In the Yoruba language imo means knowledge and oye means understanding. When two words began or end with a vowel, it is customary to contract them into one word; just as in the English language the words "it" and "is" are contracted to form the word "it's." So imo and oye together form the word imoye.
Rhonda Denise Johnson put together a collection of 6 poems which she wrote, performed and named Imoye. These poems are accompanied by music created and played by Mike Bailey.
Rhonda Denise Johnson is an award winning poet and short story writer. Be sure to pick up a copy of her first two books, Speaking for the Child: An Autobiography and a Challenge and The Crossroads of Time, at Amazon.com by clicking here.
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In the Yoruba language imoye is knowledge and understandng. This is what we experience when we allow ourselves to comprehend the physical creation. When I write, I use feelings to express love, joy, pain through taste, sight and touch. I write so that my reader can understand, can feel what I feel. When I write, I write with imoye. When I write, I feel with imoye. When I write, hopefully , the reader also caan experience imoye.
Ashe.
I cannot see the coltan
Cannot see the rape and genocide
I know about it but can't imagine
What I'd do without my computer
My cell
There is nothing I can do
My right hand reaches for the water bottle
I cannot see the landfills
Cannot imagine the thousands of years
The plastic will remain there
I know this but I need water
I cannot drink the slow poison
That oozes out of my kistchen sink
I drink with the confidence
That when the chickens come home to roost
They will recognize me as the victim
Forced to participate in my own self destruction
I know this but still I drink
Knowing that in a revolustion there are no innocents
But those who benefit from oppression
Are just as guilty as those who do the oppressing
I know this but still I keep drinking
There is nothing else I can do
Hiccup
There's a poem in me somewhere
There's got to be
How could I ride a cresting wave
And exhaust my ability to express
I am waiting for the sneeze
Nose poised in tittilation
Its coming is a tease
I am waiting for the image
The sound of this pain
The sight of this love
The smell of last night
The taste of tomorrow
The touch of your lips on mine
I am waiting for the poem
That will tell me I am alive
Whatever else I may think
I am alive
In the gene pool of eternity past
Spirits vie for flesh
In the drama of a woman's great
need
Moments yearn for names
In this distaff proscenium I
choke
Suffocate and die
The labels I thought I needed for
love
Slapped on like a mask
Drain all vibrance from the time
I spend with
My unfettered friends
In the boy's world of laughter,
beer and song
Where love has no name
I could learn from them in the
dark back room
Forego all explanations and just
be
I
heard her important sounding boots
on the pavement
I didn't turn around but I knew it
was a her
It was a "her" sounding
sound
An important her
Compared to the soft patter of my
Skechers
It sounded like the approach of doom
Somebody was going to be in big
trouble
Not
me
I kept walking
Aquafina in one hand umbrella in the
other
When I moved the umbrella rain
drizzled on my upper lip
Then slid into the bottle
It was just a silly, nonsensical,
Angelina thing
Wearing tennis shoes and drinking
water in the rain
But it made me feel more important
to the sky
More important to the itenerary of
water
Than clunky heels and troubled minds
The religious people put a saddle on God
Bit, bridle, reigns and spurs
Kicked his sides to shuttle to and fro
Along the track of human certitude
He roared and stomped a quake into the Earth
Many people died
They said “As a horse you‘re a failure,
Perhaps you don‘t exist”
The religious people urge me to get on the track
Lest I fall pray to dangerous freedoms
Slipping off the narrow spine of their decrepit horse
I grasp for the reins
I yearn for a rule
I’ve committed a great sin
What can I buy
I hurry to scurry
But I do not find him
Until I am still
With nothing that I can do
And not a fig leaf to my name
Only a core of hot anger and cold knowledge
Pain clouds raining in between
He untamed and unfettered
Touches me
He goes where religions illicit morality cannot
I mount up on his wings
In the wind
His free mane whips away my tears
One by one
When I was a ghost
imploding in silence
My mind fed on regurgitations of life
Brimmed over with old stuff to share
Like a fountain in a park
Where the people use their pennies for the bus
When I was asleep
I thought I was awake
Until I really did wake up
And realized I'd been asleep
You really don't know
What your words have meant to me
When I was a ghost
A solid word anchored me in reality
When I was asleep
An eye to eye encounter
Rocked me in comfort
Roused me to love
