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Creative Writing from
Fairleigh Dickinson University
Poem I
Chineesa Gates
The way her feet move like math precise
drawing graphs up her
calves calculating
the slope of her slip,
her hip wears the slip,
the slant of that shit,
wit' a hemmed-up half.
Genius how her sass can move
that ass to skip class--
we get down
I get up
she goes down
and I don't pass.
Some call it helpless
I call it done,
she calls it when she wants it.
'Cause the jolly in her thighs
plus the empty
in my eyes equals
scandalize means stupefy.
I love, l die,
she burglarized--
The spill of her
braids on skin, on shoulders--
the bend of her
neck, her smile,
I told 'ya.
Beauty don't know no roe in this
aqua flow.
Hers is rich
like butter smooth
like doe.
Eat it, spread, spend it
then die.
I know feel good,
I know wet
would run dry
if it could ride tide
and open wide
like Poem I.
Poem W
Chineesa Gates
There is a paper girl printed
white, painted blue
true and silent.
Oh how beauty is hers
and she is mine.
The lines confide
whispered details' pain--
Who said my hell ain't art?
An inked canvas hushed
model naked touched like fingers
finding secrets of a body
brailed slow
spitting a hex that's hemlock sex
poisoned potent,
teased, tasted,
tongued innocence
turned guilt,
and salvation is starvation
of my passion,
Poem W.
I trade tears for putty--
you know.
The only man left is God--
you know--
yes, I love a woman--
I cry out loud,
I live out loud
and silence answers loudly
like a stuffed-cheek orgasm.
Penance is a sweet brand of lonely,
a manic, lilac-scented lotion
of her feeling--
a lace ornamented,
pitted pandemonium
bred Jesus
raised rebellion
'cause all that matters is W.
Flag Ashes
Chineesa Gates
sown American and
bled African and
born man and bred
beauty sung
freedom sent peace
to kiss his child.
Oil-sheened afros picked-out
twat-tight fist fury sold out.
Old swollen gut cries
echo Malcolm,
echo Marley,
muted voices made mobil,
sing--
move my brother,
your boots are laced though your heels are worn.
Move my brother,
you righteous soldier,
you battered angel--
they say, "Bastard,"
but I say, "Victory,"
cause war it is
and our feet are sure.
You know pain, my man--
dry-throated screams that scream, "Why?"
cowhide whips that lick skin
and whip skin--
go climb that mountain and tell it--
you know pain and God
did not forget.
So down with this Establishment!
The truth stinks of a people's sweat,
now roll up the lies and smoke them.
Your woman ain't no prom queen
but you are herald as her king,
her pen is an M-16 blasted,
say word.
And like Christ is the color of air
and soil is sunburnt brown
heaven is His and earth is yours,
Amen.
Love to feet time-glazed,
to your legs mule-worked,
love.
Love to your arms that hold me and meaning.
Love to your face that bears the lines history hushed
sooted black with flag ashes burned
to starred and striped flag dust.
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