One...derful!

by Cinnabon

You moved my soul

To depths unknown

Until we were

one…derful

Your silent moans

Echoing my heart's wants

You be

In me

And we be

One…derful

I used mind and body

To make you love me

Screaming my need

Through tears of greed

Wrapped in a cocoon of insecurity

Causing you to break free

A butterfly born of broken seed

I could do nothing else but watch you leave

Shedding your skin across the sea

Until it was

One…der…ful…

Leila

by Yemaya

Leila sister spirit
love friend
a variety of garments
black skin
white skin

Holding hands
Cuddling
my head against your chest
I let go

you find me
restless
confused
you appease me

I run with you
through the forests
pausing for a bed of water
and up we go

Volatile spirit
you lure human
into your realm
forever holding them captive

Leila I follow you
jumping the bosquets
your mirage is my reality
ad infinitum

Ces femmes que j'aime

Par Yemaya

Ces femmes que j'aime
grosses, petites,
fines, épaisses
A la peau noire
Au bas-ventre de feu

Ces femmes que j'aime
longues, courtes
transparentes, opaques
aux cheveux tressées
aux cous rêveurs

Ces femmes que j'aime
chaudes, froides
pâles, foncées
Aux jambes entrouvertes
aux visages de madonne

Cette femme que j'aime
lionne, tigresse
animale, sirène
sur le sable du vide
emplissant ma mémoire

Poème du dimanche

Par Yemaya

Une note perdue
Un coeur retrouvé
Une ballade dans le lointain
Ton rire moqueur
Et tout glisse sur ma peau

Un ciel d'hiver gris
Des arbres endormis
Un mirage de glace
Ton sourire de velours
Et tout me pénètre comme un bâton

Tu descends de la montagne
courant comme un cabri
L'herbe est trop amère
Tu ne t'arrêtes point
Excepté sur mon coeur.

Journal Entry on the day of Guadalupe

What I want.

I want a spiritual partnership. I want my next relationship to be a spiritual partnership with two main components:

1. A contract, an agreement to help each other achieve what we were born to do. Somebody whose interest would be in encouraging me, challenging me to move forward. My interest would be to make sure that she is responding to her call.
2. We would not be responsible for each other's emotional, physical or mental well-being. That is a self-directed goal. Then it would not matter if we live with each other or not, it would not matter if we have sex once a week or once a month.

A relationship, the way it is conceived now, is not for me. I can't offer a continuous physical presence but I can offer the exclusivity of my pussy. I can't offer the daily "taking care of" but I can offer the daily spiritual connection and commitment. I want to be able to answer to the desires of my heart to serve wherever I am called. That is a priority of who I am and who I was meant to be.

I did have that vision ten years ago but I let it go. It is much easier to conform to the "normal" relationship pattern. Needless to say that conformity has not worked for me. Duh....:)

Now, I scream it to the world. I shout it to Spirit on the day of Guadalupe, the woman with multicolored roses. My next relationship shall be a spiritual partnership.

yemaya

My wounded princess

by Yemaya

Once upon a time there was a little girl
born in the city of Anacaona, the Golden Flower.
This little girl was the daughter of our Taino Queen.
She knew the value of colors and nature.
She played with the rainbow and the ocean waves.
Smart, silly, funny, she was adored by her daddy.

But the world around her hated her wittiness.
When she asked about the sky and its limits,
she was sent back to her pots and pans.
When she dared to talk to the moon,
she was told to stay quiet.

Little by little, she forgot her heritage.
She unlearned the way to herself.
Every slap, every remark built a tiger coating over her silky skin.
Slowly, through the years, she became half-human, half-tiger.
She became more and more soundless.
She retired into her cage, pretending to sleep.
The only sounds she knew were her fury.
When faced with the daylight, she would scream to her villain.

But sometimes, only sometimes,
she would slowly stretch a paw to the outside world.
Suddenly, she would be taken by the Dancing Spirit.
Inviting all to join in this ceremony.
It won't be for long.
Do not stare at her or else.
Do not hug her or else.
Standing on all four, she will remind you:
"I am from the cave. I belong to a rocky shelter.
I have dominion over my solitary queendom.
Nobody can join me there."

My wounded princess, I do not want to join you there.
But I am outside of the cage,
holding your crown and waiting for your glorious day to come.

12/05/2007

Weak for It

© 2003 Sandra Jean-Pierre

I can’t stand this…
I can’t stand the not knowing
can’t stand the not getting
what it is that you want from me…

cause every time I begin
to try and live my life
without your thoughts…
without thoughts of you
constantly interfering with
my vital rhythms, with my vital signs
with my peace of soul

I get stopped,
in my tracks
in my consciousness
gasping
I am gasping for air
asking myself, what was I thinking?
wondering
how could I have lived
these 27 years without you-
in my sights
in my pores
in my soul…

How could I have breathed
this clean air without your fragrance
coloring it shades and textures
I never learned in school?
how could I have
had the NERVE to leave my front door
without you on my breath?

With no place
to hide
or solace to abide me
you shift my world from beneath my feet
simply by thinking of my name

You make me want to
forsake my future children
and give my womb
as sacrifice to the alter
of your eyes…

Those eyes that reminisce of endless
pale, shifting
sand pools
at
dusk
noon
and sunrise

you’ve got this
intensity over me
that just won’t quit
and I am weak from it.

Me…
the woman of women
who carried civilization
on my back
using the navigation of
the new moon
crossed with
the sun on the far horizon…
I am weak from the power your
husky
down-low
whispers
have over me,

Like lemon & crushed spices
you marinate my core to the bone
…baby just turn me over and call me done!

