Monday, August 13

Love like Foreign Lands IV

Love like Foreign Land IV

It becomes amazing to me
how quickly I'm aware of your presence
way before the first kick,
or before cold gels and fuzzy screens
inside of a doctor's office.
My newly developed keen sense of smell,
as you make me feel life
and the world in high definition.
This is your way of sending me hidden signals.
It lets me know how forever we will bond.
I'll watch you carefully over the next year
growing through me.
Lying in bed wondering what stage you're in
at the moment you cross my mind.
Conditioning you with the finer things
through layers of skin and headphones,
I imagine you hear the muffle sounds
of the music that I play
or how I read you bedtime stories out loud.
You've never seen us
but you've manage to learn our voices.
Leaving tiny handprints in my stomach
from the inside looking out each time
you feel that he is near.
It's like you're aware that you are
just as much his as you are mines.
I wonder what you're doing in there,
maybe drawing pictures in my womb
leaving a story of the beginning
of your history for a future sibling.
I rub you and breathe in real deep,
send my voice and words through whispers
into my stomach instead of out in the hollow air.
I will tell you to take my eyes,
and if you have a choice to choose my lips,
and remember to take my lover's mahogany skin.
I tell you to have his personality
because that is what attracted me to him,
the man you'll soon call father.
I know you'll be a reflection of us,
regardless of who's genes you're blessed with,
as you'll be the perfect blend of two,
evidence that together in union we once existed.
Creating our greatest art piece, between us ever made


Sunday, August 12

Love like Foreign Lands III

Love like Foreign Lands III

Always observing carefully
like an inspector, he checks and probes
with delicate intensity
as he traces with eyes
the curve and winding slopes of my form,
squeezing my arm and then my thigh.
I watch him take in the softness of my skin.
Before he rest his head upon my chest.
To him I'm rich and priceless as
ancient artifacts he just uncovered.
wide-eyed he becomes at a notice of my breast,
revealing them from their support
as if this discovering changes everything
in his studies before now.
taking use of all five senses.
touches my belly with eyes close,
begins to read my wants and yearnings like Braille.
presses his ear and breaths quietly,
listens to my lungs fill with rapid air.
he hears how I'm anxious from his presence.
smelling the dried faint scent lingering
on my navel from an early morning shower
now mixed with the aroma of sweat.
so he excites his palate
his mouth moves between each breast,
engulfs and hides each nipple it chooses,
tasting as a rhythmical art form.
tongue loops around the left, right,
right, and back to the left again.
he then eyes each mole like mapping out the
stars in the night sky,
like his guide to find his way back home
after long journeys through my bones and soul.
kisses the first mole at the top
where my forehead and my hairline meet,
kisses the one between my lips and nose,
moves to the one on my right cheek.
finds the one between my breast
(he will kiss there twice)
lifts each arm and leg to search carefully,
applying kisses to each spot, even the
ones that tend to hide, licks lips as he starts to
target the one near the top of my inner thigh.
He's thorough, uncovering down to the tip of my toes.
patiently doing his job, undisturbed in his
method of double spotting each point.
Tomorrow he repeat his routine, and I will let him,
as he makes sure to map each mole again.
comparing his findings with past research,
As he can never be to careful in his expeditions
of documenting my moles in his memories
just in case he just might discover
if a new one appears or an old one disappears.


Thursday, August 9

Love like Foreign Lands

Love like Foreign Lands

We are Castaways
on an island made for two.
With time the customs become familiar.
Your body I study like a map.
There is a lake under your right eye,
mountains near your ear.
We must be lost living in or near the rainforest
at the base of your neck.
(my favorite place to rest.)
We've journeyed here months ago,
since wandering around searching for oasis
in the desert at your lower back.
Who knew that we'd find peace near your chest.
I've become pretty acquainted with this land of yours,
the rich brown finely texture soil, I could travel
with my eyes closed at night
and still find my way home.
Now I've learn to love this place,
Even if the area and the language of the natives is new.
Maybe within years I can obtain citizenship.
Our childeren will be born. We'll be side by side.
wanting and sitting.
Like how the tree and stone sit together.
waiting to do to each other
what the stone does for the tree
and the tree for the stone.

copywrite Januari - 05/2001


Love like Foreign Lands II

I become 5 years old again
asking you a million in one question
as I'm curious to know your history,
thirsty for the story behind the pictures,
the hieroglyphics that cover your body.
tracing my finger around the large one
that covers most of your chest.
I study the past nicknames,
the design and symbols
that you might have compulsively picked
without careful consideration,
showing how young you probably were
when making poor decision.
I'm intrigued by each piece as they are
the key to your life before me,
I wonder why the guy on your left arm looks sad
or what makes you wanna get the one
on the right side of your chest
covered up with a new image.
I lay my head on my favorite one,
hoping that it will whisper secrets about itself
and tell me gossip about the others,
I wait for them to explain to me
the pain of the past that you sometimes hide.
I kiss the one on your back and conclude for now,
my childlike prowl will have to wait.
I pull you closer to my body and you soon feel
my eyes hint about science projects where
two bodies dissolve into one,
tonight you may not be ready just yet
to decipher your body's visual history,
but I have other ways love,
to find the past, much can be found without words.
So when the sun blends into the night,
you'll melt into my arms.
Where later I'll mold your soul into mines
studying you like a archaeologist with clay.
Delicately unraveling your history.

