I would not go so gently
Down
None at all would hear my
Sound
Stifled silence alone I
Drown
Submersive waves to flood my
Ground
Choke me to the dark
Profound
Quiet carries way my
Crown
Loneliness in death be
Found
A silenced voice
A mind unwound
I will always return to Zimbabwe
Precious jewel of Africa
Birthplace for my love of travel
And my fear of ignorance
First away from Neverland experience
Where I was never treated like a stranger
So far away from Nova Scotia
Welcomed and protected
Educated and informed
My exodus to a “home” I can never claim
But wish I could
I will always return to Zimbabwe
Bus rides to Bulawayo
To meet the Sandy plains of Hwange
On to Dete for a polite midnight Braai
and warm sadza
and Scud shared from a cup
Lazy train ride to Victoria Falls
Where my ashes will one day scatter
Forever flowing on the Zembezi
To mingle with the Crocodiles and the Hippos
Where being colored is just the state of being
Colored…
I will always return to Zimbabwe
She in all her Babobab beauty
Glorious sunsets and freezing cold mornings
Nachies for breakfast
The best fried chicken and tomatoes
I’d ever tasted
Non genetically modified foods
Still tasting Nando’s on my tongue
All these years later
Rich red Earth
Dusty sandals and toes
After a walk through Harare suburbs
Realizing suburbs exist beyond Canada
I will always return to Zimbabwe
Friendships forged through
Mbange conversations
About politricks and passion
And items
And way too much cheap alcohol
High density areas that taught me
District 9 isn’t just a sci fi movie
It’s a social commentary
“have and have not” mentality
I grew a whole foot in Zimbabwe
My 24th year of life
Naïve and
Newly born.
~Rachelle M. Turple
Filed under Poetry
The journey of a million miles begins with a single mother
Her weeping woes of wisdom seem to transgress like no other.
The open arms of honesty hold steadfast though they tangle
Her children cry obscenities as her love begins to strangle.
When toddling becomes crawling and walk turns into run
Every bump and bruised is kissed away still her grip becomes undone.
The nursling grows now a form independent of her plea
No matter of mere prayers or tears or pure tenacity.
Beyond the trials of motherhood she cannot bear to vision
But while she constantly constrains, her cubs become imprisoned.
Her love becomes ferocity and protection their division
The babes privately premeditate their eminent excision.
When soon her fledglings have enough and plan to leave the nest
She makes to mind a watchful eye in futility at best.
The world has opened up and swallowed all that she held dear
She cannot conceive a life without her babies near.
Space and time her allies yet she feels she is alone
Maturity and malevolence start to lead her offspring home.
They desire of the guidance and protection of their youth
Somehow she’s seen it all and they are honored by her truth.
A mother’s work is never done and seldom does she rest
She will worry when she sleeps, constantly in stress.
Her children will respect her when they learn that she knows best
For them she’d walk a million miles and for this she is blessed.
Stop pretending that you’re deeper than you are
When your vocabulary’s bland and your vision
sub-par
Please believe that you will reap what you sow
When your children can’t read their
average below
Quit neglecting the ones you brought onto this Earth
It sure wasn’t my tax funds who
gave birth
How can you deny and take life for a joke
You think you’re a dime but you stay
on #teambroke
Steady in the hair shop and getting them nails did
But you don’t make the time and read to
Your kids
Knowing this about You should make You inflamed!
You’re too busy trickin’ to even
Be shamed
Your job is to teach them about their self-wealth
All you’ve been doing’s making them
Hate themselves
One day you’ll feel it, one day you’ll see
When the secret is out that your babes
Hate mommy…
Rachelle M. Turple
*From “The Bad Parent Verses”. More to come…
Filed under African Canadian, Black Canadian, Black Educators, Black Literature, Black Youth, Education, Parents, Poetry, Women
She is a Woman who is who she is
Does what she wants and lives how she lives
She is a Woman with so much to give
Open and freely she wonderfully gives
She is a Woman who wears what she wears
Treasures her body and looks as she dares
She is a Woman who sensually shares
Erotic to all she evokes to ensnair
She is a Woman who openly cares
Loves who she wants to and faces her fears
She is a Woman who believes in herself
Takes risks and chances because she trusts herself
She is a free spirit who knows that to Be
She must exist in a veracious pure state of She
She understands that she can’t possibly Be
An underrated cheapened shallow version of She
She is a believer in diligent prayers
Knows God is listening and comforts her tears
She is a warrior her victory clear
Always ready for action never caught unaware
She knows her lover must honestly be
The truest most masculine version of He
She submits to her man because she trusts that He
Will do what he must to take care of She
She respects her virtue and knows her true worth
Understands that as woman she mothers the Earth
She is crowned royal because of her birth
And celebrates life with a tangible mirth
How dare that Woman feel at home in her skin
Accept who she is both outside and in
If only all Women could beautifully be
Her truest and honest authentic own She
~Rachelle M. Turple
A yellow woman approached me
Slanted were her eyes
And asked why she had never seen a black woman cry.
