Though you talk to me with sweetness
on your breath and in your heart,
My body will not rise to feel
your meaning in whole, or in part.
I am a woman without a doubt
my servitude is the measure,
Your expectant stance and countenance
is but my single pleasure.
You will never have to worry, my love
If I shall ever stray,
For the offending thorn of my desire
has been sharply cut away.
Tuned and pruned to suit my groom
I am the comely bride,
Submitting to my husband's will
without desire but with pride.
I am free from worldly sins
for the path I chose,
May Allah bless the garden keepers
for the cutting of the rose.
by Jessica Holter for Verbal Penetration
Listen to Jessica Holter perform The Cutting of the Rose
http://www.reverbnation.com/open_graph/song/11273457
Friday, June 19, 2015
The Eunuch & Missy Frier - A Story-Poem by Jessica Holter
The Eunuch, it seems
possessed magical charms
Though held in captivity,
bound by laws of slavery,
he roamed through cotton fields
as free as a slave's dream
of being free
His walk, more like a dance
held slave girls in trance
with his doe-like stride,
his legs stretched toes to hips
a great distance
His arms,
reaching nearly to their knees
His head held high in confidence
never given cause for penance
his nose always finding
and seizing a heavenly breeze
As graceful as the deer
finding rhythm in the air
as if the Frier plantation
had some freshness there
His hair was long
as soft as fur
His voice
as gentle as his manner
Never easy to stir
he could make the lion purr
with his manly strength
and is mothering nature
Born to Master Frier's father
Many years many years before the war
He was but a babe
when his mammy made
a solemn oath to God
that he would be her only child
born into subjugation
While weeding in the trash gang
a midwife from an island afar
told of berry and root
that could clean a pregnant womb
Tall and lean she stood
and when she sat she was
as the praying mantis
casting spells with
but the rub of her fingertips
A Caribbean witch,
is what they called her
Her name was Satajay
She took the new mother
into her council
and upon hearing her wishes
and considering her strife
she took mother and boy
to the end of her knife
taking kin and manhood away
The boy grew into something
less than a woman
but something much more than a man
Sensitivities and obedience
with strength in tongue and hand
Now war was coming, sure to ruin
the delicate balance of the South
And so it came to pass,
Master Frier was called to arms
but feared to leave his house
Wife and daughters
with chastity unguarded
to the whim of a manly bucks charms
and thusly he summoned
The Eunuch to his quarters
Take charge in my absence
ordered the Master
Guard with your life
my home, my children and my wife
and upon my return freedom shall be yours
So with his house in order
and his slaves in tact as cattle
Master Frier made a course
with his gun and his horse
to meet his fate in battle
Only days had passed
when at first Missy Frier asked
The Eunuch for his service
Upon finding no staff,
she lay on her back and gave herself as
she would be subject to a woman
without politic or grace
spilling upon his face
she came... so as never to return,
caring nothing of time or of fortune
So in the dark of night
and in the light of day
The Frier Plantation
and the hands that created it
slave, cattle, cotton and crop,
all slipped slowly away
The moral of this story is for
the man who measures worth
from where his length his hung,
For the definition of a lover
is not founded in the trouser
but in the sweetness of the tongue
At the dawn of the Civil War
three million black hands or more
tilled the Southern soil,
but The Eunuchs were far too gentle
even for cotton
Tis the tale of
The Eunuch and Missy Frier
Never to be forgotten
possessed magical charms
Though held in captivity,
bound by laws of slavery,
he roamed through cotton fields
as free as a slave's dream
of being free
His walk, more like a dance
held slave girls in trance
with his doe-like stride,
his legs stretched toes to hips
a great distance
His arms,
reaching nearly to their knees
His head held high in confidence
never given cause for penance
his nose always finding
and seizing a heavenly breeze
As graceful as the deer
finding rhythm in the air
as if the Frier plantation
had some freshness there
His hair was long
as soft as fur
His voice
as gentle as his manner
Never easy to stir
he could make the lion purr
with his manly strength
and is mothering nature
Born to Master Frier's father
Many years many years before the war
He was but a babe
when his mammy made
a solemn oath to God
that he would be her only child
born into subjugation
While weeding in the trash gang
a midwife from an island afar
told of berry and root
that could clean a pregnant womb
Tall and lean she stood
and when she sat she was
as the praying mantis
casting spells with
but the rub of her fingertips
A Caribbean witch,
is what they called her
Her name was Satajay
She took the new mother
into her council
and upon hearing her wishes
and considering her strife
she took mother and boy
to the end of her knife
taking kin and manhood away
The boy grew into something
less than a woman
but something much more than a man
Sensitivities and obedience
with strength in tongue and hand
Now war was coming, sure to ruin
the delicate balance of the South
And so it came to pass,
Master Frier was called to arms
but feared to leave his house
Wife and daughters
with chastity unguarded
to the whim of a manly bucks charms
and thusly he summoned
The Eunuch to his quarters
Take charge in my absence
ordered the Master
Guard with your life
