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unpublished works 1998
your body scent lingering. . . the sensation of you, still, touching me in those places, soft places, tender places
i wanted to fall asleep tonight with your scent lingering, laying, still drowning within the pours of my skin
but i knew my man would be home tonight as he lay, beside me -- he, too, would smell you
as i relived those final moments over again in my mind of you, resting with me, within me, so deep, within me
i ran my nose along side my skin smelling the fragrance called "you"
wishing your scent would become permanent in my mind, cause i knew
my man would be home soon and he would smell you -- too.
i rolled in my sheets secretly hoping you would rub off so i could lay every night in secret, smelling you, as he slept beside me
slowly, i lowered myself into my own scented bath in order to smell like me -- again
tonight, when he lays down beside me, he will smell -- me
but you'll, still be lingering in my mind.
Rain Storm
standing in the middle of a rain storm, hailing haphazardly on exposed flesh. i feel the sting of your lash, loving all of me. bonita lee © may 2005
moments in love the nights you allow me to release everything that had worn old in me i woke up anew, beside you moments when our bodies clashed in heated explosions the after waves within you poured into me through me with lust from the top of my head as your trail blazed through my heart, to the tips of my painted red toes the moments love multiplied when i woke in the middle of scattered nights with burnt desire to finger feed you the sweet brown fruits of my hard nipples moments followed me every where as I was forced to sit crossed legged in meetings my mind focused on thoughts, of, dipping your head in the healing river that flows between my thighs i loved you as your tongue reached in and resuscitated my soul from loneliness i live i breathe i love you.
I. Frosting my fingers frosted with oil draws paths through his thick dreds laying down my scent
allowing him to find his way home.
II. My Journal
if my emotions were a journal unwatched, unlocked on my bed, would you think to pick it up and find me?
III. To Move With You
the music of my tongue wanting to teach your body new movements.
His Redemption Song
one book i wouldn’t have read if knew her words would chipped away at the man i had grown to love. i had grown to admire.
even though i knew vaguely of indiscretions his children outside of marriage.
you see, i was not privy to the inside blaming it on my curiosity I dove deeper into chapter after chapter I needed to know How she did it Why? What type of woman was she? Was it her strength? Was it love? That kept her tied to Him.
all I had before her words were his words.
through his words, he had become my rescuer when i needed to be saved when i needed to be loved when i needed to be protected, respected, no hurt.
one good thing about music when it hits you feel no pain
her words chipped away at the man i had deemed, my rescuer.
he, the Legend, i met one sunny February day in at his house i know this as her words told me it was never her house but i met him there outside the room where he was shot we held hands and walked he came to me as a strong fragrance and there in the his long fingers pointed to the sky and he explained to me how vast my future as i am one of the chosen his words.
her words drove me further into the ugliness of his disrespect. i didn’t want to listen I cried thinking how could he send me words of comfort No Woman, No Crythat drew me into his nearness his warmth and yet her words kept chipping away at the love.
the man who, with his voice could calm the raging winds inside the living.
his music plays, his words speak i fall back to love. redemption.
her words fade to not as his music plays, his songs of freedom won’t you help to singthese songs of freedom is all i ever had redemption songs.
bonita lee © march 2005
In the Company of Great Women Poets
….bonita lee not too long ago, i happen to be in the company of some great women poets women i admire envy women who inspire me to a higher level in unionism, i clap and join in the standing ovation my sistas never disappoint as they bring to the forefront important topics especially that evening as they join in celebration with nikki giovanni later, as i sat at my table for two filled by one i thought damn we are
poems recited that nite were filled with RAGE filled with ANGER descriptions of abuse killings all sorts of persecution from fathers sons sisters daughters mothers friends lovers strangers. my next thought shaking my head where is the LOVE where is the HOPE where is the JOY where is the FUN where is the SHINING LIGHT OF BEAUTY OF LIFE and LOVE GOD promised us. have we been dragged down so long by so many that only daggers hurl out our mouths oh, don’t get me wrong these ladies were FAB – U – LOUS they were GREAT but where is the LOVE it is out of fashion to speak of LOVE is it bad taste to speak of FORGIVENESS Has there been a ban in place on searching for HOPE most women agree love is just another word I ain’t gonna lie me too but don’t you see there’s something WRONG with this picture There has to be something MORE Than nonbelievers believing there is no love
I confess I BELIEVE IN LOVE Even though I AM ALONE Perhaps if we SPEAK more of it LOVE If we SHOW it more LOVE nonbelievers will start BELIEVING LOVE we don’t have to be so angry and,
my sistas will start to lay down their shields and spears my sistas will SMILE MORE my sistas will BELIEVE there’s something MORE next time we come together to CELEBRATE women my great sista poets will recite poems filled with LOVE bonita lee © march 2005
rewind me back to the first time we said hello. back to the first time you knocked on my door and i opened, with a smile. rewind me back to the first time we made love. first time you quenched my sexual thirst, the first time you got drunk off my nectar, the first time i didn’t have to close my eyes and pretend. rewind me back to the time when it was easy to believe we had time to explore to nurture to grow love. rewind me back to the time you were here. bonita lee © 01 2005
