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Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Know my name. Kweku.

Posted by tpegonline on April 7, 2012

This poem is a series of 22 haiku poems that are strung together in a series to tell a story. I call this style that I created a haiku chain poem. According to Dictionary.com, a haiku is a major form of Japanese verse, written in 17 syllables divided into 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, and employing highly evocative allusions and comparisons, often on the subject of nature or one of the seasons; or a poem written in this form.

In this poem, I’m introducing you to a character that I created. His name is Kweku Annan. He is a supernatural being that will be featured in an upcoming short story that I’m writing called Girls Just Wanna have Fun.

Kweku is the male personification of the same supernatural spirit that also incarnates as Akuba in its female form.

I hope that you enjoy this piece and thank you in advance for taking the time to read this post.


“Know my name. Kweku.”
© 2012 Tyrone Turner
All rights reserved.

Tall, dark and handsome.
What women tend to dream of.
Too black and too strong.

Kissed by the sun, I
stand six-two and weigh-in at
two-fifty – rock solid.

Barrel-chested. Big
biceps and muscular legs.
Stern yet soft brown eyes.

A fierce warrior.
A learned scholar and shrewd
entrepreneur, babe.

My cologne will have
you spellbound and eating out
of my hand. Really.

Bass voice whispering
in your ear. Hot tongue licking
your lobe. Just breathe, hon.

Do you feel the warmth
of my touch? The strength in my
large hands. Holding you.

Idris, Denzel, and
Morris rolled up into one.
All true man.

Sugar. Spice. All that
is nice. That is what girls are
made of. Tasty treats.

Boys are not made of
rags, tags and puppy dog tails.
Don’t treat them as such!

Lying and playing
games with a man’s emotions
may be dangerous.

Gold digging may lead
to grave digging so keep your
hands out of pockets.

Leading a man on with
promises of pleasure could
make them do strange things.

Good and bad reside
in the hearts of men. Make sure
to handle with care.

Look into my eyes.
Now close your eyes and listen
to the words I speak.

The present is a
gift. That is why it is called
the present. Get it?

But do understand
that this gift can also be
a curse if misused.

Your future is not
predetermined. The power
of choice is your own.

I will show you what
is possible and to be
avoided. Be warned.

I do not repeat
things so make sure to take heed
of the words I speak.

You may dream of me
while you sleep or go into
trance during the day.

Never say that you
have not had a chance. You did.
Know my name. Kweku.


Posted in black art, black romance, poetry, spoken word | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

We were poor, yet rich

Posted by tpegonline on March 8, 2012

This poem is a series of 12 haiku poems that are strung together in a series to tell a story. I call this style that I created a haiku chain poem. According to Dictionary.com, a haiku is a major form of Japanese verse, written in 17 syllables divided into 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, and employing highly evocative allusions and comparisons, often on the subject of nature or one of the seasons; or a poem written in this form.

This piece is dedicated to single mothers. They don’t get the credit they deserve. This poem was inspired by a coworker who was telling me that even though they had very little money and their mother was raising five kids in “Do or die Bed-Stuy,” they all turned out just fine. Single mothers are real life superheroes.


“We were poor, yet rich”
By Tyrone Turner
Copyright 2012
All rights reserved

Superheroes are
real. I’ve known one all my life.
We call her Momma.

There were five of us.
Growing up in “Do or die
Bed-Stuy.” Hard-knock life.

I wore hand-me-downs
and never had my own room.
We shared everything.

Momma had to cook
for an army of hungry
mouths. We were little.

We were stair-step kids.
All of us born no more than
two years from the next.

There was so much love.
Daddy wasn’t there, but our
mother always was.

Birthday parties and
report card nights. All doctor
and dentist visits.

On my wedding day.
When my baby was born and
when I crashed my car.

We didn’t have the
latest fashions or the most
exotic cuisines.

Momma kept us out
of trouble and taught us right
from wrong. Thank you, Mom!

How did she always
seem to have enough change to
get us ice cream cones?

