Creator, Author, Cultural/Linguistics Scholar 

MARACUJÁ (PASSIONFRUIT)
            ~Written By Arose N Daghetto

 

I’m sitting in the kitchen
holding the fruit of infatuation
Waiting for the one I love
To show up in the room
I speak in passionese to grandfather time
and all he says back to me is
tick…
tock…
tick…
tock…

 

Who will bite this fruit of infatuation
growing warm in my hand
should the man that I love
not come home tonight?
Can you tell me
my old and wise grandfather?
tock…
tick…
tock…
tick…

 

Precious grandfather
minister of parable thoughts
You’ve always been the sparrow
on my shoulder
during insomnia and quiet conversations
Come out of your silence, Grandfather
Talk to me
enlighten me
tick…
tock…
tick….
tock…

 

The big hand covered the little hand
In a reverent embrace
between grandfather’s polished eyes
They braced themselves
for the arrival of a new hour
and the official departure of another day
GONNNG….
GONNNG….
GONNNG….

 

Midnight drops itself in the chair
across from me
I don’t flinch at its laughter
nor the heckling hums of my refrigerator
I looked at Grandfather with Lois Lane eyes
longing for intervention
tock
tick…
tock…
tick….

 

Click-clack goes the door
Boom-boom goes my heart
Creak-crack goes the floor
and after a time capsule of silence
CRUNCH goes the maracujá
and her blood
down the sides of my wrist.

 

 

Poem (not pictures) © Copyright 2012 by Arose N Daghetto for Black Girl Down Publications. All Rights Reserved.

SAMBA: A BRAZILIAN AND INTERNATIONAL PHENOMENON© 

By Arose N Daghetto

 

Did you know that Samba music and its dance was created by African slaves who migrated to the city of Salvador, Brazil, which is one of if not the largest population of Afro Brazilians?  Samba is of several success story to come out of the African diaspora, for it is a culture that’s taken Brazil and the world by storm.

 

Samba came from humble beginnings, tracing back to the Salvador, Brazil.  The city of Salvador is also known as Bahia (which means, “Bay” and is also called “The Bay of All Saints”,  a place where not only Samba was born, but a place where Orixas and Candomblé religions were born.  These religions are rich in Congolese, Yoruba, Togo, Nigerian, Ghanaian and Benin cultural influences from Africa.  This is also where many of the African Slaves came from and this area of Brazil is one of the first places all African slaves were brought to before being dispersed to different parts of the South, Central and North America.

 

Salvador is also the birthplace of the famous Capoeira, which is a martial arts that combines dance and music. Capoeira was originally a self-defense mechanism the African slaves practiced to use against their slave masters. Capoeira was used by African warriors to prepare for war against rival tribes. Having such captured warriors among the community of slaves, they secretly used these moves to train one another for combat and protection. Capoeira involves kicks, head butting, acrobatics, leg sweeps, slapping, elbowing, punches all incorporated in dance. 

 

Whenever the slave masters questioned their act, they explained it was simple form of dance and celebrating with each other. It didn’t take much to convince their masters how innocent and harmless the dance was. Perhaps to each other, who probably endured a few scrapes and bruises in their “harmless” dance.  

 

Brazil continues to have highest population of African descendants, most of them live in lower middle class communities or Favelas, which is like African Americans who live the inner city, to put in a nice way or ghettos, to put in a not so nice way.  

 

Afro Brazilian singer, Gilberto Gil once said in an interview that Afro Brazilians knew more about their African identity than those of African Americans, because done so well in preserving their cultural and religious identity.  Slavery in Brazil had much more of an upper hand over their slave masters because they outnumbered their oppressors over time and was able to gain control over their freedom better than those African Slaves that populated the south-eastern regions of the United States.  That’s a fascination discussion that I will have to get into further detail on in another blog.

 

Anyway Getting back to Samba music, other cultural influences helped to greatly diversify the Samba identity in Brazil such as the descendants of Portuguese, Spanish Italian and Native American.  Today, there are many sub styles of Samba music, you got Jazz samba, rock samba, Samba R&B Samba, reggae Samba, hip hop Samba.  The music is undeniably a euphoric experience. You can see the joy on the musicians faces as they work up a sweat beating those various percussions and strumming those various sized guitars. The singers are smiling, laughing, hypnotized by the intense rhythms and lyrics.  It’s always a party anytime you hear the Samba.  Even sad sambas makes you want to get up and dance!  Samba is the antidepressant to the most depressed soul and hope to the pessimist. 