my home, my children and my wife
and upon my return freedom shall be yours
So with his house in order
and his slaves in tact as cattle
Master Frier made a course
with his gun and his horse
to meet his fate in battle
Only days had passed
when at first Missy Frier asked
The Eunuch for his service
Upon finding no staff,
she lay on her back and gave herself as
she would be subject to a woman
without politic or grace
spilling upon his face
she came... so as never to return,
caring nothing of time or of fortune
So in the dark of night
and in the light of day
The Frier Plantation
and the hands that created it
slave, cattle, cotton and crop,
all slipped slowly away
The moral of this story is for
the man who measures worth
from where his length his hung,
For the definition of a lover
is not founded in the trouser
but in the sweetness of the tongue
At the dawn of the Civil War
three million black hands or more
tilled the Southern soil,
but The Eunuchs were far too gentle
even for cotton
Tis the tale of
The Eunuch and Missy Frier
Never to be forgotten
by @JessicaHolter
by Jessica Holter
by Jessica Holter
Monday, May 18, 2015
Sweating the Tears of Sappho
I drove by your ex-girlfriend's house last night, saw your car, paused to contemplate a jealous rage but kept driving. I really didn't have plans to do what I did and it didn't just happen. It was destiny. She unveiled herself slowly over the months before, but now her message to me is undeniable and she was working, even through you, to help me see my way clear from this lie we call a relationship.
It was something in your kiss, you see. Something in your taste, that was all too familiar to me, when you strained to bend your lips to me on your way in the other night. You tasted the way you tasted when I found you. So I put 1 and 2 together, me on this lonely naked street and you... and your beautiful face cradled in the warmth of her ample hips and got a hypotenuse triangle in which the sum of the square of this long lasting love you have for her is equal to the length of my unrest; squared. My eyes welled with tears and I could barely see, as I drove away. But my ears engulfed the urgent wail of Johnnie Taylor's promise that all is not lost for a wondering soul of the night, dismissed from life as she new it: A compromising place where the straight play with their soul's salvation. Our room. Where there is only a bed and the lasting resonance of the piercing sounds of my surrender to your tongue. Unwavering shards of girl on girl passion. Unforgiving truth. An uncompromising heat sleeps with me. I sweat the tears of Sappho. Me and the Goddess up against the world and its hypocrisy - a hot seat that gives my skin an anxious itch.
My car pulled to an impatient stop as that Taurus talked turkey.
'Now who's making love to your old lady, while you were out making love?
And just like that, my heart was washed clean of anxiety and flushed with the anticipation of revenge; the Scorpio cure, as I pulled down the visor, touched up my mascara, and hypnotized myself.
It was something in your kiss, you see. Something in your taste, that was all too familiar to me, when you strained to bend your lips to me on your way in the other night. You tasted the way you tasted when I found you. So I put 1 and 2 together, me on this lonely naked street and you... and your beautiful face cradled in the warmth of her ample hips and got a hypotenuse triangle in which the sum of the square of this long lasting love you have for her is equal to the length of my unrest; squared. My eyes welled with tears and I could barely see, as I drove away. But my ears engulfed the urgent wail of Johnnie Taylor's promise that all is not lost for a wondering soul of the night, dismissed from life as she new it: A compromising place where the straight play with their soul's salvation. Our room. Where there is only a bed and the lasting resonance of the piercing sounds of my surrender to your tongue. Unwavering shards of girl on girl passion. Unforgiving truth. An uncompromising heat sleeps with me. I sweat the tears of Sappho. Me and the Goddess up against the world and its hypocrisy - a hot seat that gives my skin an anxious itch.
My car pulled to an impatient stop as that Taurus talked turkey.
'Now who's making love to your old lady, while you were out making love?
And just like that, my heart was washed clean of anxiety and flushed with the anticipation of revenge; the Scorpio cure, as I pulled down the visor, touched up my mascara, and hypnotized myself.
'Damn, I looked good, ' I said out loud, just to make sure you weren't still caught in my throat.
'What was she thinking'? I spoke again as I stepped from the car. My voice was soothing and deep with that seductive kind of pain born of American blues as, for a moment, I pictured you with your mouth on her. I, myself, tasting her again, I convinced myself to stay angry enough to go through with this. Reminding myself that this was to me more than an affair, but a change I channel the fever into fervor, using the intensity for the long walk up the path that lay ahead of me. I hadn't worn those red stilettos in far too long. A gust of wind swept beneath me lifting the hem of my swing coat, and with a cool fingertip, touched my naked Punany and felt her blush.
When I rang the doorbell, he fell running to it and knocked over the umbrella stand when he hugged me. Now I blushed, remembering men and their natural response to me. The utter suspension of their intelligence at the mere promise of Punany is blinding. I could barely see you anymore, even in my mind.