I don’t know how she
did it. Money was tight. Seems
we were poor, yet rich.

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Smooth Operator

Posted by tpegonline on January 27, 2012

I had a virtual straw poll and ladies picked Taye Diggs (pictured to the left) as a man they perceive to be a smooth operator. Brother Taye, hats off to you…

This poem is a series of 16 haiku poems that are strung together in a series to tell a story. According to Dictionary.com, a haiku is a major form of Japanese verse, written in 17 syllables divided into 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, and employing highly evocative allusions and comparisons, often on the subject of nature or one of the seasons; or a poem written in this form.

“Smooth Operator”
By Tyrone Turner
Copyright 2012
All rights reserved.


I’m gigolo cool.
I love myself the ladies.
More than you can know.

Treat ladies with love
Treasure them and show kindness.
They are precious gems.

“Too many lovers.
Ain’t enough men in the world
today.” Shack sang that.

Women are a gift.
Don’t treat them like common trash.
A woman birthed you.

They lay golden eggs.
Treat your goose with sheer respect.
Don’t lop her head off!

Have her sip fine wine.
Feed her the finest cuisine.
Take exotic trips.

Gold, diamonds and pearls.
Silver, platinum and jade.
Silk and fine cotton.

Pumps and high heel shoes.
Satiny hose on her legs.
Nice ankle bracelet!

Candy for the eyes.
A warm blanket for the heart.
A soul’s nourishment.

You told me thank you!
You’re very welcome, sweetheart.
I so adore you!

Men, you’re the captain
of your ship, so navigate
carefully. Be smart.

Give women what they
want – not necessarily
gifts. Attention. Love.

No bumpy roads. None.
No turbulence. No choppy
waves. Smooth, smooth sailing.

Clear blue skies ahead.
Calm, clear, crystal blue waters.
Wide, smooth, scenic roads.

It is not about
trying to be slick. Just be
honest, fair and real.

Treat her right, good man.
Be her protector and friend.
Smooth operator.

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I’m NOT That Dude

Posted by tpegonline on December 30, 2011

I’m NOT That Dude
By Tyrone Turner
Copyright 2011
All rights reserved.

Please be advised that this poem has mature content.

NOTE: In this poem, movie titles and song titles are hyperlinked to IDMB.com and GrooveShark.com
so that you can read up on the film or listen to the tune. I hope this add to the flavor of this piece.

CLICK HERE to listen to a recitation of this poem.



You bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan.

Then you help the kids with their homework and tidy up the house like no other woman can.

You have to deal with a fast-pace and office politics at work every day.

But when you get home you don’t complain – not one word of grief or anger do you convey.

With all that you do, some TLC from your man would be nice.

All he wants to do is play his video games and talk about how he just beat Batman Arkham City twice.

He’s not a bad person, but his game ain’t tight at all.

He dares to brag about how he has you on lock and never heard the old saying that pride comes before the fall.

In the bedroom, he thinks he can Regulate like Warren G and that he is a Champion Lover like Shabba Ranks.

But you said that he is a Castaway, he is not Big enough and he needs to be patient and learn to listen so he can crack your Da Vinci Code like Tom Hanks.

When we’re together, I lend my ear to listen to your hopes, dreams, fears and fantasies.

I’m your private waiter because I’m here to serve you and I aim to please.

I say things to you that make you laugh and sometimes you tell me things that make you cry.

Sometimes you look at me and say, “Papi, eres loco! Ay! Ay! Ay!” [Daddy, you are crazy. Oh my, my, my!”]

The other day when dinner was your treat and you paid for the bill and we were about to go, you whispered in my ear, “Quiero tu lengua y tu pinga en mi toto.” [“I want your tongue and your d*ck in my p*ssy.”]

We ran off to our secret getaway downtown to go do the nasty.

As soon as we got in the door you said, “Take off your clothes.” I love it when you’re so sassy!

You follow me into the shower and I rub your body with that peppermint scented soap that you like.

