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Thread started 09/27/18 8:52am

steakfinger

Great Poem about Prince called Minneapolipstick

"Minneapolipstick" by Rachel McKibbens

1.



Santa Ana, California,


3 a.m. in my cousin’s basement,


lights out, television volume spun low.


We are huddled around the screen,


a small congregation of forgotten children,


brown faces illuminated by


a five-foot-two Black man,


decked out in lace, eyeliner, Spandex


and the gutsiest high-heeled boots


big enough to fit only a mannequin.



This Minnesota royalty freaks and splits his body biblical.


Throat raw with screeching doves, he pirouettes


with his truest love: a pale pawn shop guitar


we daydream of buying some day


with our lunch money.



2.



1984. What planet is this?


A third-grade heartbreak apostle,


I got a butch haircut my father calls a “Dorothy Hamill.”


Naw, pops. Watch me pin the girls against the handball courts.


Bold. Answering their tongues with my tongue.


My forbidden schoolyard brides. My makeshift Apollonias.


Once they’re in love, I pull away, bite my lower lip,


wink, then walk away.



I am not yet a king, but I got moxie and I move


like I know I’ll die young.



3.



Boys will be boys, unless they aren't



4.



This is what it sounds like


to praise our heavenly bodies in spite of the hells


that singed us into current form. For the permission

you granted in sweat and swagger,


for the mascara’d tears you shed on-screen,


for the juicy curls that hung over your right eye


like dangerous fruit, for the studded


shoulder pad realness and how your


falsetto gospel rang our young,


queer souls awake,


we say amen.

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Reply #1 posted 09/27/18 8:53am

steakfinger

If any of you are confused, this is actual poetry as opposed to that crap that you thought was poetry in junior high cuz it rhymed.

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Reply #2 posted 09/27/18 9:45am

Genesia

avatar

There once was a man named Prince

So funky it made people wince.

One day, feeling ill

He took the wrong pill

And the world is less beautiful since.

We don’t mourn artists because we knew them. We mourn them because they helped us know ourselves.
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Reply #3 posted 09/27/18 11:03am

Roby78

(sì)

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Reply #4 posted 09/27/18 12:45pm

steakfinger

Genesia said:

There once was a man named Prince

So funky it made people wince.

One day, feeling ill

He took the wrong pill

And the world is less beautiful since.

Excellent! Your limerick is better than all the lyrics to Arms of Orion.

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Reply #5 posted 09/28/18 12:41pm

Mackopolis44

steakfinger said:



Genesia said:


There once was a man named Prince


So funky it made people wince.


One day, feeling ill


He took the wrong pill


And the world is less beautiful since.





Excellent! Your limerick is better than all the lyrics to Arms of Orion.


Very good! I was worried until I read the last line 😎✌❤
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Reply #6 posted 09/28/18 12:46pm

Mackopolis44

steakfinger said:

"Minneapolipstick" by Rachel McKibbens



1.




Santa Ana, California,



3 a.m. in my cousin’s basement,



lights out, television volume spun low.



We are huddled around the screen,



a small congregation of forgotten children,



brown faces illuminated by



a five-foot-two Black man,



decked out in lace, eyeliner, Spandex



and the gutsiest high-heeled boots



big enough to fit only a mannequin.





This Minnesota royalty freaks and splits his body biblical.



Throat raw with screeching doves, he pirouettes



with his truest love: a pale pawn shop guitar



we daydream of buying some day



with our lunch money.




2.




1984. What planet is this?



A third-grade heartbreak apostle,



I got a butch haircut my father calls a “Dorothy Hamill.”



Naw, pops. Watch me pin the girls against the handball courts.



Bold. Answering their tongues with my tongue.



My forbidden schoolyard brides. My makeshift Apollonias.



Once they’re in love, I pull away, bite my lower lip,



wink, then walk away.




I am not yet a king, but I got moxie and I move



like I know I’ll die young.




3.




Boys will be boys, unless they aren't




4.




This is what it sounds like



to praise our heavenly bodies in spite of the hells



that singed us into current form. For the permission



you granted in sweat and swagger,



for the mascara’d tears you shed on-screen,



for the juicy curls that hung over your right eye



like dangerous fruit, for the studded



shoulder pad realness and how your



falsetto gospel rang our young,



queer souls awake,



we say amen.





Amen to that.
It reminds me of how much growing up with Prince on the stereo meant to me. He touched so many lives and changed worldviews about race, politics and religion.
This is coming from a middle aged white man in the north of England.
Thank you 😎✌❤
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