I am crucified
by your nonchalance
and it makes me sick!
to be waiting like I do
anticipating like I do
for your nothingness-

Somebody
…somebody
get me a glass of water
a joint
a hit -
something to take away the sting of your
soft-touching me
like only you could -
got me playin’
symphonies
and I ain’t never picked up an instrument

Somebody
PLEASE-
stop me from falling
over the edge
from losing my mind
from falling any deeper
in this love than I need to be

Cause I can’t stand this
can’t stand the knowing that I
still
still
still can’t get over you…

Forgive Me Father

© 2007 Sandra Jean-Pierre

Forgive me Father,
for I have sinned...

It has been
half a year
since I last tasted the salts of a woman.

It has not been for lack of effort
or torment of soul,
for truth be told,
I hungered for her vernal flesh
with my entire being.

The way her back
curves soft,
over me in the moonlight,
I have been remised

No longer do my eyes
grow wide
from the sight
of her breasts

Instead I keep company
with the many nights
of our memories
and these cold, hard sweats

Forgive me Father,
for it has been 6 months
since the last time
I shared in The Lord's gift of passions.

If I could,
I would have rationed
myself, three nights throes
from this addiction

Instead, I would have
indulged in her kisses
and done away with what
I thought was my calling
in making her a Proper Mrs.

I have sinned, Dear Father,
I have sinned!

It has been 24 weeks
since last I grew weak from
the elixir of her
volition's

since I succumbed to
her wicked woman
insistence that
I have more of her
NOW!

Oh...
dear God...
My judgment -
it clouds,

with this prolonged
withdrawal of my
lips from her mounds...

Could it really have been
900 hours? Since I took her
last to see the face of God?

My prayers must not have
been enough,

for she is gone from me
and I am left in this misery
of self loathing.

Oh Father,
Please forgive me,
for I have sinned against God Himself!

for shirking my
responsibility, my noble duty
of creating love on this Earth...

Of these sins
I
accuse
myself!!

Forgive me Father,
Forgive me...

Not now, Not yet!

by Yemaya - december 07

For Cha and Cris

This seems to be a repetitive refrain in my life.

Forsaking the past, I vowed to change it. " yes now, yes here"

4 years trying to mold what was visible to my heart's eyes.

A future where you would welcome me home.

Mornings spent talking while brewing the coffee.

Afternoons making love while flirting with the sunset.

Nights for Yemaya, you and I.

Embracing the present, I run away from a similar refrain.

I've heard it all...the sweet words, the loving words

A convincing voice is promising a different shore.

I violently withdraw from the negotiations.

Am I equipped for the Goddess, mine, truly mine?

Yes now, Yes here

She will say to me:

Here I am for you. Now. And Eternally.

Sacrifice

I have started a cleansing of the soul this past Monday with a 40-day fast and prayer. This morning, I burnt your letter in front of my altar. I couldn't keep it, I couldn't send it back to you. I mixed its energy with Spirit.

For these forty days, I want my body to wake up to itself, to feel and experience pain, suffering and joy. I want to know the deep end of anger and discover its most fiery face. I want to break my hand into life's walls and lick the blood slowly going down my skin. I want to scream with a fury, with a voice I didn't know I had.

No more "I love yous" that stop half-way. I love you but....

I love you but...

I love you, mon cul!

Women's Work

© 2007 Sandra Jean-Pierre

Down to river
slowly we tread,
I in back, you in the lead

Untidy bundles
upon our backs, beneath our arms

I carry the buckets,
You the washing powder...

In silence,
we minister
to the sweat stains,
the work stains, the aroma of our human-ness

cloudy swirls
on rivers' surface,wash down and out and away,

leaving river clear again...

In tandem
we develop our rhythm,

yet

through the corner of mine eyes,
I spy your scent,
dripping from the precipice of your nose

Being wife,
I stand, grabbing the hem of my blouse
and wipe your forehead.

This chore,
this cleaning,
we women,
doing this women's work...

Laundered lives,
now hanging and flapping
drying in the yard

I fill the sink,
bathing the vegetables
passing the rinsed ones
for you to peel

You at my side,
I taking the lead

Mine hand on my hip,
the other stirring the pot
fire beneath brewing
nourishment and love

yet

from the corner of your eye
you see my sway,
my exhausted stance

Being, You, wife
offer a chair
allowing me to sit,
taking the spoon from my hand to yours

This chore,
this cooking,
we women,
doing this women's work...

When at last
the night calls and the stars begin their answer,
we sink deliciously
into our bed

side by side,
You and I...

you reaching for me,
I sighing for you

between,
exhaustion our constant bedfellow

yet

Your raw and calloused hand
touches my virgin belly
mine tongue and gentle stroke
finds your lips and mouth

This chore,
this lovemaking
we women,
doing this women's work...

Dark Epiphany

I want the dark-haired beauties

the olive,
leche-con-cafe
mamasita's

the ones who'll curse someone
and love you with the same
crimson-cinnamon
lips that kiss life to your parts

I want the dark-eyed
soft hearted/fuck you
in the same breath
women...

the under-rated sapphires
in this diamond glittered town

I want the
calculating senoritas
donnas
mademoiselles

the ones that can
make you dinner and
break your heart
like a drop of a plate
the slice of a knife
a caress of their hand...

but they won't
cause they understand the power
of pussy and love and lust
that they have over you...

over you...

over me...

I want the hard hitting
don't-fuck-with-me-unless-invited
bellas,
the ones that can melt my heart
by smiling
in recognition of my vulnerabilities
and that she's gotten a rare
privilege to see me,
like this,
naked and open and willing and
painfully needing and trying
trying, the only ways I know how
to let her know how much she has changed my life...

I want the creamSplashedWithCappuccino
honeys
the ones with a cold streak
of hungry sex in their voice
at ten-in-the-fuckin-morning

... yeah...

yeah...

I want you.

© 2005 Sandra Jean-Pierre