You scrub my back, pinch me on my rump and turn me around as you drop to your knees and sound-check the mic.

You go on for a few minutes but I pull your long, black, light brown streaked hair and I told you, “Don’t worry about drying off. Just go to the room,” is what I said.

I proceeded to kiss, lick, and suck that thing so greedily you nearly peed the bed.

The sweat glistened off your beige, butter pecan skin as your moan of ecstacy got louder and you panted faster and faster.

Like the Shogun of Harlem asked Bruce Leroy in The Last Dragon , I asked you, “Who’s the master?”

While I was giving it to you from behind I reached under and played with your breasts with one hand, and tugged gently on your hair with the other.

You know I was tearing it up because like Shaft, I’m one bad mother –

What? Huh? Shut my mouth? Well, okay, but you turn me on and get my blood flowing.

Eventually we were both satisfied, and got cleaned up so we could get going.

We left our passion party then caught a cab to go back uptown, and you said, “Muchas gracias, querido. He pasado un rato muy agradable.” [“Thank you, sweetheart. I had a great time.”]

I responded, “Yeah, me too. You took me to the Candy Shop – like that song by Olivia and that brother they call 50.

You say that I’m too cool about our “arrangement,” and that I seem to be comfortable with how things have been going.

I figure that we have a nice program running so we should keep the good times rolling.

You mentioned how you want to spend more time together, travel abroad and become an official item one day.

That kind of forced my hand so now there are some things I have to say.

Girl, you know that you’re my L3 — my lovely latin lady, and I’m your friend, confidant, and your lover because your man doesn’t treat you right.

I’m always a phone call or text message away – morning, noon, or night.

There is something that you must understand, Prince sang a song about this – I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man.

When you need a plumber to unclog your pipes, think of me as Bookman, Scheider, or Overton – I’m a good maintenance man.

But catching feelings and being together as a couple, that was not and will never be the plan.

We can hang out laugh and joke and have dinner and such.

It isn’t all about sex because looking at the big picture, the physical doesn’t matter all that much.

It is more about having fun and being free to be yourself.

That is why I leave most ladies on the shelf.

You make me smile and I respect you a lot.

However, all this talk about being together and having another tot.

You have your kids and I have mine and we’re both climbing the corporate ladder as fast as we can and have professional goals we want to achieve.

If our arrangement has to change I will certainly have to leave.

We can just be friends, if that works better for you – I’m not trying to be rude.

But you seem to want to make me a boyfriend or a husband, and I’m NOT that dude!

CLICK HERE to listen to a recitation of this poem.

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See you next lifetime

Posted by tpegonline on December 16, 2011

This art piece is called Afterglow, by Alonzo Adams

“See You Next Lifetime”
By Tyrone Turner
Copyright 2011
All rights reserved

You got your man and I got my lady.

There is fiery passion between us but we don’t want to be shady.

Your husband is a good husband and my wife is a good wife.

He’s a good father and she’s a good mother so let’s not cause strife.

We love our children. They are the apples of our eyes.

Acting on our emotions would be very reckless and not at all wise.

I can’t do anything but imagine how it could be.

Taking on the world. Doing our thing. Just you and me.

Making love to you on a beach in Barbados during a summer sun shower.

Looking over Paris at night from the Eiffel Tower.

Camping in the desert next to the Grand Canyon while watching the sun rise in east.

Being on safari in South Africa marveling at all of the regal beasts.

Dancing the night way in New Orleans while getting drunk off shots.

Trekking the Andes mountains where the natives teach us how to mold clay pots.

Countless nights at home with you and our children watching movies and talking about things that happened in our day.

People are treasures and the finest things in life doesn’t require us to pay.

Working out together in our home gym working up a good sweat.

Going on shopping trips every month because we don’t have any debt.

Kissing your lips and pulling your hair.

Nibbling on your neck while giving you a passionate stare.

Rubbing you down with warm body oils and while feeding you ice cream.

Making passionate love to you where we both climax and scream.

