h² vignette

astral body funkin’
his soul danced
writhing to a renegade rhythm
               a ricochet kill shot —
spirit cipher slipping the knot of his dreams
                 sneaking daylight into his dawn

hordes of foul-mouthed finger-waggin’ church women
massing on his frontiers of consciousness
each clutching her version of the right road
                                          right job
                                          right school
                                          right wife
                                          right truth

he went left
& left home
    left the ’hood

forget born again
every morning, he rebooted…

with what he had left over
he built razor wire lyrics
   hammered wrought iron rhythms
   listened to ancestral whispers
& remembered the magic of a past life

with a butcher knife
he carved ve-ve’s in the case of his computer
    tattooed them on his palms and fingertips
& they began to dance
          dancing deuteroms across his screen
          kicking notes in keys he’d never seen

on a pyre of ego
he purged himself
    was urged to utter night stallion dreams
riding rhythm chants
on the chance
    the hope
the magic was not lost,
                   only forgotten

at bottom
glyphs from ancient heartwells
dark tropical traditions
& chunks of craggy concrete truth
brewing in volcano skull
                                 merged
                                 surged
                                 erupted

both stone & steel
lush with the learning of lifetimes
flush with passions politic
&           heart righteous
he made a choice
    found his voice —
freestyling ancient tongues
spitting truth-tipped soul daggers —
committing Thelonious assault through sound

he traveled Miles by Coltrane
words his eyes
        reading his world in their reflections
        morphing majesty from travesty
                     warriors from soldiers
        drawing spirit from stone
lip-synching heart as talking drum

tongue coiled,
he seduced with rhythms phat
                     visions fresh & ancient
Afrika strutting lion-silent
                     sinuous
         hidden in his moves
         softly roaring deep in his grooves
filé to his gumbo gift

teeth clenched,
the stench of complacency pissing away
                                  hissing on hot corners
                                            beneath baggy fronts
jaws and jeans sagging
eyes frosted by the bling

his words seized throats by the tonsils of their fear
dispensing oral enemas to tooth-rimmed shit cannons
icing egos unaccustomed to target status
disproving imitation as flattery
exposing minstrel hip hop
as mug not half-full
but empty

…vapors

the power is the word
he another living evidence
the magic is alive
its wielders waking
               walking ancestors’ trails
only
cuz they don’t yet remember how to fly

by

jamal
ali

© 26 july 1998/17 july 2002

he screamed truth at the walls
                                         raging
a Joshua of trumpet throat
cutting
carving
sculpting cold stone
into forms fluid
              curving
&           triumphant
bulging the box
with his sphere of power
                        influence

dwindling
to fierce whispers
sparking
igniting the dark
echoing the light
within his enforced night
beneath the dungeon
of his captor’s imagination

he
another dark sun
unbowed
unclouded
and now, by self-doubt
unshrouded

once fearful of peering into his own eyes
      made comfortable with the lies
but wisdom survives,
and in his solitude
from attitude
he forged resilience,
acknowledging flaws
& built upon experience

harnessing pressures crushing his soul
he compressed his black
and became diamond whole

his moon did not share his crypt
she faced her deadly destiny
pounded with predictions of her doom
and of those from her womb

yes, she cried
but a righteous rage built up inside,
and soon her captors found her fortified,
for even in darkness
           without books,
she learned from her dreams
     listened to ancestors’ whispers
     awakened comatose memories
of warriors and builders
                                 undefeated
                                 reborn within

his heart became a fist
he ceased his screaming
harnessing his surging passions
                    frustrations

the constant inundation —
                                      of brain beatings
                                         mind manglings
&                                      rapes of his sodomized heart
slowly shrank into unconscious white noise
                         surf feebly splashing his promontory will

he stared into the night
his gaze turned within
his rage focused,
he felt the ritual begin
his words of truth
                 outrage
                 rebellion
transformed
echoing chants of power
                    immune to ice
                    calling the knowing
his fight was not without
or                    without price
but within
      inside his skin

he embraced the night
    did not miss the light,
knowing the sun was not lost,
just resting beyond the horizon
and, like him, soon to rise

her heart felt his fire
her soul his embrace
bound by blood
             will
&          spirit
they knew distance could not divide them
              incantations of doom could not defeat them
only they could conquer themselves

lost in labyrinths of lies and deceit
drugged on powders white
&            powers vain
the once mighty had been broken again

