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 

The Punany Poets in #DETROIT June 26th

The Head Doctor Show: "X Visions of You"

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.

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 

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 

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 

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 

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 

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 

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                         

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”

Jessica Holter

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