Lying there together naked glowing with after-sex sweat.

Falling off to sleep with smiles on our faces knowing we’re each other’s pet.

I hope reincarnation is real because I want a chance to be with you one day.

I’m at a loss of words – there isn’t much more I can say.

Thinking about being with you is like being thirsty for a tall, cool drink with a twist of lime.

We can’t do it now, baby, but like Erykah sang, “See You Next Lifetime.”

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Little Man

Posted by tpegonline on December 5, 2011

by Tyrone Turner * 2011 * All rights reserved.

Girl, I better never find a genie in a bottle.
I would make one wish so fast it would be like a race car at full throttle.

I’d say, “Genie, give me the power to shrink myself at will into a little man.”

The genie would probably reply, “Master, I don’t understand.”
So I’d have to let the genie know what I mean.

I’d do this by explaining a scene while I assume the position of a gangsta lean.

I’d say, “Genie, when I have the power to become a little man at will, I’ll be able to make just about any woman totally chill.”

She can carry me around in her pocket book and such.

I am a little man so I don’t weigh much.

She can carry me on a pendant that rests between her plump breasts that are tucked away in a bra.

From time to time I’d play with those pillows and pluck them like I was the chellist Yo Yo Ma.

Just to keep a devilish smile on her face and to make her melt like butter.

I’d suck on her nipples and make her eyelids flutter.

I can swing on her locks that drape down her back to play hop scotch on the tattoo on her butt.

I’d shine that booty with warm body oil and while singing a verse from Donnell Jones’s song, “Ooooooo, say what? Say what? Say what? Ooooooo, girl, I know you know what’s up.”

Then I’d roll her onto her back and lick on her tummy.

I smell that hot dish percolating – yummy!

I am a freak and I want to let her know what I’m about.

So I’d shrink myself even smaller, swim into her sugar walls, and lick her from the inside out.

So tell me, genie. Can you now understand why I want the power to at will become a little man?”

“Damn!” said the genie, “That sounds like a good plan. I will grant you the wish to become at will a little man.”

“Thank you, genie. I appreciate the favor. Now I’m like Felix the cat because I have a bag of tricks with more than the Baskin & Robbins’s 31 flavors.

“Master, your wish is granted and now I must depart. Make sure to be gentle with each woman’s heart.”

“Yes I will genie.” I replied. “I’ve not been a player in the past and I am not about to start.”

I just want to satisfy the lady I’m with the best that I can.

Now do you understand why I’d like to at will become a little man?

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Rising Suns

Posted by tpegonline on November 9, 2011

My world is part of a binary star system.

I say binary because two beautiful boys are the lights of my life. My two sons.

I want all that I accomplish to pale in comparison to what they will accomplish.

It is my greatest hope that they work together as brothers to do right by their people, their community, their country, the world, and the ALMIGHTY.

Working together, they can build a great kingdom as large and as prosperous as the unified Roman Empire – Rome and Byzantium.

May the GOD of Grandfather Abraham greatly expand their territories and give them the unshakable faith of Job, the warrior spirit of David, and the wisdom of Solomon.

When things seem lost and gloomy, please have them light the world with their shining examples of what it mean to be an honorable man and model humanist.

The two chosen ones – the rising sons.

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The Flutter of Butterfly Wings

Posted by tpegonline on March 22, 2011

The Flutter of Butterfly Wings
by Tyrone Turner
Copyright 2011. All rights reserved.


What goes around always comes back around is a widely-known cliché.

So when that boomerang you threw hits you in the heart there is nothing you can say.

In Las Vegas, new suckers are born every hour who give their winnings back to the house.

They appear to be unstoppable and on fire, but eventually the cat will catch the mouse.

When you have a good thing going at home, baby don’t change it.

One careless whisper or a reason to suspect you’re doing dirt can rearrange it.

The words of your secret lover sound so sweet in your ears.

But if what you’re hiding gets found out you’ll realize some of your worst fears.

Maybe you’ll get a big disease with a little name, or perhaps you’ll face an unexpected baby on the way.

