Her Morning Elegance

 

Its morning, She rises up same time as every other day, and with a wide smile on her face she stretches and gives out  a “GOOD MORNING!” This of course does not go down too well with her partner who irritably grabs the pillow from her side of the bed and hurriedly places it over his head as he buries his face in the one beneath him. He absolutely hated those “Good Morning” moments.

Despite the fact that he has become accustom to the episode each time she wakes beside him, i.e. Her going off like a village rooster, the insecure bloke is more upset and resentful of the way she sounds each time she  gives the customary salutation. Its comes out with this rapturous burst of energy… “How come I never make you sound that way at night?” he says unable to conceal his envy any longer. “Excuse me!” She replies as she turns in surprise, unsure of the muffled words that have come from within the pillows. With his face off the pillow this time he repeats his question, but unable to look her in the eyes as he does. “How come I never make you sound that way at night?” After a few seconds of shocking silence she lifts herself from the other side of the bed where she’s seated; In his baggy “Tees” she laughingly jumps on the back of her sulking lover. “You are such a child” she says as she plays with his ear lobes.

Seductively she lays on his bare back and whispers:

“Why feel spite for the morning, is she not good? Why vex as I salute day’s dawning? It is only with gratitude…

Do not compare my heightened sound of day to my lowly moans of night, when your hands, your lips, your skin upon me fill me with delight.  

You desire screams as our bodies entwine and I reel in orgasmic pleasure? Well forgive me as the words lay caught in my throat while the moment I treasure.

Be not jealous of the morning and the excitement she brings me, but bless her as she gives way to the evening, and into the night once again we will be”

“This is some real Shakespearean ish” he says to himself as she nibbles on his right ear lobe and with her fingers plays with the hair on his naked back…. But hey, it worked! His supremacy over the morning is finally restored! He turns, and taking her in his arms plants a long kiss on her lips and with a look of mischief in his eyes he says “well the morning can have your screaming salutations, I on the other hand can make you moan whenever the hell I want!” She giggles as they kiss.

….. And morning becomes night 😉

 

 

 

 

I’m sorry BUT I just had to do this!
I saw “The Avengers” yesterday and If I had to write a review, which I know I couldn’t do even to save my life, it would totally agree with this piece.
PLEASE!!! GO SEE THE MOVIE!!!! …. Its a DRRRRREAM! 😀

The African “She”

(from the World Wide Web)

Chocolate, porcelain skinned sister,
daughter to the African earth
Nappy haired diva,
I pray She knows her worth

Embodiment of Soul and Spirit,
queen, commoner, slave-girl alike
Her brownness is “AFRICA” whether bound or free,
She bears Kush’s culture; Nubia’s history

She is a cluster of many shades,
Copper, Coco and Coffee; Chocolatey-milk and Ebony
No matter where her birth, She remains Africa’s trophy

She bears the “Dark Continent” in her womb wherever She may be,
Those child bearing hips of hers are Mother Africa’s Eternity.

©2012 Festivalking

Color filtered belle

She
 

Her essence under silvery light,
shadowy shades of yellow, blue and white.
Illuminating thus her beauty bright
All taintedness concealed by light.

(Picture taken by a girlfriend 
and editing by me! :D)

©2012 Festivalking

Meet Maame!

Hi people!
Permit me as I introduce a VERY talented young lady in today’s post. Her name is Hazel and is also known as “Maame“.
Well, the heading on her blog says a lot about her: “Adorned in African beads and riding a kangaroo, I am an African Australian“. To be more direct, she is Ghanian, but was born and lives in Australia. 😉
Besides her poetry she is also an aspiring Public Health Practitioner; Her hobbies are dancing, coloring, drawing, reading and writing; She loves kids, pets and traveling.
One of the many things I admire about Hazel besides her wide smile and cheerful nature is that though raised in Diaspora, she constantly holds on to her African heritage; You can even tell from some of her poems 🙂 … We communicate on Skype, and I can tell you that it is ALWAYS  a thrill when we get to chatting in Pigeon English 😀
Meeting Maame on WordPress has been a blessing as I have found a friend and an online African Sister in her 😉 … I’m glad that she is very much in love with the color of her skin and the many cultures it encompasses.
Below is one of her earlier pieces, which I still find  very intense till this day:
Ramblings of Children in Diaspora – Binta and Yataa

Ramblings of Children in Diaspora:
“War”
Pa,Pa,Pa that is a noise of war.
The sound of a shotgun killing the acquitted.

Ta ta ta that is a noise of war.
The sound of a man’s hard leather boots.
Moving across the wooden floors boards in our abandoned house.

Sh,sh,sh that is a noise of war.
The sound of a young men luring innocent girls into their dungeons.

Hm,hm,hm that is a noise of war.
The sound of a mother worried about the welfare of her children.
As she drinks dirty polluted water after giving her children the last bottle .

Can you hear our cries? Can you picture our lives?
As we run, we run as far as our swift small feet can take us.
We pray as we sleep the dirt of the earth becomes a blanket.
But when we sleep we can still hear the noises of war.
They are a never-ending soundtrack that replays every day in our heads.
As we awake from our nightmares we are forced to a life of confinement.
Refugee living.
Our mother died from cholera. We prayed and prayed for god to save her.
But she didn’t survive.
Our father shot by the soldiers and now we are orphans of war.
Without parents we sit and wait for someone to take us to a distant place.
As we wait,we pray. As we pray, we lose faith.
Week by week.Hour by hour. Day by day.
Finally we are rescued by a long lost aunty.
My sister and I are taken away to the promise land.
Memories of Sunday school in the village fill our minds.
Surely God had remembered us like the Israelites.
We thought we were  going to be so happy.
We love eating bread and jam, milk and chocolate cake.
Truly Living life in London is a blessing
But war still haunts us.
We still see the soldiers who killed my father in our dreams.
The rebels who defiled our lives and robbed our sacred  pride.
This scares us and we feel like the living dead.
walking amongst the people of this cruel world.

Drip,Drip,Drip this is a result of war.
I am a young child, Binta 12 years old
Yet I still wet my bed every night.
In fear for my life.

Shake,Shake,Shake  this is a result of war.
I am Yataa, A young teenage girl who cannot speak English
on her first day of high school.
I have been stigmatized , ostracized and traumatize.
since that day I have never been the same.
I find it hard to talk to strangers often get scared of  the slightest noise surrounding me.
I am  just a small  girl yet I have viewed more than most adults have ever seen.
We hope one day that war will cease to exist just like our childhoods were diminished.
By;Maame Afrique

For more of her work please check out her blog at “Fairy Floss Fantasies & Sugar Coated Dreams” (Yes its a link, so click on it! :D)
MUCH LOVE!!!! 😉

My Mom in 2012

Yep! Its that time again when a girl’s got to rant about her mother! … Yes, Yes! She’s still my Roomie!

This time however its pretty different… I have matured you see…. NO, I’m not a parent just yet, but I HAVE become more patient and understanding towards most situations…. In other words, I’ve developed a thick skin ;). Its been a year since my post, “My Mommie; My Roomie!” where I shared the ordeal of  experiencing my Mama at close range. Today I have decided to give an update on the progress of our cohabitation… ENJOY!!!! 😀

Life After Papa:Mama and Papa

I guess we’ve had to adjust when it comes to mother, daughter misunderstandings. I must tell you that it was quite a bumpy road we were on initially… I distinctly remember a shoe flying across the room during one of our bouts :D. In my father’s absence my baby brother has had to take on the role of buffer, husband and even Pops :D… You should see when my mom and I have the poor fella settling issues. Its in those moments I realise how alike he is with my late old man :).He never takes a side; he just goes silent and has this silly gaze like he’s been walking the Cannabis field, and I can bet in those moments he’s thinking “Do I look like freaking King Solomon to you ladies?!” :|. Papa however, being the diplomat that he was in his later years, always offered some sort of advice in the end.

So you would think my brother isn’t much of a buffer right? WRONG!… That unnerving silence  of his can be SO annoying, that soon mama and I tend to forget our differences and turn on him.  Its helped to reduce the incidents to a minimum because we figure that we will only get aggravated in the end… Talk about a strategy, know! 😉

… But it hasn’t been all about quelling fights.

In the past one year I have also come to see a side of my mother that I admire and makes me proud to be her daughter on a daily :)… In spite of her loss she is still that strong woman she’s always been known to be. Papa’s death didn’t break her the way I had feared it would. She took ill for a little bit but the battle axe bounced right back to health thank God! :). Naturally she misses her husband dearly and talks about him EVERY CHANCE SHE GETS! Yet she’s managed to take the gap he made in that big, “Mary Poppin’s bag” like heart of her’s and fill it with love for the new and old people in her life…. Papa wasn’t her world, she was his… 🙂

She’s out of town for about a month  starting next week, leaving ME to be a big girl all by myself…. NOT! She would never do that to any of her babies! ;)… I envisage Momsie doing all she can to keep close even when 2 continents away… She recently got a Blackberry and of course she’s expecting ALL her off-spring to be on her list once the Messenger App.’s been activated…. Why that never happened long before this planned trip I will never know. Thank GOODNESS she’s not on Facebook right! 😐

She gets under my skin once in a while that’s for sure, but I just have to love her for the innocently comical and loving mother she is. PLUS, I ALWAYS remind myself how someday it will be my turn to be pretty annoying and so I’m taking it easy on the old lady 😉

There are two side to every coin…. My Mom sure is a SHINY ONE! 🙂

… love you Mama 😉

The Death of Six Degrees of Separation

(culled from wikipedia)

Social networks draws close the distant stranger,
Once “Friend of a friend”, Now “brother and sister”
Six degrees it is no longer,
You need just sit back, “Click and Enter”.

©2012 Festivalking

INTERMISSION

These blank pages lay empty,
I yearn to fill them with love, hate, joy or melancholy
But expression weighs thin, while desire to fill each page burns feverishly within.
My voice is trapped within fear’s cage,
I am as an unsure artist, paralyzed as I take the stage.
These sheets are naked,
I yearn to clothe them with my emotion,
to bathe them in “self” with each stroke of ink
and bear my soul’s devotion; to let my heart speak.
But I am hunted by barren imagination born of caution’s defeat.
Like a rain cloud, I am pregnant with word,
but the fear to birth them keeps a voice unheard.
…Anxiety seems to stifle this song bird.
I sought approval from an unseen audience,
I suppressed “true self ” and lost “true vision”
Bringing death to many expressions from fear of rejection,
This, the cause of a long-ass intermission.
From fear’s cage I now break free,
I seek my voice’s redemption; my Immortality….
Throwing caution to the wind I allow these words unwind.
No longer will I let the audience my words define
For these sheets, these pages… they are not their space, they are mine…
©2012 Festivalking

 

Hi guys! 🙂
I am SO sorry for the long silence, but I think this piece explains why I sort of went into a shell. Missed you all and am hoping to get back into the groove of things 🙂
…. MUCH LOVE! 😉

Next Post

ClownPonders totally doing his thing 😉

CoreyPonders's avatarCoreyPonders

A Homeless Child

The child wanders the streets,
day after day,
With only tattered clothes on his back,
And no where to stay,

Affection is now a memory,
From his family he got deserted,
Now he has to it on his own,
Even though he don’t deserve it,

It’s a daily struggle,
Just to find something to eat,
With holes in his shoes,
The rubbles hurting his feet,

Searching through trash,
Begging in the town,
People just turn a blind eye,
Which is getting him down,

At nights he’s a target,
To older men he’s easy pray,
He would keep his eyes open,
As in the cold he would lay,

The charity soup kitchen,
He can go to twice a week,
Full of people with addictions,
He feels to scared to even speak,

Avoiding daily abuse,
Because he’s to weak to fight,
Unhygienic and unhealthy,
With no civil or economic…

View original post 71 more words