Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Dark Prophet Poetry Challenge Day 6: holy week or The Beggar Woman

On Tuesday, April 7th, I was riding my bike under a bridge when a spray painted message caught my eye, and inspired a poem. The words said:


Gotta get to it
Before it takes over


In the book of mark
Can’t tell Jesus nothin’
Unless your a beggar Woman
Waiting for your crumbs
Slapping the patriarchy
Back into reality
And questioning an overbearing god
On his people skills
For the win
Even in this college town
There are Tent cities
And beggar women

Waiting to slap you back into reality

Saturday, April 4, 2020

Dark Prophet Poetry Challenge Day 5: Yemaya and Oshun


Space
The ocean is mother
These are the ways of dark caves in the sea
Black king Olokun
Your daughter is life
A blue maraca
Over waves
Omio yeye
Ebbo Fi Eboada
Yemoja please speak:

From time immemorial
My sister Oshun
Kisses salt in sweet water
Her mirror shows beauty
Her hips sensuality
Her lips sooth the demons
And her knife slices too
If I call her here lightly
Your honey will form
But first

The salt dies on the leaf
Snails say that humanity runs short
The source in the wells
Needs tapping
The root needs water for survival
You heard
Your judgment day
Is to resurrect grandmother wisdom
And throw way the patriarchs of greed
Plunge hands in soil
Drink Springs unplasticed
Breathe air for transmutation
Sharpen mind like bullets
Remember for nine months
You swam in MY oceans
So now when you feel it
Call out my name

Oshun
She has suffered
She knows we all we got
She broke your waters so you could be baptized in air
Her Queendom is of 
The honey cultivated
When she gave all she had
So that humans
Who have forgotten the labor
Of growing their food
Might not starve
So that separation
Between the natural
And the human
Would reverse
And that humans might see
There is no shelter
From what we are
The disease
And the cure
Ashe

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Dark Prophet Poetry Challenge Day 4: Behind the Door

i
Went down to the crossroads
With banjo in hand
Told my old lady
I’m going to see the man
Dressed in black and red
Cigar dangling in his mouth
A fist full of rum
Stank of that dirty, dirty south

I’ll call him by his true name
Elegbara of the path
If he accepts my chicken
Well now you do the math
Turning in a spiral
Kisses on the neck
Shouts to the heavens
He slips me a blank check

Cause I’m a holy roller
Got the mojo in my pouch
Yes I’m a holy roller
Not trying to be no slouch
Oh I’m a holy roller
Mojo in my pouch
I’m a holy roller
Not trying to be a slouch

ii
Now that the way is open
Broken bones
Everywhere
A death rattle
A baby chokes
An ICE agent turns away
A homeless family
Locked in cordoned white tape
Elegba in rags
Elegba in the soft skin of a babe
Elegba collapsed in ventilators
Elegba
In our sickness of greed
Warrior behind the door
When the streets of Yorubaland
Go silent
And South America bleeds capital
Can you take this offering
And tell our ancestors
We’re sorry
We didn’t mean to squander it all
And if we pour out a libation
Can you tell us the way home again?

ashe

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

March 31st, 2020 I’m (a) 40 (oz of fear) (after nichola torbett after bayo akomolafe)

In Kansas
The storms
Are watched from porches
With pride
Potential projectiles
Stabilized
Grasslands watered
In case of lightning strike
The belly of the beast
Has absolute center
In a portal to oz
So
On my porch i sit
To stare 
Death in the pouch
A crumbling decay
That has festered far below the surface
Where bottom feeders dwell
Where the spirit of Olokum
Communes with drowned african ancestry
Crippled with legions, Babalu Aye’s possessions
Are crushed in a cop owned dump trunk
And even the wealthy
Are bowed beneath the hand of pestilence
Ain’t gone be no more crumpets and tea
No more flights of fancy
No more self-help motivational speeches
No
This is the time of the storm
Let that sink you
Let the old you die
And be young again

ashe

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Dark Prophet Poetry Challenge Day 2: Oya

now the goddess game begins
take me oya
mistress of darkness
queen of the 9 rainbow ancestors
rattled seed pods

i know your sword drips with blood
i know your eyes fill with death
but if you could
dear mother
see us through this growing cemetery
horsewhip paths through corpses
purple eggplant
shines the black
feet turn in ashes
wind storms the gates
skeleton army to the fray
heart to earth
ear to spirit
words to youth
you will survive
even if we don't
ashe

