Jessica Care Moore:
Me, me, me, me
I'm that nappy headed girl who can tell you your future in that jar blue afro sheen
Written off ghetto Carolina geeky, need me name your fears by first name
Representing the best of game, hot mouth bringing like she got some
Honey wine in her pocket
Hiding poetry under old severed locks
Growing roots under bushy ponytails
And this is who you're marrying
This is who you marry, Mary
The woman you found too familiar
Reminding you too much of what you represent in this country
Aint it hard baby, aint it hard baby, being as beautiful as we are
Masquerading king chameleon skin when African canvas glows in the dark
I bit off a piece of the ark
That's why Black womens are doubly smart, are doubly smart
Be cussing you out in pairs
Got ivy growing from under our hair
Damn Jessica don't you smile child for a little while
This morning I was on the front lines of the food stands for selling our babies food covered in plastic saran
Make your own man ashamed to hold your hand
Come back casualty casually deserting the desert to
Taste exotic waters when I'm the well, well well
Now I need new religions, chakra protection plants
Maps to the centre of the earth, make a right at the birth mark
Accelerate when you smell fresh arrogant
Speaking as a sexy breathing technique so I'm a silent freaker
Slow leak, you can easily ignore if you're not listening for the drip in the middle of the night
Give me a reason to write, give me a reason to write
This is my bout, I'll fight for you lover, language breaker
Suburban night danger, international invader, knocking on all the wrong doors
For you I'm always at war, always at war, always at war, always at war, always at war, always at war, always at war...

Abena Boahemaa:
I have many more questions for you
But our conversations know nothing of brevity
They have disregarded the moon and consumed entire nights
The first time we hung out with the constellations
They stayed bright eyed as long as they could burn but eventually started blinking in fatigue
Before we were close to turning in, the stars turned over to sleep
Pulling around them the entire blanket of night
By the time we tiptoed to bed, there was neither cover nor sheet of darkness left so we slept with our legs exposed to the edges of sunrise
I have many more questions to ask but our conversations have an appetite that does not respect the body's need to sleep
They are ill-suited for the obligations of this life
The 6 AMs, the breakfast, the ironing, the making of bed,
All there is time for is quick morning prayer with bowed head cuz Lord knows You know better than to stay up until unGodly hours shadowing constellations
You and I both know that this late night courting of chemistry is impractical
It is incompatible with tomorrow
Tomorrow demands its own portion of our time
You and I both know that although these moments are magical
Tomorrows are necessary
I have many more questions for you
But I'll hold the rest behind my teeth
So if I start to speak with a lisp
It's because I'm trying to restrain a river between my lips

Kwame Write:
We dey Sing of sun swallowed streams,
Dey scoop, dey shrug, dey shuffle sand for palms, wonna marrows bleed
Mouthful of motherland
Texts yoga stretch, flex halogens
wombwords in tune for moon ein nerves
the verse we cook be served like som magician ein memory den magnetic movement, word
De source dey hang from heavy planets
dey evoke vocal verbs from veterans dem dey vibe for wonna veins
Minus violently venomous verbosity
Disk jockeys dey dig the vinyl vaults for wonna eyelines tho
As we dey pour, thick palm soup be what wonna names dey drip from
Volcanic vim dey keep wonna lips warm
Cascading waterfall coding sekof de water-themed history
The ocean timeline mystery
Trees dreadlock, we dey fetch rocks den sling tear drops
find signs for cocoa landscapes, we dey sew wonna society fabric together each time we lose stardust of soul, den throw riddles night time mek ei revive rhymes, refine the light for ritual river rides
The ocean dey blind date the moon
The sun dey discharge the stream
Wey som pigeon circle dey lef corn husks for de writing farm
archive for progeny mek dem cultivate
the stories which dey seep from the sides of wonna lungs
Later dey crystallize, dem dey settle next to molars
Body language of storytellers who dey use words build griot’s fortress
Ancient programmers dey remember the flair, forget tap shoes wey ei dey on air
Dey decode the music for the hubris, symphony syncopation of seamless souls , we dey do more than put flesh of voice where silence dey bed,
we dey turn dimensions of space in wonna head
Dey paint light years of melody for the scars of clouds
Tho we rich, when ei rain e dey pour
the summary of wonna pain dey honour we, before the boundaries demarcate where Ghana be, before we start celebrate 6th March annually, even tho the circle no complete as squares dey turn tins disorderly
Wonna people, wonna people still dey make the culture breathe