I could answer not her question
And was taken quite aback
Does not every woman cry no matter yellow white or black?
We absolutely do cry.
What else consoles our pain?
We pray for our oppressors and then we cry to calm our shame.
A black woman’s tears are sacred.
They cleanse her as she weeps
But sorrow sends to soil her soul and steadily it creeps.
She cries when she’s with wisdom
There’s none left to do but cry
Her lament surrendered honest, it needs not an alibi.
After pondering the ponder
I believe I’ve found reply
I know why it is you’ve never seen a black woman cry.
Seldom are her whispers heard
Far too often she’s invisible
The world around her seems to think that she’s somehow invincible.
She runs nowhere when she’s wounded
Pain enough to want to die
Silently she suffers as she finds the will to try.
Perhaps you’ve never noticed
Truly coming eye to eye
Maybe that is why you’ve never seen a black woman cry
She cries because she knows
People think she doesn’t cry
And she doesn’t need
or feel
or think
or know
or want
or die.
~Rachelle M. Turple
Picture the ugliest ugly
Even uglier
I’ll make it heavier
Multiply it by 10
So that it really
Sinks
In.
Imagine something
Grotesque and unpleasant
Repugnant and monstrous
Ominous and loathsome
Sordid and horrid
The revolting stench
of something repugnant
Rancid and rank
Disgusting and putrid
This is the reeking
Reality of hatred
Impetuous rage
Riotous maniacal
Uncontrollably vicious
Passionate
Powerful
Hate is
Turbulent
Wild
Biting and ruinous
It’s gonna ruin US
It’s screwin’ US
Poisoning US
Nauseating US
Devastating US
Killing US
Rotting us from the outside in
And they say that sex is
THE
Original sin
But way back in Genesis
Abel was slain
And for what?
The jealousy and hatred
Of his own brother Cain
Wickedness
Envy
Terror
And
Evil
Perverse illegality
Leads to certain
Peril
The assured extinction of humanity
PEOPLE!
Hatred is ugly
But I want you to see
That
Immorality fiddles up our
Chances at
Immortality
If that ain’t an incentive to be
Just a little bit righteous
I don’t know what is
But hopefully
This might just…
~Rachelle M. Turple
Filed under Poetry
What of words of grandeur
Who knows what the hell they mean
I am writing for my company
Not dancing for the queen
Oh what a pretty price we pay
On big words like constabulary
Most education in this day
Is a waste of good vocabulary
Leaned people teach us
All we need to know
For tending joy and living life
And finding ways to grow
My people didn’t go to school
And learn a fancy talk
They merely lived and freely gave us
Lessons on the walk
They spoke to us in dialect
A language understood
A native tongue of wisdom
Spoken intellect and good
For what good are words of grandeur
Which fall upon deaf ears
And who defines the boundary
Of who even gets to hear
~Rachelle M. Turple
You talk some proud
You sound so white
I’ve heard since I was young
When I was just a little girl
I learned that Gullah wasn’t welcomed off my tongue.
A sea of beautiful
brown faces and yet
we’re the lucky ones
Kept hidden from our races
blind before our sons.
Our lips are bound
with wordless chains
We are made deaf to the drums
The hunger for our past remains
It cannot be undone.
Craving words of wisdom
Hands are reaching for their guns
The hollow clap of emptiness
Echoes in the slums.
And now the suburbs.
Word is mum.
So dangerous our silence
when power fills our lungs;
We’ve been robbed of our integrity
We are weakened.
We are dumb.
Until the tales are opened
and the pendulum has swung
We stand mutely by the by
separated
subjugated
done.
~Rachelle M. Turple
Filed under Poetry
Confuse not my outer self with beauty
Dig into the depths of me
The shallows of my arrogance
The misconceptions of my naivety
The candid notions of my youth
Respect my intensity and always yearning for the truth
Know me
Accept my intellectual.
Embrace my inhibitions
Understand me in my modesty
My opinion is not shy
Know that my spirit is not timid
Let my love protect and saturate you
Be baptized within my vision
Know me
Need me to inspire you.
Look into my value
Regard my eyes beyond perception
Let my integrity allure you
Thirst to be my sole companion
Behold the contours of my wisdom
The refinement of my character
Know me
Consider me wonderful.
Find comfort in my loyalty
Be mystified by my bravery
Understand that I am sensitive
Trust and know that I am dedicated
Feel protected by my humility
Be humbled by my maternity
Know me
Acknowledge my maturity.
Love the content of my essence
Be awed within my presence
Aroused by my entire being
I am matrifocal, I am metaphysical
Truly philosophical, respectful of the spiritual
Believe that I am sensual
Know me
And you will find I have surpassed physical beautiful.
~Rachelle M. Turple
BlackLit101 