While, for lesbians, there really is no mystery. You bleed, I bleed and we try not to kill each other in between. He played a song for me on his baby grand, and did a little tap dance while he rolled sushi and fried tempura vegetables. He made a jingle of my name and clicked his heels in mid air. We Orbited together and booked that little trip to Vegas I've been bugging you about. You know the one you put a deposit on and just couldn't make that last payment on?
...and for a while, in his bed, I dismissed my hang-ups, let my father lay quiet in his grave. Surrendered completely to natural love, the way my mother taught me it was intended to be. He milked the poisonous venom of rejection from every part of me and from my mouth came only sweetness, for a good change.
I awoke, just hours before the police retreated from the streets and skies. Every muscle aching, even the hair on my head rejuvenated, my skin... a natural glow that does not come in one of those bottles my skin has been obsessing over. It was nearly 5 in the morning when I returned home. You did not stir as I showered, put on my pajamas, top and bottom, and slid between the sheets.
You had not even noticed I was gone.
But I am.
Jessica Holter
Momma's Lil' Baby (Love Hoin' Hoin') - Poem by Jessica Holter
momma's little baby love hoin', hoin'
momma's little baby love strollin' tracks
momma's little baby love strollin' strollin'
momma's little baby ain't neva' comin' back
so now you done got clean, you wanna save me?
you wasn't here when he said, he had love fa me
where was you back den?
where was that pie in'na sky hymn i thought i rememba'd you sing?
befo dem pipe dreams read us a never-ending story
like dem Bible people, what neva did begat a clue
hard times had me missin' you and findin you in him
he said he would die a million times if only i would, if only he could,
be with me forever, me his ghetto cinderella, pretty girl with a' ugly limp
at first i didn't want to do it, but for he my ever true pimp,
said at worst I'd, cry my way through it
but afterwards, no words to hurt or fake,
but bread to break, a table to sup, my cup runs over
no curse, no omen, nothin' to show men, they ain't seen already nor did
i love you momma but don't chase me no mo' and
don't come after me too, nothin you kin do, but don't you be blue
no creed as true as that of the stroll, old woman be glad to know,
yo' baby done grown into a' honest ho
momma's little baby love hoin', hoin'
momma's little baby love strollin' tracks
momma's little baby love strollin' strollin'
momma's little baby ain't neva' comin' back
‘member when you useta, hit a' blazin' pipe torch, to send yo shame away
t'da pie in na' sky betta day?
yet you say somebody usin' me to get pay...
freedom be between, me an them men
no curse, no omen, nothin' to show them, they ain't seen already, nor did
the po day done hid, behind dollar signs, shine bright like, your hot pipe light
summer night eyes an' sizzling growling belly aching away
all night awake an' holdin' you shakin, beggin you to stay but
you lef' me alone, trying to raise me now that i'm grown
my truth be da fruits you done sewn, i did my best to never go hungry no mo
old woman you need to be knowin', your baby is well and your baby is happy
with the daddy that got me t' hoin'
don't cha worry y'self none, it all be ova soon
we be laughin' allis away, you wit da pipe high, me wit da sor' thigh
what tingle wit herpe venom, r'n'r, rest and laxation, one day well gett ‘em
in na pie inna' sky betta day!
me and you cain't fret where we goin', cause the lawd knows where we been
now stand on yo feet, an' let the congregation say amen!
GHETTO GIRL BLUE
Jessica Holter for Verbal Penetration
momma's little baby love strollin' tracks
momma's little baby love strollin' strollin'
momma's little baby ain't neva' comin' back
so now you done got clean, you wanna save me?
you wasn't here when he said, he had love fa me
where was you back den?
where was that pie in'na sky hymn i thought i rememba'd you sing?
befo dem pipe dreams read us a never-ending story
like dem Bible people, what neva did begat a clue
hard times had me missin' you and findin you in him
he said he would die a million times if only i would, if only he could,
be with me forever, me his ghetto cinderella, pretty girl with a' ugly limp
at first i didn't want to do it, but for he my ever true pimp,
said at worst I'd, cry my way through it
but afterwards, no words to hurt or fake,
but bread to break, a table to sup, my cup runs over
no curse, no omen, nothin' to show men, they ain't seen already nor did
i love you momma but don't chase me no mo' and
don't come after me too, nothin you kin do, but don't you be blue
no creed as true as that of the stroll, old woman be glad to know,
yo' baby done grown into a' honest ho
momma's little baby love hoin', hoin'
momma's little baby love strollin' tracks
momma's little baby love strollin' strollin'
momma's little baby ain't neva' comin' back
‘member when you useta, hit a' blazin' pipe torch, to send yo shame away
t'da pie in na' sky betta day?
yet you say somebody usin' me to get pay...
freedom be between, me an them men
no curse, no omen, nothin' to show them, they ain't seen already, nor did
the po day done hid, behind dollar signs, shine bright like, your hot pipe light
summer night eyes an' sizzling growling belly aching away
all night awake an' holdin' you shakin, beggin you to stay but
you lef' me alone, trying to raise me now that i'm grown
my truth be da fruits you done sewn, i did my best to never go hungry no mo
old woman you need to be knowin', your baby is well and your baby is happy
with the daddy that got me t' hoin'
don't cha worry y'self none, it all be ova soon
we be laughin' allis away, you wit da pipe high, me wit da sor' thigh
what tingle wit herpe venom, r'n'r, rest and laxation, one day well gett ‘em
in na pie inna' sky betta day!
me and you cain't fret where we goin', cause the lawd knows where we been
now stand on yo feet, an' let the congregation say amen!
