Realists:
My favorite poet is Imru' al-Qais (501-565)
"May You Be Happy This Morning, Worn Traces!
How many a day, a night I'd spend
with a woman, stark as a statue outlined,
her face aglow as she turns to her mate
like softly radiant candle light;
her breast like the flare of a generous fire
by chilled men lit in the desert at night
in the wind come roving across the hills,
north, south, at the caravan staging posts.

Clear-cheeked, in her teens, so playful yet
that she makes me forget my clothes when I leave;
with rounds like the dunes that as children we loved
to tread for their smooth and velvety touch.
When her lover strips her, wanting all,
she leans to him lightly, holding back;
slim at the waist and firm as she twists
with quickening breath from intoxicant lips.

Cenripacta:
Lalasticlala's python Dance poems

FalseProphet1:
Normal English: Mom I'm hungry.

Shakespeare: Let it be known to the womb that convinced me that my stomach consist of emptiness.

I've read so many of his books and I love his poetic command English language. He's the best so far.

This I have seen.

blazepascal:
Poet?? I don't even no any

ayandee:
Christopher Okigbo

ictplotter:
Africa my Africa
Africa of proud warriors in ancestral Savannahs
Africa of whom my grandmother sings
On the banks of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my veins
Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields
The blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery
Africa, tell me Africa
Is this your back that is unbent
This back that never breaks under the weight of humiliation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying no to the whip under the midday sun?
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous child that tree, young and strong
That tree over there
Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers
That is your Africa springing up anew
springing up patiently, obstinately
Whose fruit bit by bit acquires
The bitter taste of liberty.
By David Diop.

protocol:


call of the river nun