Sable Rainbow: Black Artists of Tumblr

fuckyeablackart: Angel of Baltimore by ~KRStyle

Mon, 11 Mar 2013 14:08:19 -0400

Angel of Baltimore by ~KRStyle

spectralwonder: 18 years ago “You look filthy,” yells my Aunt Dragging my resisting body Onto the...

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 18:31:26 -0400

18 years ago

“You look filthy,” yells my Aunt
Dragging my resisting body
Onto the bathtub
She strips me
She starts to scrub
And scrub
Trying to undo
What the sun does that time of year
While my mother says nothing
While my tears run down
Patches of red

13 years ago

“All done,” says my cousin with a grin
I look at my reflection
Into her favorite compact mirror
And see a face covered
In a film of powder
Three shades darker than my own
“Now, you’re not so pretty“
“Just like me”

10 years ago

“Stop playing soccer,” says my father
“You’re starting to look like a village girl”
Sunblock that never worked
Resulted in words that stung
That I understood
That had history

5 years ago

“I look like this because of you,” cries out my cousin
“I’ll marry someone lighter than me”
“So my children won’t suffer”
My uncle looks down
As if apologizing
My aunt cries
As if ashamed

3 years ago

“Why do you keep going into the shade,” asks a friend
I responded immediately
In my mind
I want to be beautiful
I want to be beautiful
I want to be beautiful

Now

“Stop poisoning,” I say to the world
“You’re exquisite,” I say to my cousin
“I want to love you again,” I say to the sun
“Be strong,” I say to myself

cooking lessons.

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 13:30:36 -0400

jellybean-jones:

this isn’t poetry i’m weaving but a painting made of blood

there are no strings of magic that stick to my fingertips. just grease, and sweat, ghosts of what my hands could have done hundreds

thousands of years ago.

my wrists seem alive in the light and but dead in kitchen darkness.

feet away, but distances apart i listen to my mother stir black eye peas over the stove, these tiny faces no more than beans with blinded bruised black eyes.

she soaks the beans in broth for one

                               two

                                three days until they are soft enough to cook and eat

could a recipe for brown girls be written as so?

soak yourself in darkness, one

                                           two

                                           three days until your tongue is rubbery

                                           and dull and your will is soft and mush

                                           and you’re easily to chew, to swallow.

my mother, she stirs and stirs until the beans could melt the moment they touch the inside of your cheek.

i stir and i stir until the corners of my mouth smile without showing sharp teeth. i stir in this kitchen dark, i speak the language of ‘sir’ and ma’am pretending a bag of sand isn’t sinking my voice down into cupboards full of Aunt Jemima pancake mix.

the dialogue of the lady that i was never meant to be.

                                      the blacked eyed peas are finished.

I study the pot—the contrast of the flesh tone of the outer edges and the black of the eye.

pupils dark enough, they couldn’t reflect the pain of my grandmothers, my grandfathers.

these very same blacked eyed peas that sent my fourteen year old great- grandfather from his home in georgia to a train to kentucky, from a white mob itching to see a child hang from a tree.

i close my eyes.

The secret, my mother tells me, is patience that is how you get the perfect black eyed pea.

of all my flesh, of my all voice, of all my body. slice me apart and patience will never be curling in the marrow of my bones.

i open my eyes,

teach me how to cook love, mother. teach me how to cook love for people who only want to feast on hate.

my wrists may feel dead in this kitchen darkness but i want to learn.

Got a laptop? smart phone? tablet? want to buy vinyl prints of my artwork? You can. Like seriously. Im not gonna tax you with outrageous prices, I will def work with you. If you SERIOUSLY want to buy my work message me RIGHT now. SERIOUS inquiries ONLLLYYY. As in you are ready to make moves. Not "Let me hit you back in 6 months when my money get right." Dont do that. That just makes artist mad. lol but seriously im making this art as affordable as possible so for those of you who REALLY want my art hanging in your crib or on you macbook or phone inbox me and stop playin.

Sun, 06 Jan 2013 21:17:36 -0500

Although I don’t think Ash is on tumblr, her work is all...