 

As time and generations evolve, Samba takes on new and different faces in the music genre.  In the more current decades, many Brazilians express their dislike for Samba music, claiming it’s old and out with the times. Kinda like Americans were with Disco music back in the late 1970’s.  Nevertheless, the number of those who love Samba music is outnumbered in the nation and many artists work hard to keep the beauty of this music genre very much alive.  Samba schools have been established to teach people about Samba music, dance, and culture.

 

Samba has long been enjoyed by not only Brazilian natives, but Americans, French, Caribbeans, Germans and others around the world.  Samba remains to be the Face of Brazil’s attractive and sensuous identity. So whenever you’re feeling sad and can use a little pick-me-up, or if you feel like listening to something culturally invigorating, pull up a Samba or Bossa playlist on your Pandora radio.  Once you listen to it, you will never look at music the same again!

 

Article (not pictures) © Copyright 2012 by Arose N Daghetto for Black Girl Down Publications. All Rights Reserved.

 

RETRIBUTION FOR THE OLD©

                          ~Written by: Arose N Daghetto

 

Jamaican me not

Rastafar I ain’t

Carib be not in me

Not by friendship

love

passion 

or relation.

 

 

Nah mon

No ire in me

Me African American

The one you call lazy

 Motivational-less

Anti American

who’s allergic to work,

responsibility

and positivity.

 

 

The African American you see

by the dawn’s early light

to be some babylonian ho

that’s good enough to go into

but not good enough

to bare the seed of life from

based on your so-called

I in I conspiracy theories

 

Who the fuck are you

to demote me from humanity

 like a hemorroid on the assinine

I gave you love

You gave me pain

Threw dirt in my face

and prayed me to shame

at the hands of your almighty Jah…

 

What happened to Jah Not Dead?

Have you forgotten

the meaning of the song mr. priesthood?

They try to kill the black population…

I thought “they” were the caucasian

not the diasporic African nation.

 

I wasn’t born in the West Indies

or in Haiti

I’m not from Trinidad or Tobago

I’m not the Boriqua sista

from the isle of Puerto Rico

I’m not the girl from Impenema

Or some moça in the favelas of Brazil

But African blood runs in my veins

as in theirs and in yours

so why throw rocks at me,

your distant cousin?

 

Why is it that these people know more

about being poor but noble

and all I know

is how to be poor and stay poor…

according to you.

Is Jah dead to me but not dead to you,

tongue killer of the black population?

 

Guess Im not good enough

to sit on the same rock as you

and pass the dutchie

while we speak Marleynese

How dare you look down your nose

at me

Leaving me in the poverty

and the one love

I thought we shared together

I see how you continue

to move up in the world

with your same blooded bride

who you feel is more qualified

to be the woman

you SWORE to everyone you knew

I could never be…

 

You live the life of champions

with your lactating skeeze

unrighteously at your side

while I eat the breakfast of champions

off the breast milk of a cow

headed to slaughter

with no sugar on top…

While you fight to stay

in your posh New York neighborhood

rubbing elbows with the elite

with your little Jr. in tow

I continue the fight the den of lions

in the dust you left behind…

 

You said I’m a miserable person

but you made me miserable

How can a righteous man

drag a pure woman down

under the ground

only you can answer that,

since you claim to be 

the Twelfth Tribe of Benjamin…

 

You played lightening

by raising your hand

to strike me down

You tore down everything

that took me 22 years to build

You walked out on me

while I crawled behind you

on my hands and knees

begging in tears

before you filled my lungs

and my vision

with the smoke

of your screaming tires.

Then you come back 

some dozen years later

to finish where you left off,

verbally assaulting me

trying to bring me back in the day…

And I’m the one to look down upon,

the so-called lazy, irresponsible

African American woman

you’ve been told

to date but never marry?

 

I’m sorry, who the fuck are you again?

 

They don’t need to try and kill

the black population

the black population is already dying…

the African

in the American me is dying…

my womb,

the source of life

and the throne of womanhood

is dying…

My faith spills like blood

on the ground.

Love is the killer.

Jah heard the laughter of my enemy

and took from me

to give to him

the desires of his heart.

To me…

Jah is dead.