red rivers rivers run red walk beside our rivers that flood red deep red, the blood of so many, of us place your hand in the rushing water, feeling tiny hands grabbing at you, to save them listen closely to the rushing waters, running red hear the voices of men, women and children hear the cry of the 3-year old child thrown from a 4th story window - killed a woman confined and beat - with her baby in arms a man chased, pulled from a house, beat, kicked, stoned, trampled and hanged in the riots of our rivers have run red from riots, the riots of destruction of black by whites filled with intolerable acts of violence, acts of burning, killing young and old being killed for being black, for wanting jobs, for standing up for our rights, for wanting to live the american dream. 46b blacks and 2 whites killed, ninety homes, twelve schools, 4 churches burned colfax, indiscriminate massacre of 280 blacks government took no action black defending themselves, police shooting into the crowd, then they joined in general destruction of negro property and lives 6,000 blacks driven from their homes president lack of jobs, racial tensions high, fighting on both sides a black man trying to escape attacked by 30 40 white men, knocked down, kicked, beaten then shot in his face 5 times they continued through the black community, stabbing, clubbing, shooting and hanging they pursued the negroes into their homes, burning them an accurate count of the dead cannot be given our dead. drowning of a black young, who ventured across an imaginary line in the water again blacks driven from their homes, and burned no action, again, from the police, some took part in the rioting elaine, rosewood, riots, stemming from lack of jobs, racial tensions, policy brutality, denial of fair rights, system trying to keep us down, keep us poor, keep us in our place crimes against us our rivers have flooded red long before rodney king johnny gammage long before driving while black was illegal our churches have always been burned our rights have always been attacked our rivers run red bonita lee ©
Eulogy for Bubba brother you and i were to build an empire based on friendship and loyalty but they came for me first and locked me in this cell. now i sit here weeping apologizing that on the fatal night i was not there in your time of need having your back, i'm here. this is no place to be to say goodbye to you. no way i could escape this cell to be the first to cast the dirt, and say bye, friend. (c) 2004 bonita lee
Are we havin fun yet? remember when we were young and inpatient couldn't wait till we were grown to have fun? way too young we started thinkin we was grown smokin blunts, drinkin, cussin, hustlin started feelin our hardness with this girl, that ho she sayin i'm the baby's dad tryin to get deep in my pockets i'm the one hustlin the most blingin the loudest truck the biggest, rims the brightest ends with them slashing my tires hatin on my real girl my boys - we all laughin cause they hit it too are we havin fun yet? thinkin we men cause we be takin care of responsibilities mom needs food, little brother needs clothes my dad he needs a hit we slice off paper to them have to sell more expand my block watch my back for snitches in the backyard my daily exercise runnin from po-po hey are we havin fun yet? my friends of choice 9mm a custom adjusted quick loadin uzi hard against my side duckin, runnin for cover from people hidin in the night takin their best shot at me takin my best shot in rapid return cause through here it's self-defense me or them and i'm almost out of breath lovin, livin the life and laughin i don't need to be loved i'm just tryin to live damn are we havin fun yet? we grew from playin cowboys and indians to playin with real guns and everyone is a cowboy now i'm doin life tell me are we havin fun yet?
waiting on the EBA by bonita lee
heating from the mid-day sun too hot to sit, but too tired to stand, the walk from hair master a bit much today. waiting at the east liberty station waiting for the EBA to town. from between the rays of the sun he appeared a fine brotha navigating his timbs, backpacking way to the sway only the brothas share down the concrete path towards me claiming a seat not close enough, for comfort cause i was feeling a swell of primal heat stirring from within waiting on the EBA. how appealing his voice speaking to another brotha blocking my view leaning back to a better view allowing my imagination to taste his “i can satisfy you lips color of smooth dark chocolate with the combination of deliciously dark seductive eyes shifting to watch the sun set me, praying he would look my way scanning illicit thoughts revealing to him my desire to be rescued by him echoing a passion pattern of designs, fingers playing within my hair. thick and black, and imaging soft to the touch, his hair a wild tumble of energy being pulled back into a ponytail that could if he was willing to play paint brush in my dripping thoughts liquid black eye lashes soft as butterfly wings, thinking how soft a feeling against lips against skin smiling not advertising how good he would feel but i know he knows yah all this waiting on the EBA me sitting on metal benches wanting a brotha to rescue me bonita ©2004
Journey – Part I they came, stole her away, like thieves in the darkness, she was swept away from her home. only her sandal marked the start of her journey. the dust, collected chains, was her last line to home. while dungeon smells, welcomed her through the door of No Return. The Warrior’s Wife – Part II never shedding a tear, she was led away, in chains, from her burning village, watching her green lands, turn into blue green seas. she never she a tear, as they bared her nakedness in the new land’s sun. turning her round, front to back and, she waited for deliverance, from this strange and new evil. and she waited, with each rape, each lash of the whip, she waited. she never shed a tear, when they found him, hiding, in the root cellar. and lynched him from the tree, they had planted together. and, she waited, for his protection. when they came through her neighborhoods, burning and killing. and, she waited. her eyes always poised, straight ahead. over the blue green seas, waiting for her, husband, her, warrior to rescue her. she never shed a tear, as she buries son after son. lives stopped, short by bullets. gifts, from friends and the police. she is standing at their graves, waiting, for her warrior, her husband, their father to save them. and, she still waits.