GHETTO GIRL BLUE
Jessica Holter for Verbal Penetration
The Punany Poets in #DETROIT June 26th
Bring your E-Ticket and your open mind to The Head Doctor Show: "X Visions of You." As seen on HBO, BET & Playboy TV, Author/Activist Jessica Holter stars in this erotic cabaret show for especially for lovers and friends. Replete with sensational story-telling with exotic dance interpretation ripped from the pages of her book Verbal Penetration, The Head Doctor blends fantasy, comedy and romance to create a safe place for lust and love to play together. Every episode of The Punany Poets Hands-On Theater is intimate, interactive and definitely for adults only. This summer The Head Doctor invites you to release your inhibitions and fall in love again.
____________________________________
Date: Friday, June 26th, 2015
Show Time: 7:00pm
EVENT LOCATION:
1515 Broadway Theater
1515 Broadway Street
Detroit, MI 48226
Venue Phone: (313) 965-1515
Customer Service Phone - (TEXT) 510-600-9747
_____________________________________
As seen on HBO, BET and Playboy TV, you will enjoy The Head Doctor show starring famed author and HIV/AIDS activist Jessica Holter and her cast of naughty players as they present the sexiest, most provocative Punany show available! Vivid and compelling, The Head Doctor Show deals with every facet of modern relationships as well as the complicated history of African American sexuality. The 2 hour cabaret show blends tantalizing sensual imagery with superior alternative & R & B Music by Tony Toni Tone's Dwayne Wiggins. Never preachy, always original, and guaranteed to stimulate the individual and the couple, Punany’s experiences are unique among erotic endeavors — they are riveting, multi-dimensional erotic excursions with heart, soul, and message.
Tickets are available at www.PunanyTickets.com. Call 510-600-9747 for Customer Service or to inquire about making special announcements, such as anniversaries and engagements at the show.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Momma’s Barren Hips by @JessicaHolter
Momma’s Barren Hips
we buried her real proper
in a royal purple dress
in honor of our momma
momma had big barren hips
lips of prophesy
and eyes with the sight
she found broken little chain links
welded them back together with hope
took care of us the best she could
with hardly anything one could call a formal degree
her texas pedigree
was all the education
she needed to stand
we were like black folks on the whole
lost children on the lamb
messed over and up, up and over
entirely dependent on missing fathers
(fathers who were missing) ,
and daddy sam’s economically twisted will
they didn’t understand us
didn’t respect us
didn’t appreciate us
and did not care to
neither one of them.
our natural mothers
were lost to insanity’s insatiable desire
burning them in fires of worldly lust
and self indulgence
pharmaceutical drugs
leaving us one and all
by the wayside
but momma had a big strong back
she carried us to the light
planted her seeds in tender minds
built a home where happy, stable children
proudly washed the woodwork
spoke when spoken to, and then respectfully
treated antiques
dusted her prized chandelier
washed pressed and rolled her hair
and tried never to leave fingerprints on the mirrors
where are reflections grew more beautiful over time
she raised strangers to be family
against the odds so plain to see
in ghetto streets where
even Jesus had little power
no man knows the day or the hour
but when hers came we mourned
but delighted in what was surely to come
I see her now at God’s feet
proudly looking down on me
saying, “Lord that there is my gifted child!
kin is as kin loves
love is as love does
but respect is what the heart trusts
Our family union may have been
fostered by social workers
who don’t remember our names
but honor was an ancient African scroll
engraved on a southern momma’s soul
We tried to give back the love
the best way unwanted children could
until the sweet chariot
carried our momma home
we buried her real proper
in a royal purple dress
in honor of our momma
momma had big barren hips
lips of prophesy
and eyes with the sight
she found broken little chain links
welded them back together with hope
took care of us the best she could
with hardly anything one could call a formal degree
her texas pedigree
was all the education
she needed to stand
we were like black folks on the whole
lost children on the lamb
messed over and up, up and over
entirely dependent on missing fathers
(fathers who were missing) ,
and daddy sam’s economically twisted will
they didn’t understand us
didn’t respect us
didn’t appreciate us
and did not care to
neither one of them.