 

 

Poem (not picture) © Copyright 2012 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.

Brasil By Arose N Daghetto

BRASIL©

      ~escrito por Arose N Daghetto

 

Eu conheço o você

eu sei suas cores

seu beira-mar

eu sei sobre o seu bahia preciosidade

o seus bairros chiques

suas favelas dos guerreiros

seus gringos

e suas marias da feira

 

Eu sei suas gataos

e suas gostosas

eu sei seus garanhãos

e suas bonecas

e suas galinhas

 

Eu sei seu pulsação

eu sei que te impulsa 

eu sei que te faz cantar 

e o que te faz chorar

eu sei seus legados 

seus dores

e seu paz

 

Eu conheço tudo de você

eu viví por meio do sua alma

pensei com sua mente

ví através de seus olhos

beijou com o seus labios

 

Joguei os ritmos

com suas palmas

e fiz amor a música

com seu corpo

eu cantado histórias da velha

com seu voz

e amei muitos

com seu coração

 

Sim eu conheço o você

ainda que meus pés nunca tocaram

suas areias

minhas costas nunca bloqueou

suas ondas

minha pele nunca foi beijado

por seu sol

meu cabelo nunca foi batizado

por sua cachoeira seu aguaceiro

 

Eu sei o você

me sinto de você infinitamente

embora na verdade

nós nunca nos conhecemos.

  

Poema (não a fotografia abaixo)  © Copirraite 2012 por Quiet Storm Enterprises. Todos os direitos reservados.

  

_______________________________

  

BRAZIL©

       ~Written by Arose N Daghetto

  

I know you

I know your colors

your seasides

your treasured Bahia

I know your fancy neighborhoods

your ghettos of warriors

your out of towners

your marias of the marketplace

 

I know your eligible bachelors

and your sexy ladies

I know your Cassanovas

your trophy wives

and your loose women

 

I know your heartbeat

I know what drives you

I know what makes you sing

what makes you cry 

I know your legends

your sorrows

and your peace

 

I know all about you

I lived through your spirit

I thought with your mind

I saw through your eyes

I kissed with your lips

 

I played rhythms with your palms

made love to music with your body

sung the stories of old with your voice

and loved many with your heart

 

Yes, I know you

though my feet never touched your sands

my back has never blocked your waves

my skin’s never been kissed by your sun

my hair has never been baptized by your rainfall

 

I know you

I feel you infinitely

although in truth

we never met.

  

Poem (not picture below) © Copyright 2012 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.

MON AMANT BLEU NOIRÓ

    ~Written by Arose N Daghetto

Ses peau maure c’est si intense,
un poéme dans La Negritude qu’est si immense.
il est lourde avec l’histoire
un fantôme glorieux qui est emballé en noir.
et trempés en L’Afrique,
peureux et pourtant magnifique.
vers toutes de le yeux que lui voit
il a un sourire c’est de soie aussi pure de lait.
Comme un fragment d’art
que s’est pelées lui-meme
á partir de ceux l’un ceux peintures de Van Gogh.
il venu a moi comme si l’on était présentant un cadeau

il est mon amant bleu noir, mon chérie
Mon baiser du noirci, mon mûre sucrée
J’adore toutes les parties de lui
et je vais continuer se l’aimer jusqu’à ce que
c’est fini.

______________________________

 MY BLUE-BLACK LOVER (English Translation)

               ~Written By Arose N Daghetto

 

His moorish skin is so intense,
a poem in Negritude that’s so immense.
He is heavy with history,
a glorious phantom wrapped in black,
drenched soaked in Africa,
fearful and yet beautiful.
to all eyes that behold him.
He has a smile that’s as pure silk milk.

Like a piece of art
that’s peeled itself
from one of those paintings by Van Gogh.
He came to me as if he were presenting a gift.

He is my blue-black lover, my darling
My blackened kiss, my sweet blackberry
I love every part of him
and I will continue to love him until
it’s all over.

Poems (not picture) Ó Copyright 2012 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.

Broken Wing By Arose N Daghetto

BROKEN WING©

            -Written By Arose N Daghetto

What happens to a baby bird

pushed out of the nest

Minutes after being born?

She’ll hit the ground once

then twice

she will stay there for a while

trying to walk on newborn feet

while trying to see the world

through virgin eyes

Searching for the womb

that kept her safe and sound…


She’ll roll and rock

on the side of the road

She’ll be tossed

into a grassy ditch

by a passing hand…

Dogs will sniff around

but spare her of further trauma.

Crows will nip at her

with their beaks

before deciding

there’s not much of her

To tote home to their brood…


She’ll sink in a blanket of snow,

shivering blind in icy rain.

She’ll later dry out

by the breath of spring

and the promise of dawn…

By then,

she would’ve grown seven inches

and the courage to limp

her way out of that grassy ditch

where she was thrown

on that brisk autumn evening…

She’ll hop and stumble

Then ascend into the sky

like a rocket

impaling the hemispheres,

passing the nest

where she was born

and pushed to her demise…

She’ll soar over the heads

of those who created her

never to look back or ask why

and how could they.

She will only continue to fly

Boldly into the morning,

into the blinding sun…

What happens to a baby bird

Pushed out of her nest

minutes after she is born?

She will learn to fly solo

with a broken wing.

Poem (Not Picture) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise.  All Rights Reserved.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CHRISTMAS AND XMAS

                                                         Written By Arose N Daghetto

Did you know that Christmas and Xmas are NOT the same word?  Well… it was intended to not be the same word in the eyes of modern American culture. 

The difference between Christmas and Xmas depends on how Americans in particular, perceive the meaning of each word according to its spelling. 

Shortened or lengthened, the way one spells Christmas, with a C or with an X can easily offend the person receiving that message. While non Christians are more laid back on how the title is spelled, many Christians are less accepting of the Xmas spelling.

In the spelling of “Christmas”, there’s the acknowledgement of Jesus Christ as the Alpha meaning behind the holiday…. “Xmas” was revised name created by someone, perhaps an atheist, who preferred to launch a war on the Christmas BY REMOVING CHRIST’S NAME out of the title. Therefore, giving non religious folk-such as atheists, agnostics and new age spiritualists who serve different gods- full advantage to celebrate the holiday without compromising their current way of life. Some acknowledge “Xmas” simply as a season of giving and receiving gifts with friends and family, followed by a formal dinner. Some work through “Xmas”, giving no reverence to the special day regardless of how it’s spelled. Regardless of the “religion” behind the holiday, believers and non believers alike pause life on that day to take part in the traditional gift giving and receiving event for the sake of their children who believe in the spirit of Old St. Nick and his reindeer hauling a sleigh full of infinite gifts to children around the world.

The image of Jesus Christ and his day of birth is buried under the ideal image of what Christmas or “Xmas” should be about. Worshipping symbolic statues that characterize the holiday season. They also tend to worship one another through MATERIAL means, such as gift giving, praising and singing songs to mythological figures that go by the name of Santa Claus, Rudolph, Frosty the Snowman.

Children pay their alms to these practices to honoring these make-believe presence of FABLES by caroling and writing letters to these nonexistent “gods”, so to speak… The grown ups exalt these mythological characters while beaming one another up in the “holiday spirit” by consuming enormous feasts of food, wine, and worldly celebration.

Although many people think “Xmas” fully removed Christ out of the name, he still has a strong presence there.  According to Merriam Webster website and Wikipedia,  “…The “X” comes from the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter of the Greek word Χριστός, translated as “Christ”…. [and the “-mas” part is from the Latin-derived Old English word for “mass” (Wikipedia.org)

Therefore, whether it’s Christmas or by Xmas, Christ still reigns as the symbol behind the Christmas holiday.

The right to religious freedom is being challenged more and more in our always evolving American society. It was the Europeans who felt it was their divine duty to set sail across the seven seas, spreading the of God and converting whom they once called “savage” people to Christianity. The recolonization of America (which included the so-called extermination of Native American society) was built on what was supposed to be solid Christian standards. Now, centuries later, the same people who came to save the world by converting the world to Christianity is now on a mission to destroy the Christian belief system and rip away the rights of those Christians to celebrate the holiday season in a way that is pleasing to them and the God they serve.

The challenge is also felt in the multicultural areas of America where the integration of both non believers and believers join forces to recreating a divine priesthood of African descent. From the hood to the islands and abroad these community of people dedicate themselves tirelessly to the higher calling of “freeing the slave within” by reclaiming the lost legacy of their ancestors. They root themselves in the divine rule set by the kings and queens who ruled their ancestral land long before the European invasion. Some believe in a more Afrocentric system of Christianity while others believe in an ancient Egyptian system of divinity known as the Kemet. Others embark on other cosmic, “new age” forms of spirituality in African and Eastern societies. 

