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Desiree Pondt - Black Power with My Dress On. lyrics

The Harlem Renaissance gave was a cultural explosion. It was the time of black voices to be heard and also a force to be reckon with, voices that ranged from authors, poets, and musicians. This cultural explosion, opened the flood gates to more black artists and hence forth this began the “Black Arts” era. Black arts was formed during the time of the black power movement, a movement where blacks were accepting their color and was not afraid to express self-admiration. One great thing that you do notice is the numbers of female authors were starting to increase with focusing on s**ism, racism, black love, d**, and other issues. Shedding light on the bold but unheard voice, “the black woman”. Authors such as Nikki Giovanni, Sonia Sanchez, Carolyn Rodgers and many more gave people of other races and gender a look into something they never really took keen to notice.

(1966)Born to be Black-

Homecoming by Sonia Sanchez

i have been a

way so long

once after college

i returned tourist

style to watch all

the n******gs k**ing

themselves with

3 for ones

with needles



not support

their stutters.

now woman

i have returned

leaving behind me

all those hide and

seek faces peeling

with freudian dreams.

this is for real.



my beauty.


i have learned it

ain't like they say

in the newspapers.

childhood remembrances are always a drag
if you're Black
you always remember things like living in Woodlawn
with no inside toilet
and if you become famous or something
they never talk about how happy you were to have
your mother
all to yourself and
how good the water felt when you got your bath
from one of those
big tubs that folk in chicago barbecue in
and somehow when you talk about home
it never gets across how much you
understood their feelings
as the whole family attended meetings about Hollydale
and even though you remember
your biographers never understand
your father's pain as he sells his stock
and another dream goes
And though you're poor it isn't poverty that
concerns you
and though they fought a lot
it isn't your father's drinking that makes any difference
but only that everybody is together and you
and your sister have happy birthdays and very good
and I really hope no white person ever has cause
to write about me
because they never understand
Black love is Black wealth and they'll
probably talk about my hard childhood
and never understand that
all the while I was quite happy

(1967) Black love for the Black WOMAN.

For Sistuhs Wearin' STraight Hair

i never could keep my edges and kitchen
even after
supercool/straighterPerm had burned
whiteness onto my scalp
my edges and kitchen didnt
ever get the message that they
was not supposed to go back home.
oh yeah. edges and kitchens
will tell that they know where
they nat'chal home is at!

Poem for Some Black Women

i am lonely.
all the people i know
i know too well

there was comfort in that
at first but now
we know each other miseries
too well.
we are
lonely women, who spend time waiting for
occasional flings

we live with fear. we are lonely.
we are talented, dedicated, well read
we are lonely.

(1968) Realization

125th Street and Abomey

“Head bent, walking through snow
[Lyrics from: https:/]
I see you Seboulisa
printed inside the back of my head
like marks of the newly wrapped akai
that kept my sleep fruitful in Dahomey
and I poured on the red earth in your honor
those ancient parts of me
most precious and least needed
my well-guarded past
the energy-eating secrets
I surrender to you as libation
mother, illuminate my offering
of old victories
over men over women over my selves
who has never before dared
to whistle into the night
take my fear of being alone
like my warrior sisters
who rode in defense of your queendom
disguised and apart
give me the woman strenght
of tongue in this cold season.


who's gonna make all
that beautiful blk / rhetoric
mean something.
i mean
who's gonna take the words
blk/ is / beautiful
and make more of it
than blk/ capitalism.
u dig?
i mean
like who's gonna
take all the young/ long/ haired
natural/ brothers and sisters
and let them
grow till
all that is
impt is them
moving in straight/
revolutionary/ lines
toward the enemy
(and we know who that is)
like. man.
who's gonna give our young
blk/ people new heroes
(instead of catch/ phrases)
(instead of cad/ ill/ acs)
(instead of pimps)
(instead of wite whores)
(instead of d**)
(instead of new daces)
(instead of chit/ter/lings)
(instead of of a 35c bottle of ripple)
(instead of quick/ f**s in the hall/ way
of wite/ america's mind)
like. this. is an S O S
me. calling........



i wanta say just gotta say something
bout those beautiful beautiful beautiful outasight
black men
with they afros
walking down the street
is the same ol danger
but a brand new pleasure

sitting on stoops, in bars, going to offices
running numbers, watching for their whores
preaching in churches, driving their hogs
walking their dogs, winking at me
in their fire red, lime green, burnt orange
royal blue tight tight pants that hug
what i like to hug

jerry butler, wilson pickett, the impressions
temptations, mighty mighty sly
don't have to do anything but walk
on stage
and i scream and stamp and shout
see new breed men in breed alls
dashiki suits with shirts that match
the lining that compliments the ties
that smile at the sandals
where dirty toes peek at me
and i scream and stamp and shout
for more beautiful beautiful beautiful
black men with outasight afros

(1969) I AM WOMAN

The Last M.F.

they say,
that i should not use the word
muthaf**a anymo
in my poetry or in any speech i give.
they say,
that i must and can only say it to myself
as the new Black womanhood suggests
a softer self
a more reserved speaking self. they say,
that respect is hard won by a woman
who throws a word like muthaf**a around
and so they say because we love you
throw that word away, Black Woman...
i say,
that i only call muthaf**as, muthaf**as
so no one should be insulted. only
pigs and hunks and negroes who try to divide and
destroy our moves towards liberation.
i say, that i am soft, and you can subpoena my man, put him
on trial, and he will testify that i am
soft in the right places at the right times
and often we are so reserved, i have nothing to say
but they say that this new day
creates a new dawn woman,
one who will listen to Black Men
and so i say
this is the last poem i will write calling
all manners of wites, card-carrying muthaf**as
and all manner of Blacks (negroes too) sweeet
muthaf**as, crazy muthaf**as, lowdown muthaf**as
cool muthaf**as, mad and revolutionary muthaf**as.
But anyhowyou all know just like i do (whether i say
it or not), thers plentty of MEAN muthaf**as out
here trying to do the struggle in and we all know
that none of us can relax until the last m.f's
been done in.

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