Offers Some times I wanna take them up on their offers, jump in those black escalades with the 24 inch davin rims spinning and ride off under the cover of their darkness into their world, just to get fucked. Some times I wanna take them up on their offers in the club, to sit in the VIP section, to get fucked in the VIP section. Some times yes, I do, wanna take them up on their offers wanting me to call their nextels, or come by the video shoot, just to get fucked. Some times I just wanna get fucked. bonita © November 2002
untitled Eintou
after all this time of breathing only for you. you tell me we can never be more than lovers, or just old friends who care. heart, less. the above piece is scheduled to be published in the upcoming issue of The Eintouist. If you are interested in this style of poetry, you may read more about it at the following website: http://www.geocities.com/theeintouist/
Confirmation
you're right i don't need you to confirm me
whether i'm good bad, with an attitude or bad, cause, i'm all that.
if i wake up butt-ass ugly, milk and honey pretty, fine as wine, or plain as the name jane.
if mirrors reflect me, as fat, slim-fast thin, milk shake thick.
my skin, black as night, bright as the sun, bronze as the egyptian pyramids.
naw, i don't need, your, confirmation.
whether i'm booty-popping young, old-school, stuck in mid-life mode, getting my 10% senior discount.
and yeah, i'm stil clinging to the cinderella syndrome one day my king will come.
whether my sex flows like a deep winding river, or she's dry as the desert, sprinkled with oasis of eatable raspberry lotion.
from, behind me, you see apple bottom plump, flat as buttermilk pancakes, but always soft to the touch and working those squats.
you're right, this time, i don't, need, your, confirmation.
my bush, long, short, curly, straight, locs, twists, weaves, braids, natural, or, relaxed and colored.
i don't, need, you.
rich, broke, ambitious, satisfied and settled, with my life and style.
tall, short, love, like, care, kicking-it, confused.
don't need your baggage, of, mixed messages.
naw, baby, i don't need, your confirmation.
each morning, my mirror, and i, see eye to eye the beatuy of me.
Communication #1 so baby your friend pressin up on me you know damn well which one the one i been tellin you over and over the one who keeps comin by wantin to know how i been gettin on since you been down the brotha weighin my hands down with cash half to put on your books the other half tryin to buy me don’t he know about you and me or did you tell him i’m just one of your bitches in my past communications with you i refused to whine about the uneasiness i felt when he came around didn’t detail in my words describ’n how the brotha is lustin heavy for me callin me often and callin me late mention your name less breathin heavy in the phone how he’s been thinkin things about me and he don’t know why he is crazy for me when all i do is say – hi tellin me how a nigga would do anything i ask lick my wet pussy suck my nipples like a newborn baby said anything i want he got to give all his cash drive his ride and ain’t this some shit said he’d fly me to visit you i’m thinkin nigga done lost his gat damn mind he sees me out in the club walks towards me lickin his lips says he wants to press against my frame wants to guide my hips to his music naw, man all i say and glide away his fingers grasping at my ass my response to all this drama treadin lightly on what could soon become broken ice --it’s only, cause he’s lonely he has a schoolboy-twenty-something crush on me his response again lickin lips naw, baby girl, it’s deeper than that shit, he’s tryin to drown me in some bullshit it’s all about gettin some ass my ass yeah, baby your homeboy is pressin up on me i tell him i’m taken he’s sound surprised …taken by who what are you not tellin him I tell everyone and anyone even though you down I’m still all about you or did you school him with that prison bullshit sermon that you can’t do nothing for me from there i’m free to do whatever to take care of my needs you know brothas take that shit literal-ly he has a free license to touch my thigh and sigh how tight it is to cunningly steal a kiss from my neck then mention how soft and sexy i am i’m pissed right now not at him it’s you for givin him the freedom to think cause you down i’m out your heart bonita lee © june 2004
he sang the blues
w. ellington, your spoken word saturday night
Black Sea |
Bonita Lee - Biography All poems are the property of Bonita Lee © 2003-2004. All rights reserved. Bonita Lee – born and raised in Sewickley, PA, she now resides in the Manchester section of the Pittsburgh’s North Side. In her words, she has been writing since forever. She has taken part in many poetry readings around the City of Pittsburgh. She was also a part of a collaboration of Black and Jewish writers called Crossing Limits. The group published an anthology of their poetry and launched the book with a reading at |
...bonita lee
some angry females