Regardless of the path of their spiritual walk, their “divine movement” primarily consists of “waking up” the oppressed, miseducated person of color as well as those victimized by the institution of conspiracy. Sometimes their mission is met on one accord, other times it erupts in a frenzy of exhausting discord.

Like the United nations, believers and non believers of color representing all spectrums of spiritual identities come together often to hold round table like discussions on the state of their community within and outside of their spiritual community. They the congregate online and off-line, exchanging philosophies about the most suitable direction for people of color, particularly those of African descent. They too protest Americanized holidays like Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter by educating others on the origin of these holidays through lectures and literature. Although their movement is not commonly televised like their mostly Caucasian counterparts, the mission remains the same: tear down the walls of (westernized) Christianity and the holidays built on that system of beliefs. In the Afrocentric group of non believers, neither Christmas or Xmas is warmly embraced.  

There was a time when the church was winning the war between church and state. Today, the state is winning the war. Leaders are failing the lost and wounded. The lost and wounded are prematurely leading other lost and wounded, tripling the affliction of many more broken souls trying to find their way to salvation. The Middle East, the birthplace of Christ, Christianity and the meaning of Christmas continues to be a conglomerate of war-torn nations and tortured souls.

Collectively, non believing Americans of all spiritual backgrounds are writing off the celebration of the birth of Christ, a.k.a The Lord and Savior, a.k.a The Good Shepherd as “offensive”, “assaulting” to non believers.   They protest the rights of other believers to peacefully celebrate the traditional meaning of Christmas among fellow Christians and keepers of the true meaning of Christmas. Although non believers have a right to NOT celebrate the original meaning of Christmas with other believers, they feel the need to launch a crusade remove all the symbols and services of the holiday from society period.

I feel there is a double standard in America’s cries for civil liberties. Where there are largely supported campaigns on the acceptance of gay and lesbian culture and marriage, why is there not campaigns launched on respecting the right to freedom of choice in ones individual religious beliefs and culture? Why not support the right for Christian Americans to believe in Jesus Christ and celebrate His birthday publicly or privately if you support the gay and lesbian parades in every community? This is what TRUE tolerance is all about. All people having a right to being a part of any social or sexual identity of their choice without being socially forced to conform into a lifestyle the do not feel comfortable with being a part of. To push for tolerance of one part society is to push for tolerance of ALL portions of society. Christians should have the right to celebrate and hold festivities who and what they believe in… Civil rights and equality is for ALL people, INCLUDING Christian people… not just one particular social, sexual or racial class of people. 

Daily, television and newspapers continues to report the progress of Anti-Christmas crusaders and their petitions to take away Christianity and their right to worship their Lord and Savior in schools and other parts of the communities. Their highly publicized ventures grow more intense each year. People forcefully trying to pressure government officials into eventually “outlawing” the Christmas and Christianity period. If you could peer into the spirits driving most of these angry protesters, you’d might see that many of them are fueling their “mission” with unresolved issues and bitter pain that continues to accumulate in their hearts. Many of them are protesting their cause to make Christmas solely a “gift giving” holiday minus the display of the nativity scene, church services, prayers before dinner, Christmas plays, and showing of biblical movies.   

Most of these “Anti Christmas” crusaders are using their own personal disappointments and spiritual complexities to take away their innocence of the real blessing of Christ based on some very unfortunate things that’s happening in the church, such as sex abuse on children, infidelity among church leaders, betrayal of trust and persecution from church members, unanswered prayers. They’re fighting hard to thoroughly remove the halo of nativity scenes, angels and cross symbols and raise up the horns of these age-old myths that shimmies down chimneys and eat cookies, “flying” reindeers whose nose glows in a BLOOD RED color, a talking snowman that melts to his death then resurrects himself over and over again through the hands of children who builds him up in the chilling cold holiday snow. They sing of these songs and revere these figures every year, however most of us don’t realize what they are submitting ourselves to, rather intentionally or unintentionally when they gather up our family and friends to partake in these “ritualistic” practices. They get so caught up in getting those cookies and milk ready for Santa, obsess over how many gifts when can get or give their loved ones, bringing Frosty back to life.