our natural mothers
were lost to insanity’s insatiable desire
burning them in fires of worldly lust
and self indulgence
pharmaceutical drugs
leaving us one and all
by the wayside
but momma had a big strong back
she carried us to the light
planted her seeds in tender minds
built a home where happy, stable children
proudly washed the woodwork
spoke when spoken to, and then respectfully
treated antiques
dusted her prized chandelier
washed pressed and rolled her hair
and tried never to leave fingerprints on the mirrors
where are reflections grew more beautiful over time
she raised strangers to be family
against the odds so plain to see
in ghetto streets where
even Jesus had little power
no man knows the day or the hour
but when hers came we mourned
but delighted in what was surely to come
I see her now at God’s feet
proudly looking down on me
saying, “Lord that there is my gifted child!
kin is as kin loves
love is as love does
but respect is what the heart trusts
Our family union may have been
fostered by social workers
who don’t remember our names
but honor was an ancient African scroll
engraved on a southern momma’s soul
We tried to give back the love
the best way unwanted children could
until the sweet chariot
carried our momma home
Jessica Holter
"Cancer of Love" Poem by @JessicaHolter
Cancer of Love
I went to Ghettoville
Saw the Cancer of Love
She called my name and named my shame
In a house of ghetto thrill
My vows are wasted here
Fair is but a medieval circus
Compassion is not on the menu
The pimps can smell my fear!
The perfect purrrrrr of pussycat sap
Unleash the tigress upon me
Who could resist, the grind of a feline
Bouncing upon on his lap?
Before I could think, wallet in my hand
Master charge me baby, while I text my wife
“Hi babe, playing racquetball at the club
be an hour at most”, the lies began
Don’t know how one hour became four
Duty shredded by her claws
If I am a trick, trick me again!
The whore understands the wife’s man
I come with cash for the dirtiest dancer
And still there is bread on the table
For, I am a man, not addicted to love
I am addicted to her cancer
This much I know is true
I wise man knows, he knows nothing at all
And even when your pimpin’ your hardest
Somebody is pimpin’ you
by Jessica Holter
writing as J Steal
I went to Ghettoville
Saw the Cancer of Love
She called my name and named my shame
In a house of ghetto thrill
My vows are wasted here
Fair is but a medieval circus
Compassion is not on the menu
The pimps can smell my fear!
The perfect purrrrrr of pussycat sap
Unleash the tigress upon me
Who could resist, the grind of a feline
Bouncing upon on his lap?
Before I could think, wallet in my hand
Master charge me baby, while I text my wife
“Hi babe, playing racquetball at the club
be an hour at most”, the lies began
Don’t know how one hour became four
Duty shredded by her claws
If I am a trick, trick me again!
The whore understands the wife’s man
I come with cash for the dirtiest dancer
And still there is bread on the table
For, I am a man, not addicted to love
I am addicted to her cancer
This much I know is true
I wise man knows, he knows nothing at all
And even when your pimpin’ your hardest
Somebody is pimpin’ you
by Jessica Holter
writing as J Steal
The Game Don’t love Nobody
The Game Don’t love Nobody
Picture a little girl
with wild curls
that reach out to the universe
for answers
to questions so deep,
even her elders know
that the ancestors put them there.
Can’t you see her?
Or have her dreams been so deferred
that she has lost the nerve
For a righteous fight?
She steps into the night
with the memory of her fathers hands on her hips
her first kiss, stolen by his lips
how she cried and tried to be a ghetto queen
weaving false prophesies into her crown
when he tore at the seams of her dreams
time stitched hours together
as he cut the locks of her mane
and branded her brain with a scarlet vowel
The shame of becoming a whore
burns like lava
and even a father
has but one use for her
But now that your antenna have returned
And you have learned
all that you need to survive
I am telling you to leave this game
and let the spirits guide you
through what is left of your life
‘cause the game don’t love nobody
and a pimp is only a ho
Even these streets and all of it’s treats
Are magicians that play tricks on the soul”
Ghetto Girl Blue
Picture a little girl
with wild curls
that reach out to the universe
for answers
to questions so deep,
even her elders know
that the ancestors put them there.
Can’t you see her?
Or have her dreams been so deferred
that she has lost the nerve
For a righteous fight?
She steps into the night
with the memory of her fathers hands on her hips
her first kiss, stolen by his lips
how she cried and tried to be a ghetto queen
weaving false prophesies into her crown
when he tore at the seams of her dreams
time stitched hours together
as he cut the locks of her mane
and branded her brain with a scarlet vowel
The shame of becoming a whore
burns like lava
and even a father
has but one use for her
But now that your antenna have returned
And you have learned
all that you need to survive
I am telling you to leave this game
and let the spirits guide you
through what is left of your life
‘cause the game don’t love nobody
and a pimp is only a ho
Even these streets and all of it’s treats
Are magicians that play tricks on the soul”
Ghetto Girl Blue
Saturday, May 09, 2015
My Heart Cried for Sister
"Givin' up",
she sang,
"is hard to do
when you really
love someone..."