Dark Prophet Poetry Challenge Day 1

to Babalu Aye
why don't you send that root
the one that remembers
all of your grandmother's recipes
the rough hands of grandfather
and the names of plants and animals
we see you hunched
crutch in arm
pock marked lungs
struggling to stay dry
beneath dirty water bridges
and tent cities
and refugee camps
waiting for the apocalypse
to reveal your true nature
the stolen land
the burned bridges
the sad demons
just waiting for a touch
in their social isolation
waiting for a chance
to bake fresh bread
play dress up
build a garden
milk some goats
and have a brass band parade
but Babalu Aye
if you hear this call
root us in
tickle
open
roasted corn
fresh coconut
smoked fish
dry wine
an altar of stones
a field in woods
ashe

Friday, September 20, 2019

Climate Change in the Age of the Resistance



It should be no secret that I love The Dark Crystal, and have since I was a small child in the '80's. I've always found the journey to discover a path to heal what is broken, without destroying "evil," but by unifying the dark and the light within us. It's just art though, right? That's not real life.

Today, I spoke at a Climate Strike Rally in the place where I dwell, Lawrence, Kansas. My favorite speech came from an elder, who reminded us to center the voices of the marginalized, and to be wary of any movement that doesn't. (I'm trying to convince them to publish the speech so everyone can hear it.) I spoke after and kind of had that feeling like, "What else is there to say?" Luckily the organizers needed me to keep it short, so I did, I reminded people to move not just out of frustration, not just out of fear, not just out of hatred for the current administration, but for the love of trees, for love of Black and Brown and poor bodies who will bear the brunt of this world that is hurting. I told them to remember, like my 3 year old daughter does, that the Earth is alive, who sees Gaia/Life in EVERYTHING.

Afterwards, I came home, and finished the last episode of the prequel to what I still believe to be the greatest movie ever written, The Dark Crystal: The Age of Resistance. Without giving away too much, I at some point in that last episode, began to weep, hard. There was a darkening in their world, caused by the extraction of soul essence for the purpose of granting immortality to mortal beings. This darkening was coming up from polluted ground, threatening to destroy all beings of good will, until one of them, given a gift by a sacred tree, absorbed the darkening into her body. And I realized, oh my Gaia, I know who it is that is absorbing the darkening.

You see, while I always want to move out of love, for my family, both blood and chosen, and for this planet, that I recognize to be a living, feeling being, I also see the darkening. While the Rainforests burn, there are Indigenous people in Brazil, dying while protecting them. While we drill in tar sands, there are Indigenous people in the US and Canada, dying trying to protect them. In THIS world, there is a Light Crystal, and a Dark Crystal. The Light Crystal is the one that reminds us to love and that when we love fiercely, radically, unconditionally, and revolutionarily, we can change any system or situation. The Dark Crystal is the one that reminds us that in the battle of good and evil, most, if not all of us, has some aspect of Evil within us.

As we watch the epic battles of good vs. evil: The Dark Crystal, Comic Book Movies, Lord of the Rings, The Bible, we like to root for the good guys to win (while holding appreciation for the bad guys' sense of style), but the reality is, in most cases, we are the bad guys. This is especially true when it comes to climate change. It's one thing to say you live in the belly of the beast, it's another when you realize that not only does the Empire in Star Wars have a really good fashion designer, you actually benefit from the facism. OUR coffee, OUR cell phone, OUR paper, OUR cheeseburgers, are all the reasons that right now, Indigenous people are being murdered by governments, Black people are drowning in the Bahamas, Indonesians are being washed away, and Honduran Climate Refugees are being detained indefinitely.

So to my elder, I agree that Lawrence was founded by anti-slavery activists. My father, the history teacher, also taught me another side, the Dark Crystal, to that story. Many of those abolitionists were against slavery while still not seeing Black people as fully human, and certainly without wanting to live in community with them. The record bears this truth that needs to be heard. Some wanted our freedom, but they didn't want to have to love us too. Is that what we want for our planet, the regulations of a freemaket place, to wait for some "powerful" people to agree with us, or a place to love? And is it that we want these things because it hurts and degrades us as people, or do we want these things because we want poor people, and disproportionally Black and Brown poor people, to stop dying? If your fight is not for them, then I must say, you can stop fighting. Climate Change won't really have to affect us very much, we are very safe in our bubble of a belly. Sure we get hit by the occasional tornado or hurricane, but we have the money to stem those few losses. Money, and, oh yes, all those poor Black and Brown Bodies who have the good fortune of absorbing all the darkening, all the bullets, all the burnings, on the disappeared peoples, all the detainees, and all the soul essence needed, to ensure we live good and long lives. From the Dark Crystal.