For good measure, these people try to balance out their gluttonous, selfishly obsessive behavior by taking a second out of their materialistic world to drop some loose change in the Salvation Army kettle or a few hours working at a soup kitchen to feed the homeless. A gesture to show society that they’ve done their “good deed” to the less fortunate for the holiday season… but starting New Year’s, everything goes right back to the more comfortable, convenient lifestyle of serving the lust of self and the greed of selfish things. Charity is not a one a year, holiday season only thing… charity can be done year round for as little as a few hours a week and it don’t have to always be about money. For those who sincerely cannot afford to give money to the cause of their choice, they can give their time. Of course one should enjoy the luxuries they were blessed to have in their life… but it should be enjoyed with responsibility and with self-control, never taking anything for granted because within a blink of an eye, any of us could become the very people we volunteer in soup kitchens for or give loose change to in that Salvation army kettle.

NO I’m not trying to ruin everyone’s “holiday” spirit. I am only expressing my feelings on this whole hostile take over to remove all Christian undertones and symbols behind the Christmas, or “Xmas” holiday season.  Everyone, including you who is reading this post has the right to your own beliefs and opinions. This is not a post to persuade but rather a post to inform and to some extent entertain the intellect. You have the option of what belief your want to pursue. 

For those who believe in the Christmas season, you have many options on how you chose to go forth and celebrate the Holiday season, based on your own personal beliefs. You have that option to choose between slipping into the hol “I”day spirit or the hol”Y”day spirit. The process is similar, you still have the Christmas tree, the dinners, the enjoyment of family, the presents…. but you also have CHRIST first and foremost above all those things. You have CHRIST at the HEAD of your table and not just a fancy spread and idle toast recitations.

There’s nothing wrong with supporting the “innocence” of childhood by decorating the house with these nursery rhyme like images like Santa Claus and Frosty the Snowman. For me, as  a believer, as long as JESUS CHRIST is in the midst of these activities because after all He IS the REAL MEANING of  the word CHRISTMAS… not “X”mas.

KNOWLEDGE is POWER… Always know who you serve, what you serve and why… whether it be Christmas or Xmas.

Happy HOLYdays,

Arose N Daghetto

 

Red girl ©

      Written by: Arose N Daghetto

 

Rebel girl, skin like fire

Tell the Lord your heart’s desire

 

Dancing doe, blazing tornado

Stirring sandy winds of smoke and shadows

 

Fire manifests in your human form

The rage of God in the image of a child of corn

 

Crimson child with hints of scarlet

By product of the Holy Spirit, cosmic starlet

 

Passion is your paternal, Beauty is your maternal

Elemental in the spiritual, extraterrestrial in the physical

 

Fleeting blood voyaging through the vien of life

Symbol of a beating heart, pulsing strife

 

Nature’s princess, the world’s empress

hindered by labor pains of grief and injustice

 

Red girl wilderness burns like wildfire

As you dance into your Rites of Passage full of desire

 

Red woman, dance on…

Dance on, Rebel, dance on…

Yell if you must but dance on…

Scream if you will, just dance on…

 

Carry on in that warrior’s ancestral dance

Until your barren land encounters the tip of chance

 

Dance with all your might until you find

The Holy Grail and favor of the Divine

Dance until your wilderness is disturbed with light

and the rustling of the trees invades your silent night

and the stomping of your dancing feet ignites

smoke signals over the black trees in clouds of white

 

Dance strong in the rain, dance through the fall

Dance harder through the snow but most of all

 
Dance until daylight breaks

and the birds sing

Dance until you achieve your full reign

Dance until the shimmering trees refrain

And The Great Man emerges, saying your name…

 
Breathless Red child, you survived the storms of womanhood

God has given you a Helper as He promised He would

Now when you dance, you don’t dance alone….

You dance in Holy matrimony…

two warriors plus one.

 

 

Poem (Not Picture) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

THE SPOOK WHO SAT UNDER MY PORCH LIGHT©

                                             Written by Arose N Daghetto

 

I’m not afraid of thunder…. I can roar just as loud
I’m not afraid of lightning…. My smile is also quite a killer 
I’m not afraid of the dark…. My soul can be my flashlight

I’m not afraid of gossip…. I never did hear that well anyway 
I’m not afraid of hate… My heart’s a ten time world champion
I’m not afraid of goodbyes…. My life’s due for some spring cleaning

But I will tell you what I am afraid of…

I am afraid of hellos…. I’m allergic to shiesty people
I am afraid of investing trust…. ‘Cause I always have to file bankruptcy
I am afraid of friendship…. ‘Cause people aren’t really your friends

 

I am afraid of love…. Love has a learning disability
I’m afraid to give…. What I give always gets thrown back at me

I am afraid to dream…. Dreams don’t always come true.

