EBook A -10-12-20 - Black Love American Style - The Punany Poets

Black Love American Style

With erotic performances that intertwine sexual fantasy, pleasure, and
desire with treatments of HIV, childhood molestation, and substance
abuse, the Punany Poets enact much of Rebecca Schneider’s theory of
explicit body performance. The poets author their bodies as the desirous
and desiring commodity, only to interrupt the sexual fantasy with testimo-
nies of sexual abuse, violence, poverty and HIV. Like Finley and Sprinkle,
they challenge psychoanalytic constructions of the gaze, where “women
are given to be seen but not given to see.” But they would never shove
yams up their asses and allow them to drop into their boots like Annie
Sprinkle. If any tasty nibbles are used in their shows, rest assured they
would be whipped cream, honey, or melted chocolate, and some lucky
audience member would be invited to fulfill his or her foot fetish by lick-
ing it off Holter’s six inch heels. Their work is explicit, but in actualizing
standard sexual scenarios that proliferate in popular culture, they are not
Schneider’s notion of explicit body performers.

Lastly, Holter describes her work as sex education theatre. Carl, an African
American male audience member I interviewed after one of the New York
performances, described what he saw as “sex edutainment.” I situate the
Poets within a larger discourse on art and activist aesthetics, thus I exca-
vate the limitations in these monikers as well. Given the four categories
I’ve determined—Post-Soul, Theatre of the Oppressed, Explicit Body Per-
formance, and Sex Education Theatre, I conclude that the Punany Project
encompasses aspects of all four. It articulates the experiences of black
folks on the margins by appropriating the aesthetics of hip-hop and the
black church. It invites audience participation and desires to incite politi-
cal change. It challenges the boundaries around sexuality established in
the black community and provincial ways of seeing. And it encourages
audience members to practice safe sex, explore their sexuality, and per-
haps challenge their ideas about homosexuality. As live theatre then, the
Punany Project far exceeds the limitations of the mediated post-soul aes-
thetic. Stewing in eroticism, it appeals beyond the oppressed and the so-
ciopolitical content of their performances to educate beyond sex acts. I,
therefore, take the risk of imposing a new way of describing their perfor-
mances, by coining a new term: —Urban Erotic Activist Theatre, or U EAT
as I like to call it. This theatre created by and for those who are intimately
familiar with urban narratives. It possesses an inherent political critique
of social-political issues that affect marginalized communities. It embod-
ies post-soul aesthetics; and it enacts Audre Lorde’s notion of erotic pow-
er. I quote Lorde at length here as she brilliantly demonstrates how the

51

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

erotic can be used as a source of liberation and resistance, particularly for
women.

There are many kinds of power, used and unused, acknowledged or oth-
erwise. The erotic is a resource within each of us that lies in a deeply
female and spiritual plane, firmly rooted in the power of our unexpressed
or unrecognized feeling. In order to perpetuate itself, every oppression
must corrupt or distort those various sources of power with the culture of
the oppressed that can provide energy for change. For women, this has
meant a suppression of the erotic as a considered source of power and
information within our lives.

In U EAT erotic power ignites when the body is simultaneously used for and
against itself, creating a schism that teeters between pleasure and pain. U
EAT is a directive. It does not get caught up in pretending to be anything
other than a commodity. It is conscientious but not condescending. It of-
fers bodies and sociopolitical discourses for consumption. However, it is
more like sticky, rich, creamy finger food than meat and potatoes; so, if
you eat too much, too fast, your digestive system will fail you—unless you
take a political palliative that comes through discussion and acceptance of
complicity in social injustices.

As the act of eating requires a certain amount of agency, U EAT desires to
enact agency in both performer and audience member. It is theatre re-
plete with testimonies that transform spectators into witnesses, with the
hope that they will then live to testify to how they were impacted by the
experience. The Punany Poets, for example, share their personal experi-
ences with sexual abuse, violence, and other forms or race and gender
oppression. They ask their audience to bear witness to their testimonies,
in hope that they will take what they have experienced and transform it
into new ways of approaching their own sexuality.

Raquel L. Monroe, Ph.D.
Assistant Professor in Dance
The Dance Center of Columbia College Chicago
1306 S. Michigan Ave Chicago, IL 60605
[email protected]

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Black Love American Style

I Got It
by KWEEN

I got what you need
if you want it, when you want it

Come and get it baby,
only if you want it

I know how to please my man
I’ll cook and clean do all I can
to make sure you are satisfied
your bath is drawn when you arrive
Candles lit, incense burning
dinner’s ready and I’m serving
rice and peas plantains and greens
jerkin’ chicken for you please!
Won’t you? Come a little closer,

let me massage your back,
your shoulders

work my way down to your feet
back up to your male quality

If you’re really, really feelin’ bad
come and get a bit of what you never had

I’m open to you every day and night
gonna give it to just right

I got what you need
if you want it, when you want it

Come and get it baby,
only if you want it

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Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

Photo compliments of Keniece Ford

54

I Wont be Angry

by KWEEN

I don’t want to be angry,
but I am, I’m praying for God to take
this resentment out of my heart
so I may receive the true blessing of this lesson.
After a whole year...
I don’t understand why I
still feel so deeply.
Emotions emerged in stages...
first confusion...
second sorrow...
then anger.

I don’t wanna be bitter ‘cause I know better.
Anger is pain festered. Still, it’s a challenge to shake!

Maybe I ought to be thankful for awareness.
Half the battle is won. ‘Cause shit, at least I know I got work to do.

Some folks live their lives waddling in pain never relinquishing
the memory only to find themselves plagued
with detrimental illness later in life.
I will not be her! Universe do you hear me?

I said I will not be that bitter, lonely old woman filled with dis-ease.
Today, I proclaim everlasting love, eternal peace.

Maybe I need to say thank you to the man who hurt me for inspiring an
accelerated spiritual growth...

Today I claim a healing.
Ashay

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

The Sounds
I Make

by Paz Paulsen-Sacks

Come close Baby.
This ain’t no bear trap,

this ain’t no jail cell
‘cause I take no prisoners.

I swallow whole.
I invite you to my shrine
and all the rituals I design,
and all these mountains you can climb,
and all these waves you can ride.
I got the tongue that burns,
and the kiss that scars,

56 Model: Eebony Browne / Photos by Christopher Holter

Black Love American Style

and the touch that unchains,
and the arms that reclaim
your soul from hell.
I can fly to the ceiling
and fall on your dimension:
No strings attached,
no net to catch us
in our Temple of Love

where Orishas of Origin and Orifice
accept our offering
of our two bodies.
Naked as the day
God made us shine
for the first time.
So come close.
Hold me tight.
As we create.
And listen to
the sounds I make.

57

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

You can apotheosize in my embrace.
You can baptize in my blaze.

You can explore each emotion as it emerges.
And you can lose yourself in this unity.
Just you and me.

And you can grab my body and close your eyes.
And you can elevate and uprise.

And you can laugh and have some fun,
‘cause we ain’t hurting anyone.

So feel yourself sacred.
Feel yourself initiate.

And be atoned
in the sounds I make.

Each move you make is a sacrament.
Each vibration you conjure is a miracle.
Each touch of our bodies is a godsend.

Give me all of you.
So we can consecrate.

So we can gyrate.
So we can masturbate.
No more repression.
No more depression.
No more oppression.
I’m tired of being good.
I’m tired of succumbing.
I’m tired of inhibition.
I’m tired of not cuming.

So let’s change the world.
Let’s be Gods again.

Model: Keno Mapp / Photo by Jim Dennis 58

Black Love American Style

Let’s abandon Eden
and eat freely from the tree.

‘cause any price is worth it
when there’s so much to awake.

And we’ll be guided
by the sounds I make.

You make sounds too.
The sound of devotion.
The sound of motion.

The sound of ocean.
The sound of breeze.
The sound of trees.

The sound of qi.
Titillating with each joy.
Bringing us out of the void.
Arousing us from hell.
Delivering us from the shell.
The sounds I make don’t discriminate
when I have my Story to tell.

So gather round the campfire.
Spill all your desires.

Ain’t nothing left to anticipate,
but I think it’s time to emancipate

and not be afraid.
Don’t back down,

just salivate
and celebrate
the sounds I make.

Model: Eebony / Photo by Christopher Holter 59

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

Hot Little
SchoolyYard Rhyme

Intro: While talking to the peoples on KMEL radio kicking it with Punany
supporter DAVEY D (with his sexy ass), upon being asks to read “The Head
Doctor” and hearing the backlash from an appalled mother who was in the
car with her teenage children ... who she was certain were not ready for
such discussion and who promptly accused me of some moral violation for
saying, if you are giving head....use a condom....I recalled a rhyme I learned
at Elmhurst Junior High, East Oakland, California...

It’s not nice to push a girl up against the wall
Pull down her education
Stick in your reputation
To increase the population
Of the young generation
Nine months of heartache
Three weeks of pain
Two days in the hospital
with a baby to claim
Like I’ve said before
The father was a bastard
The mother was a whore
Junior would not be here
If the rubber hadn’t tore

The author is unknown. Material like this simply appears on school grounds,
often typed and distributed like and underground news letters. Your chil-
dren will more than likely not tell you about such things. Don’t be one of
those crying parents in the doctors office talking about, “I didn’t even know
she was having sex!”

60

Black Love American Style

The Whore Who
My Bleeds
Blood Type

by Ghetto Girl Blue

Where is my thief?
Where is the gang-banger?
Where is the hype?
Give me the whore
Who bleeds my blood type!

You called me to say
There is no way you can associate with Punany.

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Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

I don’t know you like that,
in fact
Our punanies are just about
the only thing we have in common, see? so...
So, I wonder
if a back street ever knew your feet?
A back seat, your ass?
When you can sweet talk
a shamed brotha
into sparing your virginity
from his primal desire,
then suddenly,
like Jekyll to Hyde
he has
a change of heart
pinning you,
pissing in you,
then kissing you....
and back again
his twisted mind spins,
nursing the wounds
of your ripped apart heart
and bleeding punany...
But you still find a brand new start,

It is the Power of Punany.

When you can find sleep enough
To wake you for school
though your crack baby sister screams all night
and you’re your crack head parents’ plans and dreams
never come true, for the four of you,

The Punany Poets Live at The Crucible, Washington, DC, 2008 / Photo by C. T. Smith

62

Black Love American Style

But you make a way for a brand new day
because that is what real women do

It is the Power of Punany.

A quick visit to the clinic
your cousin said would not be so bad,

Spread open in stir-ups
the sucking, the yanking
fazing only your mission
to continue your education

but then,

they didn’t get it all...

When you can hold a would be baby
(a glob of blood)

in the palm of your hand
without shedding a tear
grounding yourself in yourself

without fear
but with hope

and passion
live without regret
It is the Power of Punany.

As if the STD didn’t burn enough
you tell your man
you got it
and that
he gave it to you

63

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

not once but thrice getting nice
with a mail order bride in the making
Now you have some shit, even Penicillin will miss
and they have to cut and remove
so much of what was you
before you even make babies
But you take another woman’s gifts
and raise them
as if they were your own

It is the Power of Punany.

When your Doctor, Doctor needs to get ghost
after 10 years discovering you just don’t fit the bill
He is moving up in life, no longer needs a wife
at least not you, what can you do
when love is not true?
Yet twice you bore his seed
You have nothing for your children to eat
just listen when their bellies grumble
as he plays with your head
All the while there’s another in his bed
Yet, you believe him when he fixes his mouth to say
“We’ll be together again someday.”
So off you ship your only kids
Now all that you had is his...

But you find the blessing in the pain
over and over again
becoming the woman God intended...

It is the Power of Punany.

When your face can be the canvas
for a man’s grief and rage,

64

Black Love American Style

Yet you smile and stay versatile
whenever you grace the stage
because the purest love today
is rewarded for the gifts no man

can take away

It is the Power of Punany.

These are but a few voices of Punany fame
cast members of this natural life
not preaching...
just teaching...
and sharing.

Caring with hard reality, raw honesty
for truth does not apologize

She is like the Power of Punany.

Punany is but a metaphor, the safer sex, a cover
For the LTD’s (Love’s Transmitted Diseases)
Infecting our well being and our health

Latex signifies respect for others and of self.
It offers protection from those,
who would make us their hoes

you know, the haters, business or otherwise
who reek havoc in our lives

You say you won’t stand for Punany!
You better let your Punany stand for you.

it is the most powerful thing about you,
no matter how many degrees you get
or how many Halo Mary’s you do.

When you can forgive yourself
for all the wrong you do,

then turn around and forgive those

65

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

who have done wrong to you
you had better understand my friend
It is the power of Punany
that pulls the hopeless through!

So, you won’t let me into his coffee shop?
to spit knowledge about the plague
sick, yet smiling, confidently bullshitting
his public into thinking there’s some cure?
truly you both are above Punany’s honesty.

How many thugs and video hoes can
Punany bring to the clinic?
How many women, living with men
who do not hit the spot will contend with
messages that do not address
issues they live with every day?

Sister, Sister
I’m doing big things with back street dreams
Hollywood poet superstar
donning Ebonics like it’s a lucrative fad
With big funds and love coming from
deadly sports stars, creeping LA Thrillers

What do money don’t prove?
Dead man walking
Dead woman laying
Dead people grinning
False hope giving
See my smiling cheeks?
forgive the metaphor,
Believe me family value people
I ain’t sick no more!

Live performance, The Crucible, Photo by C. T. Smith

66

Black Love American Style

Creep with me but
Don’t bring your dirty deeds to my stage

Everyone will lay down for her
But who will stand for Punany?

The poets will free her soul!
Stone throwers, merging Christian ideologies with fear

You are still welcome here, in Punany’s house
(cause yall know ho’s don’t turn anybody away)

Let the Back Street virgin spit diversion from this hell!
Cast the first stone and go Tell it on the Mountain
over the Hollywood Hills and everywhere
Here I stand; East Oakland Jezebel
Telling you how it T. I. S., just how Punany bleeds
you will never silence me!
The stones you throw may make holes in my soul

but believe blood will trail, like soldiers through trenches
to a battle field where sex and death
face off in this war for life

Yea, victory ain’t always a pretty thing.
death is fresh out of gospel hymns to rock into your MIC

Jesus can fix it, but some folk just ain’t wit it
They say, you must to believe it to receive it

but most folks can’t conceive it
from where they sit in back streets
dangling off a needles on dirty motel sheets

Trying to pay their monthly bills
or just losing themselves in the concrete hell

where Jesus’ footprints leave no trail

So, are you still on a mission to save the saved?
I haven’t heard from you since

that night you censored my poetry
but pimped my brand for ticket sales

67

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

I came to your Holy ground
to preach about sin to the righteous
to open the blind eyes so the righteous might get wise
rise up off their high horses and walk

the road Jesus died for
GGB came to tell them high hifalutin’ Christians

putting on Jesus like a new choir robe
speaking his name as if it were a weapon

rather than an invitation to love...
Playing a guilty man’s game

to hide the shame of not being about
your father’s business.

Naw sister, I am not with this.
Where is my thief?

Where is the gang-banger?
Where is the hype?
Give me the whore

Who bleeds my blood type

The Punany Poets Live at The Crucible, Washington, DC, 2008 / Photo by Carroll T. Smith

68

Black Love American Style

every time

you think
about sex...

Think
about

HIV.

HIPINC.ORG

Artists Fighting AIDS Creatively Through the Arts

Photo by Dano / Model: Barb Wire

69

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

Grunge Girl
by Ghetto Girl Blue

Wrapped in tender White skin
blending where she fit in-side the urban SF blues

she understood the plight of the Black woman,
more than any Black woman knew

or any Mulatto dame cared or to dare to.

“Grunge Girl” by Jessica Holter

70

Black Love American Style

She,White woman sing like souldress
for she knows this - ain’t no room for mockery
and ain’t no place for to joke its
a sin and a shame to fall in love
with poor and black
when you are American in fact,
especially when you are American and white,
there is no light.

There is no Harriet to pave a track for her to take a train to.
Who besides Uhuru, would embrace her lust for men who
had nothing more than flesh and promises to give?
And what manner of White woman would choose to live
amongst the cursed black skin worth more to America
in the pen than as independent men?

Two black children born of her womb
One black dead daddy in a pine tomb...
and still she represented the pedestal after all
Like Black women, she befalls only loneliness.

No San Francisco grunge could Cover Girl
Not because she had a choice as even women of color do
but because she was emotionally fit,
with pride in tact, when she decided to study a Black Man from
up close and through guilt by association, give it up - trust.

At first a brilliant student of musicology,
Now, just the mother of fatherless children to keep well
who do not represent a block, a click, a cell
just another urban female,
giving only what she can sing and tell through her blues

Yeah, now she’s just another piece, on the ghetto block
Expelling brilliant lessons from thin pink lips,
that bellow Bessie’s pain, like a souldress of the blues
White, but still, calling home the Negro troupes.
Yeah, I suppose you can say, she understood.

71

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

Soft Lines

by T Calloway

soft lines
are easy
to cross

72

Black Love American Style

Hotter Than LOVE the poet, Krystal Hill
by T Calloway Photo by Carol Smith

July

Scarcely through the noon hour,
she needs another shower

She is hot.

Tracking the concrete of Motor City pride,
looking for a boi to turn her out for a while,
Cool her down with waters, only the educated tongue can bring

Her desire is hotter than July.

Bartender, pour something cold in her rainbow cup
so she can forget home and become resistant to time
In a staff bathroom stall;

line reaching for the door
hands gripping locks
The boi brings eye showers

She quakes like California

Coming home to him, she is cool.

73

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

The Full
Moon Stage

by Jessica Holter

she only bleeds when the moon is full
takes to the stage
spilling her rage
through unforgivable psalms
pressing the shaft of her microphone
between dancing fingers
and dampened palms
on fire for a lover
she can only recover
on the full moon stage
where her pain
becomes a pleasure to engage

74

Black Love American Style

Masturbation

Masturbation is not only a safe alternative to sexual
intercourse, it is also a great opportunity to get to know
the magic of your own body.
With the assistance of your own hands, sterilized toys,
and your creative imagination, your body can take you
to places the unskilled partner can not even dream of.
But be careful! Some toys can be so powerful, mastur-
bation can quickly become an addiction, or a preference
for achieving orgasm. ( I have yet to meet a penis or
a tongue that can emulate the strength and precision
of “The Rabbit” or the “Hitachi Magic Wand”!) Mu-
tual Masturbation is another great alternative to inter-
course. In this self stimulating scenario, live visual stimuli
of another person sharing the experience with you, adds
the human touch that machines can not duplicate. But
beware, sharing toys is not advised so BYOT. - GGB
A PSA from A.F.A.C.T. Artists Fighting AIDS Creatively
Through the Arts.

Model: Eebony Browne
Photo by Dayna Gaspard

75

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

The
Second

Sin

by Gheto Girl Blue

So,
I heard you had a sweet tooth.
You are a health conscious
Hard working
Loyal Black Man
In need of a natural Black chick
One who is 100% freak
with no preservatives necessary
as my contents were designed
for immediate consumption

See,
Beneath this world
of war and destruction
there is but one remedy
my pussy
She being the very essence of me
I am compelled by nature’s command
to wash you sins away with the blood that flows within me

Photo Compliments of For’Play Productions

76

But first, let me tell you what she needs.

She needs a man who is stained with her scent, tongue and soul
As down to work for the good of his family, as he is to fuck
So confident is he, that he never needs to
feed from the scraps of any man’s table
whether he be white or black
For the foundation of his story is built
Not in the shame of slavery
but in the healing power of the stripes on his back

You are the weakness in my knees
The knowledge in God’s forbidden trees

You are the song my pussy sings
When my sugar walls sweeten your tongue

I want to hear the ancestors’s cry
“Let freedom ring.”

It is no accident the way my love fits your dick
for though we are heaven bound
our fucking is hell sent

for my one true heart burns like fire and brimstone
at the mere thought of your touch

If heaven is a place of purity and light
I will forever close my eyes
to her hypocritical lies
For no righteous deity

could ever conceive of mortal man
the conviction to abstain
from the sobering potion
that burns like hell fire
between my thighs

See with your mouth
not with your eyes

Take a forbidden bite
of nature’s ripest fruit...

between my thighs

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

Model: Eebony / Photo by Dayna Gaspard

I am More
Than My Hair

by Ghetto Girl Blue

I am more than my desire; more than I even aspire to be
more than they told me I could be. I am me.

78

Black Love American Style

Magnificently Black and proud to be
I am a malignant cancer on their self esteem

reminding them of what they once were
Gods, goddesses and kings, protected by my crown
from even the blazing sun, I once won the respect of even

Asians, who now sell me hair in indoor flea
markets that prey on what I am told to believe I should be.

But, despite what they might perceive, I am more than my hair.
Why can’t they comprehend this?

I am more than my hair, and I don’t need extensions

Don’t give me horse hair. There is nothing synthetic about me.
I am human. I feel, I bleed, I shout, I cuss, I eat, I drink,
I doubt, I fuck, I Love

I am more than what this shallow capitalistic world is about
my nappiness descends from heaven above.

Human hair? Human Hair? From a real live Asian gal?
Why did you come in here to make me feel down
‘bout my nappy crown? Oh Lord, the despair!

Who done lied and told you we need to cover up our hair?
This Black girl finds no pride in hiding ‘neath a crown of fear!

Besides, I ain’t seen no bald headed Asian gals running around here.
So you must be trying to sell me dead locks

I don’t fear my nappiness,
it is you

who fears my dread locks

Model: Eebony / Photo by Dayna Gaspard

79

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

Punany Dancers pose for mock photo shoot
HBO Real Sex Filming, 1999

The Stud and
the Scorpio

T. Calloway

I try not to look but she is beautiful.
I try not to look, only to feel.
My Scorpio eyes have a will of their own.
My Scorpio eyes penetrate.
They will her love into existence.
She looks deep into me,
as if she wants to know me,
finding only what I leave there to be found.
For all I know is the men I have known
...and so
all I can see is her lust for
the throbbing pulse in the center of me,
but I am projecting.
My breasts are for milking.
Her breasts are still sensitive,

80

Black Love American Style

perfect, chocolate mounds of nerves
reaching into perfect puckered kisses.

My hips have opened,
shifted, pushed life through,
and settled into place again

by the science of God.

The skin of my belly
is scarred in remembrance
of my greatest sacrifice and achievement.

Still when I saw myself
in the aftermath of childbirth,
I could not help but to think it was a sign
of my painful sexual experiences
as a femme, subservient, survivor.

Like braille, they trail
a kaleidoscope of squiggly colored lines
that stretch from each hip bone down through
the hair on my vagina, making permanent parts,
deep scars, so sensitive I can not zip too tight.

I fell in love one day
when she kissed them.
(The man who put them there
who loves his only son

did not kiss them.)

I remember my own innocence
when I touch her smooth brown skin.

The stud has not been victimized
her pussy has not been raped

The stud is stronger than many men
and struggles to comprehend the Scorpio

She doesn’t understand me.
She has not been where I have been.

Photo, compliments of For’Play Productions

81

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

She is not an artist;
She knows and loves
money and power
she respects the system
and has been educated
by it’s wisdom
in the ways of men

I long to escape it
all together,
The Institution.

I want to go to a place
where it is safe
to be owned,
but she is not a man
she does not want
to own me
only to love me;

(I am not sure
I know how to let
anyone do that.)

I want this woman,
her gentility
her mutuality
her body

Photo, compliments of For’Play Productions

82

Black Love American Style

her tongue
her soft breaths
on my flesh
her sound
her scent
her womanhood
all about me;

But, I want her to be a man.

I really don’t care to see another dick
unless it is strapped to my lady’s hips.

I want to teach her
like the slave teaches the master,

how to dominate
Give her the pieces to the puzzle,

the rules to breaking me apart
and help her re-assemble me.

To experience the freedom
of trust when it is complete,
leaves the Scorpio without speech,
of truth she dares not speak,
though her compelling moans

tell that the hunt is on
she is the stud’s willing prey.

Predator knows not her victim,
but loves her in spite of herself

(Victims are forced by survival to know the hunter.)

They do not come face-to-face.

The Scorpio stands behind lust, spies on game
finding weaknesses,
she devours them,
Ingests them

empowers them and serves them back
as lessons and confessions to will confidence

83

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

The stud infects her with her gratitude
and simply fixes her short comings
without a woman’s attitude

Like the rabid beast the Scorpio keeps coming
in the woman’s game,

wanting to be the wife,
but ever desperate to be

the whore
delivering
uncompromising
fantasies.

I try not to look at her but she is beautiful
I try not to look, only to feel.
My Scorpio eyes are singed
in lesbian fires and made blind.

I like the woman’s game.
No, I love IT.
I WANT IT.

I WILL IT.
I am convinced,
I will master and retire it.

I learn as I seek.
I relish as I am tasted,
power up when I am tested

And we each, teach,
learning from one another what it means

to be a woman, and to love one.
Living free from man’s domination
and society’s interpretation of us.

Photo, compliments of For’Play Productions

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Black Love American Style

“She Venus” by Jessica Holters

Booty
by Ghetto Girl Blue

Her hair like a black moon, her lips like ripened plums, her hips as big as
the ships they floated over on. She sailed their minds to places only pimps
can live, where tricks can only visit on payday. Yes, if I told you all that, you
probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.

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Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

They fell to the ground in awe and amazement drawing pictures of her great
labia, wings spread like a giant butterfly hovering above the African Earth...
They had to take the booty, don’t you see Jack? In fact they were taken so
aback by Eve’s monstrous apple bottom, they had to take her home and
put her on the track. But you wouldn’t believe an urban purrin’ kitty cat.
Yeah, I know you think white boys just can not pimp like that!

I mean, if I told you she was minding her tribe, when they saw the
snatch and bum, were blinded by the size of the ancient loin, and got lost
in the jungles of their own greed for coin, plotting to plant their demonic
seed, calculating just how to make the booty bleed, you probably would
not hear me.

If I told you a fact, like she became a famous circus act, men and
women came from far and wide to see that lovely backside, working her
on the track and her back, till she infectious sex and alcohol, you would
just dismiss me for a more comfortable call.

If I said some pirates-turned-pimp squandered all the booty in a
little bit of 5 years, before crowds of the envious who only offered taunts
and jeers, and cared not of the lost maidens fears, but when they were no
longer caught up in the allusion she had no choice but to turn to prostitution,
you would probably would not hear.

If I told you they pimped her to death, and when her soul was gone,
they took it far too far, they cut her pussy off and put in a jar - yes, they
sliced the great butterfly and put it in a jar! (Oh, what twisted minds can
conceive!), they put it, her brain, and her bones on display, so that even
her soul could not rest, then, maybe then you can perceive

But listen young brothers, and listen well, listen little sisters to the
tale I tell, for what I speak is true. When your booty is up for trade or sale,
you are letting them pimp your virtue. Go head, be hot to trot, selling an
image of something you are not, bouncing for dollars and a video spot, but
when the lustful demand ceases to be hot, you could end up just like The
Venus Hottentot!

(Saartjie Baartman also known as “The Hottentot Venus”: In 1810, Sara Baartman, a 20 year-old
woman of South Africa, was taken from her village in the Eastern Cape by (you know who) to
London where she was exhibited like a wild beast in the circus, theaters and night clubs. She
was kept in a cage, trained by a circus trainer until the novelty wore off. She was hustled in
France for a while, then was forced into prostitution. She died in 1815. After she died probably
of Syphilis and alcoholism, her genitals were removed and preserved in a bottle and exhibited
in the Muses d’Homme in Paris for all to see. Nelson Mandela finally forced the return of her
remains in 2002.)

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Black Love American Style

Triple Play
by Jessica Holter

He was like a wet dream, bleeding love juice on my sheets, and all I
could think about was him making my love come down, come shine or come
rain; to keep it plain. Most of the day Jude, my man, was gone, at work in
the street; I think he hustled, or at least dabbled, in the laws of ill repute,
to be honest, it did not matter as long as he kept me astute and shrewd
about my comings. I never planned on having to fight for his loving - still
there she was, a tiny eitsy, beatsy piece, a mere morsel of misguided love,
there to fill his wantings.

I found her in the same club where they met. My desire was to
scare her into regret. But as she danced, I was put into a trance and can-
celed my plans to beat her ass. Instead I decided to take her as mine, she
was, after all, family. I brought her home, washed her down and gave her
a douche, hoping it was enough to secure a space for my tongue and my
heart. She was a tiny eitsy, beatsy piece of morsel to toy with and I didn’t
blame him at all. But that dumbs ass man actually had a problem with me
getting a piece of that ass - who woulda thought? Caught in action, stuck

87

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

on stupid, and still he had the nerve to disagree... the balls of it all were
hard to comprehend so I decided to begin to fill him in:

This is a triple play
you thought you were slick but it’s Okay
The female is hot and I want her as much as you do
Most people probably think I should not be telling this to you,
but would rather me hustle you, do someone behind your back,

(at least my cousin told me that)
But these are the facts, simply and plainly

your woman is mainly
my woman by now so let us share
Bring her into the bedroom where we can both care
for her, stare at her, touch her and lick her
and devour her thirst for whatever.
This is a triple play, to the man, I said
You thought you were getting some on the side, but instead,

I bring her to our bed
make room so that we can get in tune

with whatever we may both desire
Your love is mine and I aspire to take you to places

where a man can retire
and remember and love the memories of the life he lived

I am not your enemy, my love, I am you wife
I am not your enemy, my love, I am your friend

We all get along great now
Delilah lives in the guest house.
It is small, cute, quaint and just right
for a tiny, little, eisty, beatsy morsel of love.

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Black Love American Style

No Babies I was invited to a
in Babylon party. Actually, I wasn’t go-
ing to bring her, because she
by Kenita James was trying to be a singer,
and would do anything to
get play. Model Honey Taylor / Photo by Vanessa Faulkner

The host said he was
a producer, jus’ like every
young brotha’s claim, but
he made ends off dog fights
and taking bets on the ball
game.

All the other women
were gone, by the time the
real games began and we too
should have been gone, but
honestly, I was trying to see,
if I could make some ends
off tricks without trickin’ but
the bitch I brought to the
party was definitely slippin’.
That dude called me a hater,
when I tried to stop her
from getting played, “Don’t
hate,” he said, “just because
she’s givin’ it away.” Then he
excused me from the party,
saying I was tripping unnec-
essarily, my girl wasn’t going
to get fucked, at least not by
him today, because he was
too high to get hard anyway.
He said he was just putting

89

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

on a show. That the admission was a watch on the coffee table, a chain I
just for grown folks and since I was smoothly lifted, right off a dudes neck
only sixteen, I should go. while he was laughing, and a bottle
of Hennessy, left in the cabinet, since
I looked at my girl, slouch- the gamblers were, what you could
ing on the couch and turning a safely call “distracted”.
little green, but, I thought, he’s
right, I need to cut myself out of I also took a weed stash
this scene. She was getting kind in hopes it would erase this crazy
of fucked up, I said, “Girl forget episode of blaxsploitation from my
the come up, you are just getting mental cache. Still, I couldn’t aban-
turned out!” She look at me, barely don her disgusting ass. I put her
focused, though her message, im- clothes and nasty panties in my bag,
peccably clear, there wasn’t any an calculated swiftly what I would say
place for virtue here. She said to the producer spring her.
“No doubt. That’s was the game
is about, and slurred, “I ain’t got “Look Brotha,” I told him,
shame, you betta step up on your “she’s just trying to be a singer, and
come up and play the game or get thought if she did what you wanted
out of my way, cuz, ain’t no babies you would put her on. Give her a
in Babylon today.” break, would you want somebody to
do your sister this way?” But all he
A few more shots of Hen- could see was me, crashing his party.
nessy, a drop of E, some grass, and So from my duffel, I pulled a double
she was crawling on all fours with edged blade, and cut him, only once,
a Rottweiler in her ass! for emphasis, making my point so to
speak. Those brothas got real soft,
Damn! I couldn’t believe real quick, apologized and sent us on
this business, an I’m saying, she our way. That Rot was another story
was trippin’! I didn’t want to wit- he barked and growled and let out a
ness, the degrading exhibition, I howl when I took that pussy away.
had only heard about in mention Oh well, another time, another day, I
of the Donald Goines’ collection. really had to be on my way, I had jew-
elry to sell, to help my momma with
I went to the bathroom to the bills and well, another high.
throw up. If this was being grown
up, I didn’t want any parts of it. I I headed for my car with the
commenced to gathering our shit. naked chick behind me, and when
I got our purses, drinking glasses, inside it, she was high no more but
rolling paper, and anything with a rather soberly tried to explained
DNA trace, she could use to con- her state, saying, she was trying to
nect me to a case. While I was at embrace hip-hop at it’s core, and if
it, I collected some of their shit, a that’s what the boys wanted, she was
ring, a dude took off to finger her,

90

Black Love American Style

down, “like two flats on a dump
truck,” she was down.
“Yeah you are down, I said.
Can you get up?”
She looked at me inquisitively as
if she did not comprehend this,
“Baby, nasty is... as nasty does, and
you are one nasty bitch. Some folks
might call you a whore, but I am
the one that got rich, see? I let the
diamonds on the man’s ring bling in
the stereo light. I was getting mine
while you fucked a fucking dog for
fucking free!
I looked at the diamonds
on my wrist and fingers gleaming
on the steering wheel, she looked
at me and then at my hand on
the wheel and grimaced with self
loathing, I suspected and a little
sorrow.
Feeling like a bit if a “Mack”
and that I could safely dismiss her
intelligence, I asked the bitch, “So
uh, check this out, what are you
doing tomorrow?” I could tell she
liked it, the way she smiled, with
light in her eyes, like I was her sav-
ior pimp.
“Nothing daddy, exactly
what did you have in mind?”

Live performance, Miami

91

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

Women Models Eebony Brown & Jessica Holter
Photo by Dayna Gaspard

in the Field
by Ghetto Girl Blue

Oh Lordy, Lordy
Look’a dere, look’a dere!
The hoes is locked in da tool shed
The Fix-it man took sick, and dead

Momma got a bad root, conjr’n up good luck.
and Massa Sam gone mad, done stole our buck

Miss Missy up’n lef’ right after that buck
dey say she neva wuz quite right in da head

Said she made that buck give her some love
right there in there in the tool shed
How them negras did hee hee hee
drinkin’ hooch, stompin they’ feet
had them a mighty time
til da moon shined three

Dey say old master bout bust a gut,
Caught that buck and strung him up

for the entire world to see!
Made a pac’ ‘tween him and the devil
to keep that buck chil’ren from eva gettin’ free.

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Black Love American Style

Photo Compliments of For’Play Productions

What Part of it
Didnt

You Understand
by Branden Pernell
and I slipped the “Jim” on,
and soon as we had contact she said it...
“Oh, no!”
but I was like, still diggin’ deep
she never said another peep
and I wasn’t trippin’
‘cause I was fa’ sho
goin’ fo’ mine

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Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

strange thing was,
when I implied as to her being satisfied
she quietly but sternly
replied absurdities
telling me to leave at once
I sighed, “...Whadafuck...”
and proceeded to pack my grip, shit,
“I got mine, what I’m trippin for?”
what I’m trippin’ for?

but then it hit me
like a Tyson blow, it hit me so hard
the realization of 1+1 equalin’ 2
but 2-1
(one being the variable representin’
her when she said, “no”)
can’t still
equal 2
if it do they call that “forcible entry”
if that’s what I did then it’s a bid
right in the clink
shit that stink
think B...think...

so I called her up to apologize
I ain’t lying I had tears in my eyes
‘cause I was scared she was going to tell

but she wouldn’t talk to me
wasn’t trying to hear
what I was talkin’ about
wouldn’t even take my calls
time wore on and I got the balls
to see how she was doin’
only to find out, her life I had ruined

94

see, apparently she couldn’t take it, that I took it
so she decided no one else would do the same
she left a note saying that
in this world there’s too much pain
that she could no longer bare
how it wasn’t fair
how folks could take things
precious things
most intimate things
against another’s will
she said, “Don’t feel bad for me,
‘cause I’m now out of the inferno,
in a place where there’s no strife
and tension’s at a low
a place where you never hear a woman
called a “bitch” or a “ho”
and above all else, a place where
“no” still means “no”.

the note was found
next to the empty bottle of sleepin’ pills
next to the empty Old Grand Dad
next to several photos of herself on the dresser
next to the bed
where she lay dead
‘cause I let that testosterone rule my head
both of them

The guilt I felt was too much,
so I turned myself in
now I’m payin’ for my sin
in the state pen
for the crime of rape
now I’m at stake
‘cause, with my frame

Photo Compliments of For’Play Productions

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

I know my ass they will try
to take from me
going to try to make me
the prison B--ioch
if I had only waited
until she said “yes”
I wouldn’t be in the mess
that I’m now in,
and she’d still be here
and we’d again
have the opportunity for intercourse
but all I can do now
is express my deepest remorse
and take things real slow
and always remember
no still means “NO”

Branden Pernell, Founding Member, The Punany Poets
Photo form HBO Filming 1999

96

Black Love American Style

The Feast of
Saint Hood

by T Calloway

Marcus regretted it
before he even came
but he came just the same
cussing and jerking
himself into tears
as his emotions crashed against
his Christian convictions
and slaughtered his commitment to his wife

97

Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

in anger with himself
for wanting to know this carnal truth
he slammed himself harder and harder
against his lover’s shaft
stroking himself
wanting to release
wanting for this night too
to become and old sin
sinking deeper down low

all the while
praying inside for redemption
but as always
The Beast Lover could read his mind

“God doesn’t handle matters of the flesh, Saint Hood.
those matters belong to the devil himself”
the voice of The Beast Lover
like shards of glass
cut that nasty truth into the man’s ear

at close range
whiskers scratching

Marcus wanted to hear the other talk
the freaky stuff
that brought him to it quick

the taunting psycho sessions
brought him down to a low place
building it back up took time
time he did not have tonight

his wife had been acting suspicious lately
Thursday, she brought a gay man’s porn home
saying that it “turned her on”
as if the hairless men in man on man action
would force some kind of confession
it had been hard not to get hard
but he managed

98

Black Love American Style

that was just last week
she had asked more than once
where her enemas were going too
he dismissed her
“you really need to develop a healthier weight loss program”
said Marcus knowing any commentary about her weight
would instantly end any conversation

but Marcus would not give The Beast Lover
the satisfaction of knowing that his wife was suspicious
he wouldn’t give The Beast Lover
the satisfaction of ever knowing him at all
Marcus was there for the jizz
Marcus was there for the feast
San Francisco was the best place in the bay
to leave dirty dishes

“oh, so you don’t want it”

“no, I do”

“so which is it little bitch? no or you do”

“I’m not a bitch”

“what?

“I mean” I’m not in the mood for
mind games tonight
I have to go”

“be my bitch for a while
and then you can go”

in silence Marcus turned over
facing his lover
but looking off and deep into the night
at the sky
getting dark so early now
the birds were going home

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Punany: The Hip Hop Psalms II

is was nearly 7:00
he should have been home by 6:30
if he had been at the gym
he lived an hour from this place in the Fillmore
where suburbanites came to really fuck
to let go without being forced to
clothe or feed something
He lay on his back
spread his legs
but it was his mind The Beast Lover wanted

in this place he was not Marcus P. de Llaney
the banker, husband and father of three
here, he was simply “Saint Hood”

all his wife had come to represent
was babies, bills and bad attitudes

I’ll just be late, he decided
so Mrs. de Llaney would have to make herself
understand that he had been at the gym
yep, he agreed with himself
letting his mind return to the moment
to come back into the meek studio apartment
above the bar where he had met his man

damn, he liked the way that sounded

if only.

“that’s right little banker boy, be my bitch
“open your legs”
“open your legs wider”
“lift them to your chest”
“let me see your man-pussy”
“make it pop”
Marcus popped it for him one time
“yea that’s good”
“you look a little red Saint Hood”
you blushing?”

100