finally,
his will breached the box
her heart reached through the wall
in union
they stood
              free
              bathed in midday sunlight
                        in the depths of midnight
              steeled in their knowing
              unabashed in their glowing
                                                   an embrace at once deeply Black
&                                                a brilliant beacon in the night

by

jamal
ali

© 23 january 2002

moonlight streamed in
past ragged cloud curtains dressing the window
baby roses sighed
on a setting for dinner
                     romance

candles burned low, flickering
with hazy phrases, in smoky silhouettes
they breathed feelings into each other’s hearts
shirt and skirt fell
lost to rose petal words now covering the floor

at each step
boards creaked
slow grinding sound

it was humid prickly, August itching hot
gentle lightning linked their fingertips
                     love
                                                    — a scent of rain

they were a thunderstorm crammed in an attic
             anticipation crackling
             the chemistry of latent flame

she leaned against the bedpost
              beside the window
              wrapped in shadow
              profiled against the moon

her hip glistened
wet chocolate painting her moist from breast to thigh
silver light hugged her curves
bending to break the law
adding to her glow — aura of spiritfire

at each breath
sweaty chest hairs twinkled
a dew-frosted forest on dark mountains

slowly
he dragged his hand across his chest
    touched fingers to his open mouth

a corona shimmered about his shoulders
cloaking his firm form in divine whisper
love was a radiance
            about him, between them
tongues of passions’ flames flaring —
              a consuming tenderness

their auras merged
embracing them as they ascended to the bed
in shadow they weaved
they danced in the light
lip-reading epic kisses
faces melting into one

— the forecast was for rain

with each sway
bedsprings sang slow string serenades
their quick breath airy percussion —
                         a moist sensuous mist, gathering
his clenched back muscles glistened
etched into shoulders of quivering stone
theirs was a spirited romance
of rigid tongues and gritting teeth
   bodies in trembling frenzy

her back arched
she clutched him
mouth moving in passionate mime
her heart searching his face

beyond their eyes
they saw harbors in the night
tasted seas of raw magic —
they were heartships riding their hot breath wind

to his lockjawed scream
she whispered in his ear
“Your fire burns sweet
                       so hot,
                       so strong
you trigger my typhoon…
..my Goddess…I am a storm…”
she gasped, breath rushing through clenched teeth
“I feel your God
and I know He,
I know you love me…”

her head fell back
to the vocal thunder of love’s seizures
and the splash of rain upon their flesh

by

jamal
ali

© 1987

my heart is a well
                a storehouse of memories
                an archive of the wanderings of my timeless soul
                a universe of existence
                               of lives and events

                a symphony of emotions
                                 of sorrow
                                 of joy

my heart is a flute
and I breathe music
songs of longing for what was
and                             is yet to be

the longing
the search
and unfinished, the sorrow
yet ever certain of its final joy

the drive within me blazes
dim now
bright then
a surging will which knows no end

my heart is a flute
my breath music
and this wandering soul sings the opera in his eyes

raising
rising
from sub to superconscious
from ages of slumber
             too many to number
awakening finally to a wholeness of Being
recognizing within
the completeness I’ve been seeking

my heart is a saxophone
and I breathe melodies
a musical melting of joy into sorrow
a lyrical jazz for traveling the spheres

in my library of livesI have known great beauty
and colossal rage
                  pain
                  shame
                  birth
                  death
                  joy and ecstasy which knew no bounds

these are memories
             not fantasies
but flesh and bone and throat-tightening thrill
full of sound and color and images keen
from pulse-racing moments
to the calm and serene

my heart is a drum
and I am walking rhythms
steps in the cycle of an evolving soul

the free flight of the eagle
a dolphin’s glee
the stride of the lion —
all are part of me
the struggling emergence of the butterfly
I know all too well
I am living it in the moment
as I emerge from my shell
wolfsong, coyote howl
the deadly silence of the serpent’s prowl
the thunder heard from buffalo and elk
I know these
I have been these
and so love them as myself

like the wise elephant
my breath is music
all memory
every part of me
is an instrument
for this wandering spirit
all is orchestra —
each heart a rhythm
and every soul a song

my heart is a flute
and I breathe music
and along the path of this wandering soul
the songs are finally joyous
and my Being whole

by

jamal
ali

©  20 march 1994