But I’ll never cease

to continue

conquering

the nightmares

that keep me

from inheriting

my dream.

 

Poem (Not Picture) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

Audio Poetry By Arose N Daghetto

Poetry By Arose N Daghetto

 

1. Do or Die  ©

http://soundcloud.com/bkd-hip-hop/do-or-die3-arose-n-daghetto
 

2.  The Small of My Back  ©

http://soundcloud.com/bkd-hip-hop/the-small-of-my-back-arose-n

3.  Teach Me  ©

http://soundcloud.com/bkd-hip-hop/teach-me-2-arose-n-daghetto

All Poems © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

Sorry, Wrong Color©

           ~Written by: Arose N Daghetto

 

 

Yesterday I paid a visit to my local library.

I browsed through some Poe,

shook down some Shakespeare,

and caught a chill off Chaucer…

Awakened by the Chinua in my Achebe,

I relived August in some Wilson,

took out a few Counteé Cullen’s.

Leaving a few Dust Tracks on the Road

and a Rage in Harlem,

I found my Native Son

leaning against A Raisin in the Sun.

I gazed at my Beloved with the Bluest Eye

and was prepared to praise him all the way home

in The Color Purple.

 

 

Blessed with a tote bag full

of History’s finest literature,

I was about to hike it to the circulation desk

when I saw this Pharaoh beauty

browsing through a book two aisles down.

He was the personification

of all the alpha ingredients

that a real man could supply

this thirsty bookworm

ounce for ounce, good to the last drop.

 

 

God created him immaculately

from head to toe.

His dewy skin was rich like Egyptian toffee

and his twisted coils were bronzed

in kisses of mahogany.

Sorrow blanketed my heart

when I saw his woman

shouting at him in whispers

He didn’t flinch though

He just kept quiet, leafing through

Eldridge Cleaver’s “Soul on Ice”.

The more he kept his peace,

the more she unleashed war.

She swung her bone straight mane

over her delicate shoulder,

revealing her milky beige face

marred with exotic African features.

 

 

Anger twisted the beauty 

right out of her supermodel face.

Her fashion chic clothes hugged

her flower vase physique,

giving all the praise 

to her generous posterior

hot off the assembly line 

of her Yoruba foremothers.

 

 

Unable to tolerate being invisible

in front of her lover a second more,

the irate beauty flipped her hand in his face

and stormed away.

 

 

That’s when I, 

being the fearless bronze sista I am,

approached the humble brother close enough 

not to invade his personal space.

I said hello, he smiled.

I gazed at him, he gave me the once over

finding my thickness acceptable.

The corners of his lips

curved into an upside down smile.

The corners of mines curved sunny side up

into a ego trippin’ smile.

His eyes peaked with interest

for a fleeting moment

before retreating back into the unknown.

I told him my name, he murmured his.

I swallowed hard… the silence was cold.

I noticed him staring into space.

I wasn’t sure if he was daydreaming

or about to go into a seizure.

Whatever was going on with him,

he stayed like that for a while.

 

 

I followed the direction of his ogling stare

to the end of its trail

where a virginal black beauty stood

staring dreamily back at him.

Her complexion shined like an onyx gem.

White pearls for teeth embroidered

her plush, satiny lips.

silky Bantu knots sparkled like ice crystals

on top of her head.

Her deep mystical eyes were hypnotic

like blood diamonds.

She had a figure so petite, so graceful

that it could be immortalized on canvas.

Her sleek, elongated arms and legs

were like whips of lust

leaving welts of desire all over

my Pharaoh beauty’s heart.

 

 

Before I could attempt to win him over

one last time

he excused himself 

and walked over to the stallioness

waiting patiently for him to make his move.

My heart thumped like it was on life support

when I saw him lock arms 

with this island  princess

 

 

As the prelude to their storybook romance

unfolded before my eyes 

he looked back at me and said,

“Sorry, wrong color.”

 

 

…Ain’t that a bitch.

 

 

Poem (not pictures) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

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