I wasn't even old enough
to be in that 99 cent theater
watching
her crawl
I wasn't even old enough
to be responsible for my sins
still my heart cried for Sister
Now, on the poetic battlefield
I fight the fight with words
I hope will light a path to make a difference
for women who struggle with
male indifference
I fight the fight with my pen
for women who would sooner
give their pussies away for moments of ecstacy,
than look at themselves in a mirror
Who wants to look at dead people?
She was beautiful
even in that casket,
making room for her sister to Sparkle
Perhaps my own Punany Experience will kill me
like it has so many, who have given it up
too soon and to the wrong one
But, I implore you, when I die
do not put flowers on my grave,
just have these words engraved
Here lies GGB,
a mother, a poet and a minister
all of her life,
her heart cried for Sister
by Jessica Holter
she sang,
"is hard to do
when you really
love someone..."
I wasn't even old enough
to be in that 99 cent theater
watching
her crawl
I wasn't even old enough
to be responsible for my sins
still my heart cried for Sister
Now, on the poetic battlefield
I fight the fight with words
I hope will light a path to make a difference
for women who struggle with
male indifference
I fight the fight with my pen
for women who would sooner
give their pussies away for moments of ecstacy,
than look at themselves in a mirror
Who wants to look at dead people?
She was beautiful
even in that casket,
making room for her sister to Sparkle
Perhaps my own Punany Experience will kill me
like it has so many, who have given it up
too soon and to the wrong one
But, I implore you, when I die
do not put flowers on my grave,
just have these words engraved
Here lies GGB,
a mother, a poet and a minister
all of her life,
her heart cried for Sister
by Jessica Holter
My Hair & The King
My Hair & The King
I woke up early this morning expecting a hair client. A gentle knock on the door, my soul.
'Hello? Come in my king.'
I wanted to wash his feet in oils of old...
but my hair...
Oh,
My Hair!
Knots too short
too modest in length and texture to be called strands
broken and beaten from perms, color, stress, life as the ghetto defined it
the white woman's image on the pedestal just outside my grasp
compelling me to reach to magazine racks
for the image of my perfection
I could not. A master in my house and I could not.
My shame compelled me not to speak but to drop to my knees,
to bow my head, and to mutter like a slave.
'I will not be able to wash your feet today.'
He sat between my knees, looking out upon the pictures of my children, placed on boxes of various shapes and sizes, decorated as only 3,4,5,6
and 7 year-olds can express themselves.
...As I twisted his locks.
'Funny'
I said
'You don't look like any of your pictures.'
by Jessica Holter
AKA Ghetto Girl Blue
I woke up early this morning expecting a hair client. A gentle knock on the door, my soul.
'Hello? Come in my king.'
I wanted to wash his feet in oils of old...
but my hair...
Oh,
My Hair!
Knots too short
too modest in length and texture to be called strands
broken and beaten from perms, color, stress, life as the ghetto defined it
the white woman's image on the pedestal just outside my grasp
compelling me to reach to magazine racks
for the image of my perfection
I could not. A master in my house and I could not.
My shame compelled me not to speak but to drop to my knees,
to bow my head, and to mutter like a slave.
'I will not be able to wash your feet today.'
He sat between my knees, looking out upon the pictures of my children, placed on boxes of various shapes and sizes, decorated as only 3,4,5,6
and 7 year-olds can express themselves.
...As I twisted his locks.
'Funny'
I said
'You don't look like any of your pictures.'
by Jessica Holter
AKA Ghetto Girl Blue
Friday, May 08, 2015
It's Raining Baby Mommas
It's raining Baby Mommas, say brother you got your hat?
I don't dream, I plan. I am not planning on Similac.
I am planning on an education, to keep my future in tact,
what would I ruin it for?
A 45 minute ride in her slippery sublime
for debts I'll be paying for a lifetime?
Examine, my brotha's, the simple score
Uncle Sam can send you to jail for non-support
of a child, you never even asked for!
My lady can beg, she can plead
but every month, I wanna see her bleed
to know she's still in the war!
Some women are lovers, by their very nature,
with insatiable desire; Some have liquid fire that burns
hotter and higher, each time you ride her.
Some chicks are like fine chefs, when they butter the cob...
But no matter how good she slobs the knob
you had better resist the temptation to come up inside her,
especially if you don't have a job!
These chicks are out here trippin',
like we are not all affected by capitalism.
A final note of Punany wisdom,
Once a woman is pushing thirty,
her need for motherhood comes over her like a baptism.
But whether a black man works or he goes to prison
America will teach him all about economics
Comprehend the dynamics of 1 million enslaved brethren
It's raining Baby Mommas, say brother you got your hat?
‘Cause it's raining Baby Mommas
Oh, the pregnant possibilities of the skillful cat!
Jessica Holter
Writing as J Steal
I don't dream, I plan. I am not planning on Similac.
