Joshua Bennett “Sing it as the Spirit Leads”


“My black was beautiful….

…We are not always broken. Even when we are, we are stained glass stacatto, mosaic, as God song sifted through the stylus…


I hold your heart in my hand…

“They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
Nor can spirits ever be divided, that love and live in the same divine principle, the root and record of their friendship.
If absence be not death, neither is theirs.
Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still.
For they must needs be present, that love and live in that which is omnipresent.
In this divine glass they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure.
This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.” -William Penn

When love beckons…


“When love beckons to you follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth……

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure, Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor, Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.” Kahlil Gibran

Her word (words part I)

Photo from Ousmane Sembene film Black girl (1966)

Her word (words part I)


forsaken by the masters of time,
gave birth to a prince in rag.

His Kingdom,
was to be of paper,
which he would rule fiercely.

Never afraid to conquer expression
with ancient hieroglyphics
or erect God like monuments
in perfect cursive.

was born with a mask,
and his cry was beautiful..

She called him, WORD.

Her word grew,
and bathe in the rivers that drew oxygen to her lungs.
She fed him,
from the succulence of her breasts,
full with honey sweet memories and milk that whiten from blissful ignorance.

His skin glowed with the passion of her heart,
and he became,
Her pride.
Her Joy,
and spilled across the empty plains of his kingdom.
Even till the very end.

Her word,
unafraid to learn,
embraced the chills of cold winters,
and ventured out into foreign lands
darkened by harsh clouds of uncertainty.

for her stood brave
and with the valor of his soul,
fought dragons and green monsters
that threatened her sanity,
and the sovereignty of his stance.

She with her word,
rode throughout his uni-verse,
into enchanted lands on bare camel backs.
Her backside,
hurting from the tyranny of every adventure

She made bread with her word..

for it symbolized the passing over,
treacherous lands and into the abundance of a great valley.

Its waterfalls provided her nourishment,
and washed off the dirt that kept her once beautiful hair in locks,
strangling the thoughts, of her mind.

She danced,
with steps that she never before knew,
with grace of lilies resting calmly on a clear pool.

Her prints,
on wet clay,
molded and created magical creatures that could…
freeze time,
shape giant pyramids from sand,
evolve new nations,
and raise an army from dried bones.

And all this,
from the simple command of her word.

Her word recited,
turns water to wine.

He showers manna from the heavens,
and gives to hungry bellies,
that catch his meaning.

Her word invokes tears from watery eyes,
watering the loyal gardens of his kingdom.

She took its fruits,
made sweet nectar,
and served to the content of his allies.

Her word gave meaning to life,
and life to her word.

She without a condescending nature,
gazed upon his kingdom,
and saw it as beautiful.

A mighty warrior he had grown to become.
He had already grown his tooth of wisdom,
and shattered her fear of the unknown.

His mask removed,
because his true identity no longer held secrets.
He was a King..

But for now,
he laid peacefully asleep in his cradle.
Oblivious to the power that lurked deep within him.

A true king he shall be,

Staying true to her word.

By Wale Adeniran

Pineapple juice

For long I wondered whether it was the pine. The apple. Or the juice.

That made you so addicted to this substance.

Pineapple juice.

Pine-so ill defined I won’t even give it much mention.

Apple-simply an extension, of the above named pine.

Juice- bringing together these entities

that seem to confer approval from the tasteful palate of your tongue.


Is that enough to make one walk in the rain at 11pm, so sprung

for some

Pineapple juice?

Maybe until I taste this wonder

I will simply be left here to ponder


Pineapple juice…

Nya Paco