mi poesia

PARA MI GENTE
For my peeps in Gaza
written by
vaimoana litia makakaufaki niumeitolu
1.2009
harlem

Even if our eye sockets are blown out to pump oil
and all the rivers, lakes and oceans in the world overflow and boil
with our tears and rage
Even if all the white phosphorus in the air
singes our skin, burns our eyes
you will not, cannot burn this sight

you’ve taken out all the electricity but you still don’t have the light

Still we see rainbows in a sky of bullets
our spirit can not, will not, be shot down
you think you own the sun by controlling how it comes up for air the next day
you think you’ve scared the night away
so even she has nightmares, restless and can not sleep
still we see
what is going on
still we see
in the comfort of being across the world
still we see
still we see with so much taken away

Even when grenades are latched onto our earlobes
and jack hammers drill and smear our names as terrorists into our flesh
Even when our beings are carved out as non-existent
Even when maps aren’t persistant
Still we hear our own selves
Even if we’re told no one’s listening
Stil we hear
repeating and humming,
repeating and humming
we do exist, we do exist, we exist
today
we can still hear the melody of a language once severed
wrapped up into our curly hair, bopping and booming into
rhythms placed inside our fist
which is the same size as our heart
beats
Yes, we can still hear our heart
beats
long after it has stopped
beating

Even when our fingers are cut off, burned off, detached
We still touch
Yes, still we touch
with our poems and our songs
our paintings and our pens
Even when we have to show identification
Even when olive branches are sliced and slashed
Still we embrace, cuddle, squeeze,
swoon and spoon each other
Even if we have no hands, no arms, no legs, no feet
We will never lose the touch
Of how it is to hold another
when that other has gone, disappeared, fled or dead
Still we touch
Like we have millions of hands, arms, legs and feet
Attached to one body
We are human
We will always have
This human touch
Even when we’re told
we’re not

Even if our own presidency is silent
Even if we’re told there’s nothing we can do
Even when all we know, is non-stop violence
Even if our words don’t make it to the 10 o’clock news
Even if all we want to speak is our runny noses and blues
Still we speak
Even if we stutter
Still we speak
even its just a mutter, even if we can’t enunciate or articulate
Still we speak out
For what matters:
Basic human rights
Justice
Life
still we scream, bellow and sing
still we laugh, we’ve got to, we have to,
Still we celebrate life
when there is still so much dying
by not wasting another minute
to live life for another
Still we gather
in churches
on the streets
in schools
in bodegas
in our homes
still we speak
we speak out
especially when we are afraid
still
we see
when its just too hard
we hear
especially when its too much
we touch
especially when we don’t feel like it
still we
speak
out

7 KISSES FROM THE SOUTHERN SUN
written by vaimoana litia makakaufaki niumeitolu
6.2005
harlem to chicago and back to harlem

1.
he’s one of those black golden brothas
the kind who taught the sun to glow
the kind alchemists pray for
7 times daily
instead of east
they pray west
then turn around
south
the kind of black golden brotha
the moon swings her hip in a sigh to
making ocean waves scream
making night sleep inside day
releasing morning to come
all over a glorious noon

2.
if you had the honor to read the map on the curve of his back
(i haven’t seen it, that’s what i’m told)
you will see the pasifik triangle set in the middle of his shoulder blades
you will see galaxies whispering
down his left arm to his index finger pointing
south
& then up
if you look close enuf
you will see the chief moko[1] on his heart
done in a violet velvet ink
he’s never been to Tonga
cuz he created it

3.
we never hear the story of
the beautiful black golden goddess
great
great
great
granddaughter of Isis
meeting a dude from Samoa,
grandson of Sirius B
giving birth to coconut trees, talo and manioke
igneous rocks dripping out from her pores
she is the real Mother Pearl
forming paradise
above & beneath
the ocean floor
here on earth and outer

4.
i am not golden like he
nor silver
bronze
or even copper
i am air
water
red rock & indigo
i am an ocean desert gurl
fire on water woman
round faced cinnamon style
frozen hot pineapple with
spicy lava melting tween my legs
i don’t know if he sees this in me
i don’t know if he remembers these stories
i don’t know the unknown but want to know
i will remind him

5.
i haven’t forgotten
never will i forget
our ties, our lines
relations to relativity
history to herstory
ourstory
ivory orchids got my back
light quanta spins on his head
& elec-TRO submits a beat
in honor of knowing
energy reciprocates
no matter what space or time

6.
breath to breathe
i’ve never tasted pizza from Chicago
never thought i would want to
waiting to see if it really is the best
waiting to exhale

