"Many things open within me seeing moments like this between a man and his woman. Those memories I have are personal and dear to my sense of purpose, Being and very sensitive to how the sum of one pregnancy points to the possibility of a better horizon, a better chance for hope and the fulfillment of prophecies each birth creates.
Nothing can speak as loud, or louder than the bulging form of a woman's body carrying life. Nothing speaks to the mysterious Life and Death exchange that pregnancies and birth brings center stage to challenge the mundane of existence and dynamics of the friction between the three." - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 6.30.14
A black couple pregnant, proud, beautiful to look at and be around is often more than a lot to treasure. - Dawn Wolf, Keeper of Stories 6.30.14 8 hrs
Black man laying between his woman's legs relaxed.
"Society tells black men to always be hard never show emotions and sometimes we don't realize who its hurting and that is our women. Any black man that has no problem showing his affections for his lady will tell you its not that we wanna have sex its just fact that we wanna be near our lady whether her having her legs wrapped around us or us resting our heads in between her legs. We need a woman's energy to keep going in life!"
A Heart's Embrace is deeply moving for each person who has exprienced the sensation. How it is captured in color, on canvas is the genius of vision, the magic of power as intent, the song of knowing and the invocations of imagination! I feel the emotions of this painting by Mark A. Godoy Jr.
I lay upon your chest gazing into your eyes; eyes as dark as the night. In them I see twinkles of stars, the moon, your world. For those stars emerge from deep within your beautiful soul like a volcanic eruption bringing the earth to life. A panther moves across your broad chest symbolizes your courage and strength; for you are all that embody this lovely creature. I watch you breath and take in your delicious and delectable scent; we join and I feel complete wrapped in you. I capture your heart in my hands. It is strong it pulsates with the full richness of who you are. The massive beat matching mines. In heavenly syncopation the beat sings the rhythm of wanting, the rhythm of raised passion. Like the lotus flower needing water to sustain; such is my passion for you, passion for what awaits.
I moan with delight as a wave of heat surrounds me. Your caramel skin is my candy jar with my tongue taking a dip. Taking my time to tease your senses nibbling your lobs; as my tongue dives in and out of the sweet canyons of your ear. You moan as my tongue gets lost and your moaning signals my tongue to flicker like delicate butterfly wings. As I bathe your body with my mouth, the wetness of my lips mirrors the wetness between my legs. My panties weep anticipating what is to come. My seduction ritual awaken your lustful spirit sitting on the edge of ecstasy waiting to plunge in. Time makes no sense within this abyss of passion-laced lust ritual.
You feel my growing moistness as my swollen pearl peeks out from between thick, sticky lips. My panties struggles to hold my lusty anticipation. But with you, the anticipation is ever so obvious. My blooms opens wide for you. The rain and river flows of golden streams dancing slowly. Your need for me grows and as you attempt to moan, my tongue finds your mouth as the Sultan finds his way to the desert oasis. I kiss you long, hard and thrust my tongue in and out of your mouth ravishing every twist and turn. Like a jockey mounting his prime thoroughbred, I straddle your thick thighs. My passion fueled by the hairs of your chest. You beg to come in and take me… plunging, pounding deep inside what is yours to take. You growl… oh baby, ahh baby, fuck baby… as I squeeze you into the brink of ecstasy. And, after I take you there we journey back; back to our beating hearts; back to breath by breath.
I associate the
kitchen with warmth, familiar and beckoning smells that invite children to
supper, and husbands to begin a cozy night with the wife after the meal. I only have one chapter in my life where I
made love more than several times in the kitchen, and the aroma of it, and how our
love blossomed between us has merged the intimacy of food, and intercourse. The
two are inseparable. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 5.19.13
We be kicking and spelling mathematics Conjoint souls from genesis To infinity. I ate from her tree of life. I plant My seeds deep inside her Earth Fertilize by the moon Gravitational force. I rain on her soil as she breathes new life A combination of my DNA and Hers She bleeds to assures the survival of Her moons and suns. 22 pair of chromosomes build during her Gestation bring into existence New life because death= life. We die to give way, for our seeds To experience life in human form.
The phrase, "If all women looked like her, there would be no wars...only world peace." has been said times before, but when this phrase is said my understanding comes to play, and I think of the boys yet uninitiated into manhood. On the surface a phrase is a phrase, but upon examination a phrase is a statement of fact or conjecture, or it is a pin thrust into higher vibrations with the intent to trivialize, or lure intelligence away from where it belongs. Women's bodies, their beauty, the power of their image, their touch, and the wide spectrum of belief that arises from Beauty and who she is like a skilled surgeon operating upon the senses of men. Many poets, thinkers, boys, clergy and artists, and mystics have been led to the chronicles and opened books of sensory perceptions by the mere glance of a woman's attention sent their way. It is a phenomenal experience to have as a boy becoming a man. Everything within a boy awakened by women is the stuff of legends, and the stories of each boy to man experience could be enlightening, but it isn't. It can't be because of the crudeness taught boys becoming men over the centuries. There are many times where perhaps it is better for women to remain in secret in the ways they can remain a secret, or a suggestion, and mysterious or unavailable until the men initiations are finished and destinies are fulfilled before it is wise to make themselves vulnerable to the notions of freedom with a man, within themselves. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories2.1.13
I have some beautiful verses to sing to my beloved always always unfolded in beauty and loveliness. Yesterday was my beloved inside face of the Moon a girl from the street Clown in revelry. One day I saw my beloved waters of the great sea again found a beautiful maracatu. A song she was Samba was also a was a good drop always in my love. I have some beautiful verses to sing to my beloved always unfolded in beauty and loveliness.
"Black lovers in a holding pattern still their world to make sense of a world-at-large that makes no sense outside of the vernacular of loving commitment to ideals higher and outside of the immediate needs of self. Love calls the higher self from above." - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 11.17.12
"I don't think happiness is the rarity claimed by many. I think happiness is elusive to certain mindsets. Attachment, more than anything, leads the soul away from happiness in the states of being where happiness can thrive, but in a social and cultural construct that believes in the pursuit of happiness happiness is elusive. Happiness is an elusive trickster because it isn't supposed to be pursued!" - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories8.11.13
black artist Gerard Christensen
"Despite all the talk, and boasting Black Americans, I learned the hard way, exhibit their disdain for the essence of what is "African." I learned over the decades how deeply embedded the contempt for Africa from Blacks here is in the US. Little has changed in the past six decades and more in that respect. I am getting older, and closer to my grave, and do not see the next generation closer to embodying the essence of their ancestors, building relationships and altars with and for their ancestors, or separating themselves with the truth of their attachment to the approval of White Americans. More than any other description Wasicun Sapa is the better description and name of a people such as ours. What is Wasicun Sapa? It is the name the Cheyenne gave the African ex-slaves they met in the 1800's. It means Black White People." - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories8.11.13