copywrite Januari - 08/2007

Sunday, March 4

untitled #303


In the Deep Concave Lenses
of your Eyes,
I search to find the Root
of this Blessing
to share your Essence.
Where I can see Africa in your Blood,
Brazil in you Smile,
Jamaica in your Hair,
Cuba in your Fight,
Suppleness in your Hips
Groove as if Swinging
to a Haitian Voodu Chant.
And if Ogu lives inside
as the Reason,
I must be ready to learn the
Possession of Ezili.
Cause I'm willing to devote
my Time into Studying you
Making Sacrifices of Heart,
and Searching
for a Soulution.
A Purpose to
Oppose Oppressed Feelings,
Subconcious Santeria Songs,
Create Melodies of Lullabies,
Food for my mind's Movement.
Stripping me of this
Continent's Synthetic Life
and all its Shallowness.
I want to stay Pure,
to Preserve the Gifts Received.
Grace to Beauty given to me.
More than just a Revolutionary Spur
of the Moment Thrill.
I can't Wash my Skin of your Color,
this Earthly Brown Hue,
I can't seem to Wash my Soul Either,
of this Naturalness.

januari harris - copywrite 2002


(I wrote this when I was like 18...I don't think I ever shared it anywhere....)

Soul Children

Millions of little black children
baked in a pie
shackled feet, some broken bones
they still gonna fly.

Hold down the seeds, the peers, grandchildren
they are not a part of this cruel world
that they live in.
constantly they strive to stay alive,
no matter what happens
they still gonna fly.

Above the high rises and the barbwired
fences, hiding in the trenches,
emenies attack from all sides, but
they still gonna fly.

Dodging the drugs and the thugs,
gotta escape this world of hate
to break into the sky of love.
Destiny waiting behind gray clouds
If they make it thru this world they'll
make mother earth proud.
Waking up daily to live
instead of die, some way
they still gonna fly.

Little black children of future and past,
build memories that last.
revolutions to change the earth,
style brought forth at birth.
making statements
when things get hard
refusing to cry,
fly soul children
be beautiful, strong and fly.

januari harris - copywrite 2000

Sunday, February 11

My niece always tells me I'm not the boss of her.

That may or may not be true (I can still outsmart her)...and at least I can write a poem about her.

The Drama Queen

If she were a superhero,
she would posses the ability to
make large amounts of things
mysteriously disappear.
as she has holes in her ears,
information goes in one, comes out the other.
and the holes in her mouth, food comes in and
ten minutes later, she asking what can she eat again.
and the magical talent of fast hands as
anything in her hands, she'd wave and tada it was gone.
only she knows that the magic words of abracadabra will
get the keys to walk out of toy boxes into
your hands when you've misplaced them.
she can even make herself disappear,
one moment she watching a my little pony movie,
then silence comes, and you know she has left without
a trace into thin air, off fighting a battle again.
she could be making sure the evil ice cream in the
refrigerator isn't becoming to powerful while
eating it into invisible status into her mouth, before
you've noticed it is gone and that there was a
possible terror alert of the ice cream ruling
your house to begin with.
if she is quiet than be aware, she is crime fighting trouble,
or more likely creating trouble she could get into.
I once watched her eat 5 bowls of cereal in one night
only to finish it off with spaghetti, and
all she did was grow taller, which means
it will take more for her to eat just to get her full, and
she will then just keep growing taller.
to think she is only four, imagine at seven when her
skills become even more profound.
she'll be able to clean out bank accounts on
barbies and at 12 she teach others her superhero
powers during secret meetings called slumber parties,
so when 18 comes she may rule the mall.
when shoes, and clothes, and purses will disappear inside bags
and into closets where the clothes will discuss plans to overthrow
the room government and claim the room as their own.
but no villain is too tough for her, as she is persistent at
everything she does, while most days she doesn't know
what she wants, she is willing to try everything.
but be aware if she likes it, then she'll so hide it.
maybe as she grows she'll use her superhero powers for
good and make dirty dishes disappear out of sinks and
and get things removed off of floors that belong on bookshelves,
maybe at 18 instead of ruling the mall
devouring clothes into car trunks,
at 18 she'll decide to use her powers on society
and help out the community,
while producing the talent of eliminating unwanted problems.
but who knows, since she is strong already at four, so
probably in 14 more years she'll be able to conquer both
the mall and the community,
at least one can only dream of the possibility.

copywrite Januari-02/2007