Sat, 05 Jan 2013 13:45:28 -0500

Although I don’t think Ash is on tumblr, her work is all over here. Her name is Ash and she is recovering from a sickness at the moment. Young, Black mom making a living off her work. Really thought she was worth mentioning…

thatnaturalflowtho: serpentine913: Brazilian Mayara Lantos +...

Sun, 08 Jul 2012 12:23:15 -0400

thatnaturalflowtho:

serpentine913:

Brazilian Mayara Lantos + Favela Ballerina + Photographer Alex Pires

(via imgTumble)

44.

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 17:20:19 -0400

littlevein:

I’m still a young man, with much I want to learn,

and yet I feel so old, so worried and concerned,

for a future that I can’t be sure will ever materialise,

for a whole generation of kids like me who become further enticed,

they heard that life just hands out gifts, well what you heard was lies.

And the parents of all these lost kids, cry out in surprise,

“I raised him well, as best I could, I loved him and chastised,

taught him he could be what he wanted, and earn his way in life.”

And yet my friends don’t know the past, we are not blond haired and blue eyed,

we are not a people who know ourselves or of why our relatives die,

we stand still and allow others who don’t care to devise

a system we are told that is full of fairness and packed with compromise,

but is actually an unescapable death trap, itself cloaked in disguise.

A system, that to certain folk can only imply,

that our people are sheep, not in charge of our own lives.

If only there were a way to turn our backs, and watch its demise,

watch a system fall apart, whilst offering goodbyes,

a chance to stretch our weary legs, and from our knees we’ll rise.

I’m still a young man, with much I want to learn,

and yet I feel so old, so worried and concerned

for a future that I can’t be sure of if our people will cope,

for now it seems our eyes look up, I’m full of cynical hope.

Photo

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 18:21:05 -0500

For you...

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 15:06:05 -0500

kennyboss:

Half the things I wanna say, can’t even be said

I wish everything I thought culd be put in your head

Without opening my mouth you would know how I feel

But, its not gonna happen so I guess I’ll just deal

I see you with other guys and I see that you flirt

Like, do you like that sort of pain of that eventual hurt?

Apparently those guys make you feel good and all that

But, you cry on my shoulder kuz you know I got your back

Not to make you feel bad or nothin but you’re not good with guys

Kuz a good one is right here but you can’t see it with your eyes

He gives you kind words, wipes the tears, and hears your cries

As you complain about the cheating, deception, and even the lies

He makes you feel better as he tries to help you heal

How blind must you be to not see that his love is real?

I mean c’mon, it hurts him that you don’t want him in return

And as you start a spark with another his heart slowly burns

With a love and a passion that takes years to go out

He’s see’s your lil spark and watches the flame go out

Another one bites the dust is what this song is about

One day you’ll see the right man was here without a doubt

I know you don’t see it now, or have no interest in me

But you’ve already said and admitted you’ve seen greatness in me

One day I’ll be big with hella houses, jewels, and cars

But without you I’m left with nothing but love scars

Shit, in the future I see myself with you and that isn’t far

You know if I got to I’ll pick you up in my car and we’ll drive to L.A.,

The Bay, lay, down in a park, wish on a star, admire them from afar

As we see wish upon a shooting star, I’ll play my guitar, and say au revoir

To our old lives and hola to our new one’s debut

Lord knows what we’ll get into, the problems we’ll run through

I want to be there to buy your first tattoo, on your first trip to Peru

I just want to be there, kuz all that really matters from my point of view,

Is the combination that is me and you…

Photo

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 12:32:05 -0500

Photo

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 18:14:05 -0500

Introduction: A woman who can't be carried, or a man who likes a woman he can carry

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 15:09:06 -0500

msqueenly:

This prose is meant to expose the intersectionality between sexism, thin privilege, and fat-hatred/fatphobia. This is a social commentary.

A man relishes in his physical and metaphorical strength. His place in the world is decided by his strength and what he can carry in his arms. It is no secret that many of them prefer women who are smaller than they are. It makes them feel more like a man. So they can overpower them. So they can contain them in the fold of their arms. A man doesn’t like anything he can’t wrap his arms around.

A man doesn’t like anything he can’t pick up with his own two arms and carry.