Those two scenarios will turn anyone’s jet-black hair silver-gray.

What about if you’re exposed on Facebook?


That wouldn’t be a good look.

Not for your family or your career.

Stay out of trouble. Stand back and steer clear.

Poof! Up in smoke!

There go your dreams, buddy. Now you’re a has-been.

Like Humpty Dumpty, all the kings horses and all the kings men can’t put your life back together again.

Fellas, it always starts off slow and seemingly harmless at first.

All you want is a little something-something – a sip once in a while to quench your thirst.

You loved it when she passionately screamed out your name or called you Big Poppa. Those are two names you just loved to hear.

Roll the dice one times to many and things accelerate quickly. Like a formula one racing car going from first to sixth gear.

When you open Pandora’s box you let out all sort of things.

But you will not hear it or see it coming. Sort of like the flutter of butterfly wings.

Posted in black art, black romance, poetry, spoken word, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Fruit Lovers Delight

Posted by tpegonline on February 18, 2011

Pictured above is an art piece called Midnight Snack II, by Henry Battle.

“Fruit Lovers Delight”
By Tyrone Turner
Copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

Not every day is a bowl of cherries.

However, with sugar plum thoughts of you dancing in my head I can never be sour grapes.

Oh my goodness, gorgeous. “Orange” you great! You’re a peach!

Your kisses are like sweet pineapple slices. Time spent away from you is as bitter as a lemon.

Vanilla ice cream, strawberries, bananas, hot fudge and whipped cream.

What a tasty treat you are!

Your succulent melons are firm to the touch. That mango is so juicy and I love it so much.

That passion fruit is fuzzy like a kiwi and glistens like a shiny apple.

Time of day doesn’t matter. Morning, noon, or night.

Anytime is the right time to enjoy a fruit lovers delight.

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The Lady That Dances In My Dreams

Posted by tpegonline on February 2, 2011

“The Lady That Dances In My Dreams,” by Tyrone Turner, Copyright 2011. All rights reserved.

NOTE: Song titles appear in italics and are linked to their corresponding YouTube videos.

I can’t breathe.

All the woman that you are has taken my breath away.

When I first laid eyes on you, I noticed how your voluptuous body had more curves than a winding mountain trail.

Your skin is a lovely pecan tan and your adventurous, alluring eyes are almond brown.


You got me talking about pecans and almonds because the vision of you drives me nuts!

Your voice is soft, sweet and everything you say is a sweet melody.


Your perfume is intoxicating and every time I walk passed you in the corridor I inhale deeply so I can savor the scent of your sweet perfume.

When you squeeze my hand or pinch my arm to say, “Hello” to me, I’m paralyzed by your touch.

You so excite me.

Honey, you appeal to my senses.

You look good, sound good, and smell good.

I oftentimes fantasize about how good you must feel and how good you must taste.

Your sugary kisses and the honey bun in your britches.

I would give you both R-n-B and Hip-Hop loving.

By R-n-B loving I mean that I would look into your Ebony Eyes and Love You Down – from head to toe.

You got that Whip Appeal so it would be A Night to Remember.

Ain’t nothing wrong with a little Bump-n-Grind, so I’ll take my time and Make It Last Forever.

With Hip-Hop loving, you’re All I Need because you’re an Around the Way Girl that can ask me 21 Questions because you’re Always On Time.

The line between being attracted to you and falling for you is Paper Thin because you got me Hypnotized.

I keep my thoughts a secret because you belong to another.

To covet is to sin so I pray that the MOST HIGH forgives me.

It is hard for me to play it off because your eyes betray you, sweetheart.

They sparkle with curiosity mixed with a pinch of mischief and a dash of lust.

Of course, I could be wrong about what I see in your eyes as I may be blinded because my desire for you is so very strong.

Things may not be as it seems.

One thing is for certain though.

YOU are the lady that dances in my dreams.

Posted in black art, black romance, poetry, spoken word | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »