Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

We become new

Enlarge poem

he gently kisses the inner part of her arm
and she wishes that they had met lifetimes ago
like when oya met shango
two twin tailors entangled in the twine of time
but she knew this moment wasn’t fleeting
all she had to do was to listen to the measured beating
of her heart
to remember this is real
and for her part
she would press parted lips firmly on that place just between and above his eyebrows
to remind him that he was never too much
and always enough
and they used their kisses like this
tantrically across each others’ bodies as far as the mind’s abyss
breaths comforted from old wives tales
and the unkind wails
of laughter
besos that fade stretched out marks like shea butter
and the missing support of a loving mother
and in the old and newness of healing
they made love

Kemba King

Featured Poem:

Storytelling roots

Enlarge poem

my mother
my mother was my very first storyteller
singing me calypsos in the stormy weather
wombed warmed me with words of wisdom
weaving, believing that i could handle the width of my hips
and the purse in my lips
she would repeat
look in the mirror
three times a day
and
say
‘i love you’
i love me
i love all that i am and will be
i love the way melanin molecules collide on my insides
giving me the hue of afrikan dew
i love me
i love the thickness in my thighs and my drawn out sighs
when i meditate with my maker
i love my trueself and will never foresake her
and these words i must remember when i meet
other coloured girls
brown, black, tapioca, red and yellow girls
who haven’t considered suicide, but…
never seen a rainbow before
or
heard the innerworkings of audre lorde
with the reminder that
poetry is not a luxury
existing instead of living
so i tell them stories
not those back in the day glories
all those we were queens stuff
but
start where they are
but
first
i
start with
‘i love you’
i love you not just because you are you, but
because you are me
i love all that you are and will be
i love the way our cultures collide on the east side
our bodies a shade of coppery hue
now let us weave together new stories
words of our womb wellness
those that will take us through

Kemba-King

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Biography

kemba king is an artist. healer. storyteller.

she has been writing and sharing her art for over 10 years. in 2009 and 2010 she was a part of the anitafrika dub theatre playwrights-in-residence program where she wrote and co-produced the biomyth monodrama where the stories are told. during the same year, she participated and culminated from the sacred leaders mentorship program from sacred women centres international. she hosted and co-produced a radio show entitled womyn’s words for over 10 years. she also co-directed and co-facilitated the medina collective – an organisation committed to informing and engaging young women of colour in media literacy primarily via hip hop.

Kemba King

Kemba-King
Kemba-King

Biography

kemba king is an artist. healer. storyteller.

she has been writing and sharing her art for over 10 years. in 2009 and 2010 she was a part of the anitafrika dub theatre playwrights-in-residence program where she wrote and co-produced the biomyth monodrama where the stories are told. during the same year, she participated and culminated from the sacred leaders mentorship program from sacred women centres international. she hosted and co-produced a radio show entitled womyn’s words for over 10 years. she also co-directed and co-facilitated the medina collective – an organisation committed to informing and engaging young women of colour in media literacy primarily via hip hop.

We become new

Enlarge poem

he gently kisses the inner part of her arm
and she wishes that they had met lifetimes ago
like when oya met shango
two twin tailors entangled in the twine of time
but she knew this moment wasn’t fleeting
all she had to do was to listen to the measured beating
of her heart
to remember this is real
and for her part
she would press parted lips firmly on that place just between and above his eyebrows
to remind him that he was never too much
and always enough
and they used their kisses like this
tantrically across each others’ bodies as far as the mind’s abyss
breaths comforted from old wives tales
and the unkind wails
of laughter
besos that fade stretched out marks like shea butter
and the missing support of a loving mother
and in the old and newness of healing
they made love

Featured Poem:

Storytelling roots

Enlarge poem

my mother
my mother was my very first storyteller
singing me calypsos in the stormy weather
wombed warmed me with words of wisdom
weaving, believing that i could handle the width of my hips
and the purse in my lips
she would repeat
look in the mirror
three times a day
and
say
‘i love you’
i love me
i love all that i am and will be
i love the way melanin molecules collide on my insides
giving me the hue of afrikan dew
i love me
i love the thickness in my thighs and my drawn out sighs
when i meditate with my maker
i love my trueself and will never foresake her
and these words i must remember when i meet
other coloured girls
brown, black, tapioca, red and yellow girls
who haven’t considered suicide, but…
never seen a rainbow before
or
heard the innerworkings of audre lorde
with the reminder that
poetry is not a luxury
existing instead of living
so i tell them stories
not those back in the day glories
all those we were queens stuff
but
start where they are
but
first
i
start with
‘i love you’
i love you not just because you are you, but
because you are me
i love all that you are and will be
i love the way our cultures collide on the east side
our bodies a shade of coppery hue
now let us weave together new stories
words of our womb wellness
those that will take us through

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (0)
  • Pride (0)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (0)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (1)
  • Reflection (0)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (0)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

We become new

Enlarge poem

he gently kisses the inner part of her arm
and she wishes that they had met lifetimes ago
like when oya met shango
two twin tailors entangled in the twine of time
but she knew this moment wasn’t fleeting
all she had to do was to listen to the measured beating
of her heart
to remember this is real
and for her part
she would press parted lips firmly on that place just between and above his eyebrows
to remind him that he was never too much
and always enough
and they used their kisses like this
tantrically across each others’ bodies as far as the mind’s abyss
breaths comforted from old wives tales
and the unkind wails
of laughter
besos that fade stretched out marks like shea butter
and the missing support of a loving mother
and in the old and newness of healing
they made love

Comments

Your email address will not be published.