7.
he watches Sanford & Son
his favorite t.v. show
i don’t remember any of the episodes
maybe he will remind me
i will give him
ginger & brown rice
peppermint tea
with lime chips & hummus
in exchange
maybe
even
more

[1] Maori word for tattoo

PASIFIK HEAT TWEEN MY THIGHS
written by vaimoana litia makakaufaki niumeitolu
7.2004
nuku’alofa, tonga

i want you on top of me
like how sunlight craves to be on top of the pacifik
she’s got waves for curves, corals for bumps and seaweed for hair,
she’s got it goin’ on

i want you inside of me
like how sunlight sets inside the pacifik
water grasps tight on sunbeams
not letting go
until the night comes up for air

i want you to ride me to a patient beat
rocking to smooth sweet soul
that makes boats sway and seashells squeal
making the pasifik come so hard
she comes on land
and it seeps into the sand
her salt is tasted in all the fruits and vegetables,
her salt makes the soil the most fertile

WOMYN’S WORK
written by vaimoana litia makakaufaki niumeitolu
5.2007
harlem

Let every verse
be rehearsed in your
tongue
free versed
immersed in your body
this poem is for you
this poem is for us

our bodies are
like broken guitars with ripped strings
out of tune
like a twisted moon
like coming too soon
without release
like a sun with no light
like a tide that has never come
desiccated
dry to the bone
not ever realizing what we own
like smashed pianos with bended keys
on their knees, no stand in sight
empty faces in empty rooms
our lives
are definitely
not meant to be easy
baby gurl
gotta make space
for our
soul
to live
to come alive

where are our spaces for our soul to live?
with magazine covers of white gurls
tryna look like colored gurls
& colored gurls tryna look like white gurls

damn,
our looks are still
conceived as
exotic
that adjective
for my face
is so damn, tired
if you don’t know
where
I’m from
by now
look it up
travel
on the web
on a plane
on a boat
on a train
in a book

our beauty is
ancient
like who we be
indigenous
our bodies
are fly
like spirit
so high
like
soul

our soul spaces
must be created
must be built
by
You
by
Us

I choose
to be a full time artist
Poet, Painter, Actor
Poet, Painter, Actor
knowing that
I am
brown skinned
slanty eyes
wide hips
big thighs
small tits
knowing that I am
not white
not blonde
not blue eyed
not skinny
not tall
not straight hair
knowing that I am
a Woman
who looks like
you

you who
work in factories, clean homes
take care of other people’s children
send money home
live on reservations in Utah
I look like you

I look like you
who
are
sex workers on tropical islands
we, who are the majority behind bars
you, who
sew my jeans for less than a dollar
make my iPhone for less than a dime
eat food for less than a nickel
i would pay more than
a penny for
your
thoughts
which
can
never
be bought
I look like you

I am told
I do not look like a
Poet
Painter
Actor
I look like you

You
who
are
mules
filled up
with
cocaine
build
Zenith
Sony
Nike
Benetton
Coca Cola
from
the bottom
up
feed 5 Kids
mouths on the daily
getting a GED this Fall
twist toothpaste caps
pick fruit
in the fields
I look like you

I look like you
who cleans every floor in my girl, Gabby’s
building who greets me,
“Hola”
and then asks
“What floor do you clean?”

No,
I do not clean any floors
except my own floor
in my own home
I do not clean up
other people’s
messes
only they can
clean up
their own
messes
like protecting our own American families, trees &
schools
by bombing other people’s families, trees & schools
like building the Trans-Andean
pipeline in Equador
which is right now sustaining the rich and ridiculing the poor
like building a Shell oil pipeline in Nigeria
and then spilling oil from that same pipeline
like building the wall in Palestine
I
am not here to clean up those messes