I am planning on an education, to keep my future in tact,
what would I ruin it for?
A 45 minute ride in her slippery sublime
for debts I'll be paying for a lifetime?
Examine, my brotha's, the simple score
Uncle Sam can send you to jail for non-support
of a child, you never even asked for!
My lady can beg, she can plead
but every month, I wanna see her bleed
to know she's still in the war!
Some women are lovers, by their very nature,
with insatiable desire; Some have liquid fire that burns
hotter and higher, each time you ride her.
Some chicks are like fine chefs, when they butter the cob...
But no matter how good she slobs the knob
you had better resist the temptation to come up inside her,
especially if you don't have a job!
These chicks are out here trippin',
like we are not all affected by capitalism.
A final note of Punany wisdom,
Once a woman is pushing thirty,
her need for motherhood comes over her like a baptism.
But whether a black man works or he goes to prison
America will teach him all about economics
Comprehend the dynamics of 1 million enslaved brethren
It's raining Baby Mommas, say brother you got your hat?
‘Cause it's raining Baby Mommas
Oh, the pregnant possibilities of the skillful cat!
Jessica Holter
Writing as J Steal
Wednesday, May 06, 2015
Addiction Affliction
Loving you is my addiction.
I need your lust
beyond comprehension.
I hang,
suspended,
in the unbearable
stretch
of
time
between your call,
your affection,
your erection,
your coming
(and) departure;
wishing you were all mine
not hers,
not going home to what you have
publicly claimed as yours.
(Did I overlook my invitation to your wedding?)
I am dreading the swallow of the new taste of you,
wondering if the scent of your dedication will leak through
But when I recall from whence we have come
I am elevated to a crescendo of hope.
For
your body is my dope
I am hooked
on your teasing tongue,
the dripping saccharine that flows
through your poetic words
coagulating like your multiple comings
in the back of my throat,
the insolvable stain you leave my brain
every time your tenderness
beckons you back to my beastly domain
This addiction is my affliction
a fatal phenomenon
that will not end
for we have both know lust in its most incurable form
I do not want to forget.
I do not need to forgive.
You can not sin inside me.
We accept.
We ascend.
Don’t wear anything.
No clothing, no condom, no title.
This is Ghetto Love and you are fully entitled
‘cause we “g” back.
It is real
It is ghetto
It it simple.
I am your temple
and you are a parishioner
here.
Jessica Holter
Writing as Ghetto Girl Blue
I need your lust
beyond comprehension.
I hang,
suspended,
in the unbearable
stretch
of
time
between your call,
your affection,
your erection,
your coming
(and) departure;
wishing you were all mine
not hers,
not going home to what you have
publicly claimed as yours.
(Did I overlook my invitation to your wedding?)
I am dreading the swallow of the new taste of you,
wondering if the scent of your dedication will leak through
But when I recall from whence we have come
I am elevated to a crescendo of hope.
For
your body is my dope
I am hooked
on your teasing tongue,
the dripping saccharine that flows
through your poetic words
coagulating like your multiple comings
in the back of my throat,
the insolvable stain you leave my brain
every time your tenderness
beckons you back to my beastly domain
This addiction is my affliction
a fatal phenomenon
that will not end
for we have both know lust in its most incurable form
I do not want to forget.
I do not need to forgive.
You can not sin inside me.
We accept.
We ascend.
Don’t wear anything.
No clothing, no condom, no title.
This is Ghetto Love and you are fully entitled
‘cause we “g” back.
It is real
It is ghetto
It it simple.
I am your temple
and you are a parishioner
here.
Jessica Holter
Writing as Ghetto Girl Blue
Sunday, May 03, 2015
It is Sunday afternoon in Chocolate City
It is Sunday afternoon in Chocolate City
I only came to visit,
but I drank of a bittersweet brown elixir
and came down with an allergic reaction to leaving
My endorphins got all swollen
with the spiritual notion
of Black Love
It is Sunday afternoon in Chocolate City
My lover is on bended knee beside me
We had been fighting over nothing in particular,
Perhaps just because the thing between us is so strong
We barely have room for our own selves.
So we pray.
Pray for love
Pray for strength
Each for someone else
Then for one another
Together we Pray
for the anger to go away
Ask for understanding of a love so strong it chokes
and we can only breath together
we share the air between us
always, out of breath
always, needing more
Just like that,
reaching for a tissue,
an accidental brush
we are twisted limbs of amber and mahogany
backsliding into one another
sweaty in humidity
our wetness caramelizing on the floor
It is Sunday afternoon in Chocolate City
And we forgot to say “Amen”
Friday, May 01, 2015
Cataracts for Cadillac’s
I may be a whore in the street
but the only meat that I seek
is that of the master
my Lord
Just give me the glove
I stand on stages
Breath life into pages
My soul blazes truth and community love
Black Love
Rich love
Thick love
Like:
3 thieving ass cousins
with only Compton between them
I’m stealing on hypo criticism
with the precision
of a lesbian tongue
There is no separation of church and state
As long as our laws are based on the bible
There is no separation of the body and soul
As long as one depends on the other
for human completion
The reason they killed Jesus
Wasn’t religious teachings
but rather his opposition to
New world order
His blood was shed so that you and I
Could have everlasting life while living
Can you see that?