A woman who can’t be carried is useless to him. He can’t sweep her off her feet at his wedding or imitate picking her up and spinning her around like in those chick flicks. He can’t lift her up and fuck her standing or pin her against a wall like in a bodice ripper novel. He can’t encompass her waist with his hands. He can’t pick her up and move her from place to place like a chair or cell phone. She is not convenient. She is not easy. A woman who can’t be carried is a challenge, an obstacle in the way of his manhood. Therefore, a woman who can’t be carried is not someone he would think to open a door for. A woman who cannot be carried is not someone a man can love because his love extends as far as his understanding and men either understand very little or have no love in them; a woman who cannot be carried is typically someone he makes an effort not to understand and he does not understand her because she cannot be carried in arms therefore she is not within the realm of what his strength can conquer.

Therefore, a woman who can’t be carried is reduced to a joke for his amusement and that is the purpose that she serves in the scheme of a man’s life. A woman who can’t be carried by a man, with the strength of his own two arms alone, is not a woman at all. She is an impediment that he cannot overcome with his human limitations.

A woman who cannot be carried is an embarrassment to a man because she defies and undermines his strength. She is a boulder tied to his body. She is the world that Atlas is trying to shrug. Therefore he must make light of her, by humiliating and dehumanizing her, to stave off the weight of depression and a strong sense of emasculation.

Photo

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 12:34:05 -0500

Akoko - Outro of In'ness

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 23:16:10 -0500

<a href=”http://akoko.bandcamp.com/track/outro-of-inness” data-mce-href=”http://akoko.bandcamp.com/track/outro-of-inness”>Outro of In’ness by Akoko</a>

visualsemantics: {b}Lynn Visual Semantics (click on the photo...

Tue, 03 Jan 2012 12:34:06 -0500

visualsemantics:

{b}Lynn

Visual Semantics

(click on the photo for a link to my other blog-Coffee.Talk)

aboveignorance: The Road to Uncas (Artist Perspective)

Mon, 02 Jan 2012 17:53:06 -0500

aboveignorance:

The Road to Uncas (Artist Perspective)

Work in progress...

Mon, 02 Jan 2012 15:13:06 -0500

Work in progress...:

destiniesramblings:

Anxiety falling on my bleeding heart

Making it hard to breathe

Making my eyes water with an unfamiliar sting

Like a light.

Like a black light

Revealing every scar, every smudge

Every blemish

Self-imposed externally-opposed

Externally-imposed self-opposed

With no way to win

This is how it ends

Fought with everything to stay

Went home hollow in heart

Far from anything hallow

Put everything on that tightrope hoping it wouldn’t fall

Not knowing where to go from here

I will step out of my soul

And be consumed by the shell

To the fiery pit of my stomach

There will I hunker down defensively

Until the storm passes

Until the love I felt forsook me

Finds me again

And feeds me with honey from the lion’s carcass

Binding me again to joy…

Until then I stay here

Crouching

Covering myself

Shielded from the reigning darts

Sent from your sky of murmurings and murders

Away from the timeless tinkering of the tolling bell…

So much has happened tonight

Melting wholly away from your view

Maybe I’ll burst into tiny shards of opaque glass

Because you can’t seem to see me when I’m whole

Photo

Mon, 02 Jan 2012 12:32:05 -0500

I Have Found Truth

Sun, 01 Jan 2012 17:41:05 -0500

I Have Found Truth:

We are lied to from birth—our physical birth, that is. “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.” That’s the biggest lie of them all. We curse ourselves daily through the use of this bastard language and twisted religion taught to us. Our words have more power than they’d like to admit. Our thoughts manifest many of the world’s woes.

Truth is...

Sun, 01 Jan 2012 15:06:06 -0500

whospeakshe21:

Wind swept words, hang on your sighs. My tongue traced henna on your thighs. That moment you bent back,

arched,

was the realest you’ve been with me. Now, cuddled up under me is not the time for bullshitting. Lets revisit real and start there.

I want nothing more or less than openness. This you know. What makes you feel comfortable is not synonymous with truth. I feel you, not your words. So when you speak, make it count because your spirit

has already spoken.