I
am here
to call them out
blessed
I am a
Poet
Painter
Actor

I choose to be a full time Artist
Poet
Painter
Actor
This choice is quite simple for me
cuz spreading my legs
makes more money
than speaking my poems
to you
right now
in our society where
the dollar is deemed more
than respecting my own body
where holding my head up high
doesn’t earn me any cash
like shaking my ass
where it is profitable
to act like a fool
sell my soul
write rhymes
that sell out
not only my ass
but other asses
that look like mine
to make it harder for “other” Artists
who wanna write poems about
love, peace and revolution
seem unnecessary and redundant
it ‘s not what we lack
it’s a fact
you just like
us on our backs
I don’t need to pay my rent
through
being in a Club
but when I am in a Club
when I do
dance
its not meant to
entertain you
or even
intrigue you
exoticize your own damn self
I am blessed to have this time to
“shake my ass”
if I want to
to “drop it like its hot”
cuz I feel like it
when all you dropping
is
bombs
missles
nuclear waste
lame ass lines
with no respect
knowledge
with
no substance
salaries
health care
air time
that is wasted
while
Where my girls out?
where
my women
drop
sweat
blood
their
hands
burned
into ashes
their faces
voices
disappear
into smoke
become
invisible
while
you sing
LADIES LET YOUR BODIES FLOW
where the flow is
too cold
and
too weak
machine guns
in cunts
the flow
of the
rivers
are toxic
which makes
the flow
of the
blood
toxic
making toxic
land
oceans
sand
vaginas
torn and
needs to be
invisibily
sewn up
too many
clits
need to be mended
surgically attended
babies born in
garbage
feces
shit
you
finally
feelin’
the hits?
what else
needs
to be
fixed?
your
selfish
foreign
policy
adds
to the mix

its 2009
and still I get paid
less than a man
I still
choose Full Time Artist
Poet
Painter
Actor

I still choose creating
I still choose nurturing
still choose caring
still choose
Faith
Heart
And Sooooouuuuuuuuul

I am a
Poet
Painter
Actor

my hips don’t lie
they cry
my hips
tell the truth
that when I’m fucking
is like making love
and there is truth in that
making love
for real
real
our fucks are sacred, baby girl
opening our legs
lotioning our bodies
our thighs our calves
our breasts
our necks
how we dress
makes me think
of not only who I should vote for
but the kind of dick
I should
Suck and/ or fuck
if I choose to
only given to the one
that dedicated
respects
and committed
to equal
Human
Rights
Only given to the one
who finds strength
in community
only given to the one
that is on point
and comes correct
Only given to the one that knows
its not only
women’s work
to cook, clean and raise children
where my brothas at like that?

Let it be known
our pussies are orange butterfly wings
tied to jewels and seashells
the real bling bling
knowing this is not what angels always bring

Let our pussies wear platinum sapphire studded halos
and hold golden wands tween our lips
not only to make wishes
but demands
and those demands
You better
Believe ‘em
like
it’s the word of God
cuz it is
cuz the word of God was
born out
of a pussy
and that is what our pussies are
they speak
the word
of God
just listen

I rub my belly
and I wanna
have a baby
someday
I can’t help
to think
that
my baby
must have
genes that will help
him survive
she must have
DNA
with strength
to keep her
off the streets
its twisted
not the helix
but the
thought
that
she has to
proove
herself
to
be
“human”
to live

soooo many
black and brown
bodies
are enlisted
in war
prison
not
college or
university
i don’t
wanna think babies have a value
I’m sure they don’t want to
Think they think
babies have a worth
compared to each other
still millions
need to be fed
still millions
ALL
are black and brown babies
still millions are
of the XX chromosome
Xed out
found dead
in garbage cans
in toilets
on the streets
not regarded
as important as
“white babies”
as “male babies”

I can’t help to think
my “black body, my brown body”
my “girl body”
is one of the lucky ones
a one that is blessed
a one that is considered
a one that is believed in
a one that is
still
alive

I think of you
and think of what
you can’t do and won’t do
and then I think of me
and what I can and will do
I sit on the train with my legs wide open cuz I can
I give dirty glances, chew my gum, smack it loud cuz I can
I eat all the food off my plate cuz I can
I take bathroom breaks, I take all my breaks cuz I can
I eat lots of ice cream, keep my thighs big cuz I can
I give so much love and am willing to
have my heart broken
cuz I can
Sometimes it just eases the pain
to do things that you may not do
I’m always thinking of
if you were
in my place
and
i was in yours
i don’t make things
look too hard, i do things with
ease and impeccability
and say oh yeah,
I did that; no biggie
no hard work
here
I don’t want to be the face of
suffering and struggle
cuz I can
and when I am
by myself in my own room
I look in the mirror and
I LOVE
what I see and feel
cuz I can
and I am
a blessed girl
the most blessed girl
on the block
and
I cry for you
and
me
cuz I can

Meanwhile
I write this poem for you
I think of you and I write
I write, write, and write
I spend my time
spittin’ rhymes and poems
singing songs
painting pictures
thinking of you
knowing what I do
Is Women’s work too
Yes, it’s Women’s Work
It’s Women’s Work
I honor you
I respect you
I love you
Thank you

One thought on “mi poesia

  1. wow…..this poems moves me to tears!

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