As long as you live under the law
You can not be free
Step outside of the box with me
Imagine that you really had a mind of your own
and
The freedom to use it
Imagine you were not held down in a capitalist system
that rewards greed over wisdom
That you were not sheep gridlocked
In morning traffic
Commuting to offices to fulfill another man's dream
So that you can feed children
That you can not afford
without running
the same maze
every day
Amazing grace,
how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me...
I once was lost but now I’m found
Was blind, but now I see.
Cataracts for Cadillac’s
We’d turn a blind eye to
the misleads of our leaders
for a whiff of the American Pie
One that promises
if you are to stay cool,
follow the rules
pay your taxes,
never challenge or question
Big Pimpin’
You’ll be rewarded
with golden whore tracks in the sky
I don’t need a degree to say what I mean,
See, I grew up watching the street from a gated window
Barred in the center of the ghetto
A welfare child
With a white hippie mother
Being molested in a
Southern Baptist foster home
Where I learned that
Children should be seen and not heard
No, don’t listen to the children,
they haven’t been brainwashed yet
Truth is like death to Big Pimpin’
and he does not want to die
will kill your children first
because he knows there is no pie in the sky
It’s just a lie he tells,
to increase sales
and to keep you in line
Your left, your left
Your military left
Your left your right
your left your right
Your left your right your left
Sound off 1,2
Sound off 3,4
Sound off 1, twooooo,3,4
If I told you the truth
I might be a writer, an artist, prophet
But for my son to eat
I have to learn to be a capitalist
An entrepreneur,
working for profit
What is more,
A corporate slave
Well behaved
Not talking about things
that feel good
The weight of my pen
Is so overbearing in my weakened state
My son is hungry
No dear, I don’t have time to read for you
Just put my grandiose ideology over there
on a shelf
next to all the others
outside the box thinking
who died broke and proud
like a noble fool
By the way,
excuse me,
Do you know where I can find a carpool?
Jessica Holter
I may be a whore in the street
but the only meat that I seek
is that of the master
my Lord
Just give me the glove
I stand on stages
Breath life into pages
My soul blazes truth and community love
Black Love
Rich love
Thick love
Like:
3 thieving ass cousins
with only Compton between them
I’m stealing on hypo criticism
with the precision
of a lesbian tongue
There is no separation of church and state
As long as our laws are based on the bible
There is no separation of the body and soul
As long as one depends on the other
for human completion
The reason they killed Jesus
Wasn’t religious teachings
but rather his opposition to
New world order
His blood was shed so that you and I
Could have everlasting life while living
Can you see that?
As long as you live under the law
You can not be free
Step outside of the box with me
Imagine that you really had a mind of your own
and
The freedom to use it
Imagine you were not held down in a capitalist system
that rewards greed over wisdom
That you were not sheep gridlocked
In morning traffic
Commuting to offices to fulfill another man's dream
So that you can feed children
That you can not afford
without running
the same maze
every day
Amazing grace,
how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me...
I once was lost but now I’m found
Was blind, but now I see.
Cataracts for Cadillac’s
We’d turn a blind eye to
the misleads of our leaders
for a whiff of the American Pie
One that promises
if you are to stay cool,
follow the rules
pay your taxes,
never challenge or question
Big Pimpin’
You’ll be rewarded
with golden whore tracks in the sky
I don’t need a degree to say what I mean,
See, I grew up watching the street from a gated window
Barred in the center of the ghetto
A welfare child
With a white hippie mother
Being molested in a
Southern Baptist foster home
Where I learned that
Children should be seen and not heard
No, don’t listen to the children,
they haven’t been brainwashed yet
Truth is like death to Big Pimpin’
and he does not want to die
will kill your children first
because he knows there is no pie in the sky
It’s just a lie he tells,
to increase sales
and to keep you in line
Your left, your left
Your military left
Your left your right
your left your right
Your left your right your left
Sound off 1,2
Sound off 3,4
Sound off 1, twooooo,3,4
If I told you the truth
I might be a writer, an artist, prophet
But for my son to eat
I have to learn to be a capitalist
An entrepreneur,
working for profit
What is more,
A corporate slave
Well behaved
Not talking about things
that feel good
The weight of my pen
Is so overbearing in my weakened state
My son is hungry
No dear, I don’t have time to read for you
Just put my grandiose ideology over there
on a shelf
next to all the others
outside the box thinking
who died broke and proud
like a noble fool
By the way,
excuse me,
Do you know where I can find a carpool?
Jessica Holter
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