Two Poems

By Angelique V. Nixon

 

moon rituals in times of crisis

 

rush of magic enters       the body
with colorful joy               bursts
of soothing fire                   raining light
utter bliss                              tenacious fibers
that stretch beyond        this time

I am trance, desire-full-being
star gazing, mind-spirit travels
to moons in a nearby galaxy to let go 

                          (this time of new millenium – too much, too broken…
                          where are we Black-spirited-cosmic-warrior people supposed to live?
                         I escape this earth, for some-thing-else, Earthseed-Mothership-Afro-future-vibes)

visioning fierce women-gender-queer lovers,
future partners in cosmic tribe vibrations,
who will caress my cheekbones and ride high
on the way to another life, on another planet

each dream-scape different,         body high, spirit nourished,
heart-ready, soul-full                       waves of orgasmic flight,
universal fire,                                        flesh and spirit entwine

cloaked in super moon wishes
I cast dark and sensuous moans
as spells grow like my space armour,
the vibration to make us anew,

flows through my fingers, trembling
words dance from my lips, dripping
confessions erupt from third eye, playfully

                          bending time and crossing space, visiting other freak-quencies of me
                          in search of where we can be, Black, human, woman, queer & free

moon rituals of night-time creation, times of crisis, we be,
needing this spiritual-planetary revolution, indigo pulsing dark-full balance
beaming me to a future dimension

(on different planets, we be on Earthseed vibrations, to the stars,
we dream Planet Toussaint with a generous swirl of decolonial love & healing vibrations)

where conscious warriors are celebrated
where difference is never a threat
where freedom is no longer a dream or struggle
where spirited-beings, live and love in harmonious vibes,
multiple ways of being, loving fiercely with no bounds.

 

 

Grace of Wonder

 

                     In whose language / Am I / If not in yours / Beautiful
                                                                                   – M. Nourbese Philip

I see you Grace Jones on this late October evening
blessing us at Roseland, New York City
for two loving hours, gripping us with magical
transformations, dazzling us in the light bending
to your will, smooth and rough, like your powerful voice,
each hat, each accessory defying gravity.

I see her in you, you in her – my mother, Kim Grace Louise,
imagining that she was or could have been like you, if only,
she had been able to be herself and thrive.

There is such danger in being a Black woman in charge of her own self, in love with her own dynamic flesh, (dangerous loving our black selves, especially in the dark, but we must love our flesh, we must love all our flesh and each others’ flesh in all hues, tones, spaces in between),

Grace Jones, so comfortable in her dark vibrant skin
so confident in her sexy lifeforce, so defiant in her raw sassy voice
rock star in freakdom performance, genius and unafraid
creating rhythms out of chains people attempt to place, name
and capture you, remix, words sounds movement in brilliant ecstasy.

I see you Grace, playfully and subtly, yet forcefully using your voice
as weapon as choice as force to be never contained
living wildly, breaking through, madness
carving space to be more than exploding categories
the definition of fierce

You are hurricane force winds, escaping from restraints of mind body control
your images have haunted me, reminders ever so slightly of her.

Your son, on stage with you, drummer in your band, performing his own magic, thru yours,
I wonder what it must be like growing up with you, to be raised up in such womanpower,
and I see myself in him, in awe of you, reflections of our mothers’ defiance & sexy funk.

I wonder if she found you as a teenager
She a cabaret dancer with starry dreams,
young single mother, growing up as she raised me
to be defiant like saltwater and strong like moon tides
Maybe looking up to you as a symbol of freedom
a path to wholeness, amidst the haziness of never being enough.

I imagine her looking up to you, seeing possibilities,
I see her anew through you… your hula hoop, your corset,
You insistence that we speak our truth and speak our sexy
As fuck, fucking sex, yes we are…

        I’m a hurricane here I come
        eye of the hurricane, the calm before the storm

she was always the storm, raging fyah nestled in defiant love
she was everything yet nothing like people said
she was outrageous, flamboyant, and (sometimes) free

she was graceful fyah, whipping her soul around spreading
herself to thing of desire, dancing yet reeling herself tightly
into a ball twisting upon self protection shell exterior tough

with all this Yemanja and Oya power
I see you both casting whips and spells.

 

_____________________________________________________

Angelique V. Nixon is writer, artist, teacher, scholar, activist, and poet—born and raised in The Bahamas. She identifies as an Afro-Caribbean woman, multi-racial Black, queer and sex-positive being, rooted in working-class struggle. Her research, cultural criticism, and poetry have been published widely. She is author of the art and poetry collection Saltwater Healing – A Myth Memoir and Poems, published by Poinciana Paper Press (2013). Her scholarly book Resisting Paradise: Tourism, Diaspora, and Sexuality in Caribbean Culture has recently been published by the University Press of Mississippi (2015). Angelique strives through her activism, writing, and art to disrupt silences, challenge systems of oppression, and carve spaces for resistance and desire. She is currently a Lecturer at the Institute for Gender and Development Studies at the University of the West Indies in St. Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago.