The M(N)STRY: “A File Ka” Online Chapbook

Symbol for Ka (a vital force/energy)

Today is All Saints Day, the morning after Halloween. I woke up inspired to write some poetry and below are drafts of the poems that resulted. I will eventually turn this into a chapbook, A File Ka for purchase.

(Feature art by James C. Lewis)



Orishanal NGLS

In vent the wor  d

I’m bent in the whirl’d

of all saints

found                bound

(k)not created

pounded puns   into earthly locks

of sound


fused into man/y   kin

a bloody earth breathed

into life            Amon/g

Re         Kin


A Blue Into As/Terra/Knot

Blew    halo bubble   into helmet

Billie    holi

Lalala             day              I       met

a bronze mirror

in the back of my mind

a white garden/ia


to my right brain

I hang beads


on my neck

stamp crosses and diamonds

on my fabric

the double Xs  mark me

the whys      pressured into sound

draws my                     hug     e

trunk into a place

for cover

I  a dresser

people put their shame into

I save

the black ones         bantus

for myself


Same Sun Soul

Each score placed

above my head

becomes a casket

for another song

I raise my hands

waiting for the sky to drop

an orange ball

to catch my at/tension

for some sense  tense

a present tense of Just/Is

I just get

another bullet


Ali (Exalted)

A boxer of stings

A cock’s comb of floats

A bang of symbols against the head

rope a veil around  my sight

the hem of power

the priest’s tasseled

tasered shawl

touch them

and receive a shock

with a gateway of gall

jelled in my stinger

catch these hands

breaking you open

into a collective


because mama

said knock

knot you out

wama bama

I am


Who You Tryin’ To Be

Dada asks

Bob Marley?


A guitar body

A binding of wood

A strumming of blackness

A knotty halo crown

A mixed up genesis

A redemption in a song of praise

A seventh child of a seventh sun

A shapeshifter of sex

A weak force stirring up radiation

A knot knowing why I’m here

I got sense

in my letters spit out to the world


Micro Waves

Bucket body red come packing

A crown of light warms her oven

Negative particles move her behind forward and back

A deck of yellow digits swing around her logos

Nile rivers bubbling up, quickens into matter

A radiating queen follows the hor  izon

Shining into every antennae of sight



A Black and White Affair

Dressed in my chalky final show

A phantom of top hat and suit

The photo umbrella hangs

above me like a satellite

ready to capture

my essence

How do you capture blackness?

Make an inverted body, I say

The paint palette is impressed

by the art

of my presence

the chosen logos

strung around by rockettes

dancing a can can

me a masked

nightmarish spirit

of cool


Africa/A Phile Ka

My spirit is a spirit of love

My spirit is a spell of liberty

My spirit is a speed of life

My spirit is a spy of Libra

My spirit is a spine of lava

My spirit is a Sheba of lavish

My spirit is a space of leaves

My spirit is a sapient of rubber

My spirit is a sophia of rabbits

My spirit is a specter of libations

My spirit is a spiral of flies

My spirit is a spark of folds

My spirit is a spear of verse


A Martian Letter

A horn will be

a helmet

A trumpet will be

my crown

The king’s sign

is on the mountaintop


Mother Earth Megaton Phone O

The seals of the world

are unsealing into haunts

last calls

come as blood

red barks

raising their voice

to a world


perfect pitch

and off key

I hold this world

as Atlas

trying to birth


as Scarecrow

knots of straw

a basket case spread

around my thoughts

is my voice strangled

estranged by sirens

in a field of popped horns

can we win like this?

without knowing

what that fever

in our brains

coming is?


Ra Hurt: Rubber Robber

Gone Sun

The joke

The yoke

The yoga

of it


I made the devil up

I doubled up

on souling my sol

crossing over

traded my old self for a new model

as I traveled with haunts on my path

learned the art

of hyperbolic parable

the guitar

the goo goo ga ga of tar

I sacrificed my time in a cemetery

I mastered my self

by stringing my self up

as giver and taker of sound

there’s no instant spell

the real story won’t excite you quickly enough

so I wear my black and red cape

if you want to believe the story that way

then fine

I’ll play along

with Ike Zimmerman

bursting with laughter

int the room

my carpenter



(C) 2018 Sherese Francis

All poems by Sherese Francis

Feature art by James C. Lewis




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