The Observer

Is she the damsel from fantasy books?
The one who heroic hearts arc towards?
Indeed, of faerie eye and fair-lined looks
What cold savior could she be waiting for?
Some faux hero made of dreams, just like her-
From realms of common beauty and the wiles
of class-bred temper; Parted from less learned
Folk like me whom their countenance beguiles-
Although, it seems that all our breaking dreams
In this reality reforge themselves;
Imbued now with the pain of shattered hearts,
We move forward with new convictions held.
To wit; It's not that fucking hip and cool
To play the guy who likes you like a fool

Black&White

Intrinsically tied
Original lie
to death do us part
or liberty die.
A marriage untrue
though equality tries
it gets pacified
through ignorant eye.
I'm black on my white
and white on my black side
the hierarchy is unjustified.
When the colors diffuse
and done is the day
America will turn into
shades of grey.

Bitter as an unripe fruit

She don't like complaining
She sees sunshine when its raining
Her mama says "There are certain kinds of men, the chewy kind you'll never love cuz they're too sweet for your tastebuds, the bittersweet who you want to eat but never can digest. That sour kind of black man to steal your heart right out your chest- then never let your soul to rest. And then of course your husband, as good and healthy as protein."
Protein?
The man you settle on is your mind and body's compromise"
Never fall for ebony child, that sweet dark thang with perfect smile
or one who doesn't call you back
your father, child, was just like that
you grandma married 5 different men
and stress sent her straight to God.
Love though, open up, be yourself
let a man hold you and know you
but you betta watch yourself
cuz some are honeysuckin demons
who just don't give a damn
and I have seen plenty as old as I am
and plenty women ruined for trusting the wrong man.

She, 8 years old and listening as closely as she can.

Mad Love to all our friends and family that came through

Obama Fundraiser

Many thanks to everyone who came out and supported the Coup at our past performance in New Rochelle for Barack Obama's fundraiser! You will be able to find the video of our performance on this site shortly. Please check up for any upcoming Coup events and new poetry posted!




(Left to Right: Tinisha, Nicole, Paulo, Aaron)

To a Writer

What great disgust there is
in making books.
Is there no other way of putting words?
That my hands must grasp it from behind
takes the task of grasping from the mind.

If souls ascend beyond
limits of the third dimension
to waken senses lost in mundane lives,
why not just use simple imagination
than forcing what's essential through the eyes?

To every writer, find that you must know
there is no joy in any words you put.
There is no quintessential fact you're giving,
when the only way one learns is through the
living.

RE; Tomorrow Never Dies

All is hurricanes and all is butterflies,
And "Tomorrow never dies!", she cries.

She yells/sings for the sake of dawning hope,
Passions intertwined, once twin hearts elope,
Feathered flights of fancy in falsetto ramblings,
In his eyes and hers, a refracted diamond kaleidoscope.
In his eyes lay tumbling light struck tears,
In hers, the same - the sum of all falling fears.
Causality, case by case, coming to trial standing,
Both victims sentenced to the review of years.
And so; So slowly does the hourglass sand fall,
Sister Time held prisoner steadfastly in it's thrall-
But caught as she is, the machination doesn't deny,
That he can't stop her course no matter how hard he tries.

In time, all hurts will heal.
In time, everythings purpose will be revealed.

All is hurricanes, and all is butterflies.
All is never-ending, and tomorrow never dies.

The Walk

I took a walk with Beauty today
Down Paths 3 and 2 and 1.
Each path snowflake unique,
And similarly slowly being undone

Path Three was a winding road
of scared and wavering indecision;
Given to brief bursts of clarity
under sun-struck floral visions.

And it was fading. Forever fading...

Path Two was a rocky Azure Shore
next to roaring waves of doubt.
Hammering home the truth of "alone"
I struck toward a land-kissed route.

That path too was fading. Crying, and fading away.

Path One was strikingly held
in the grasp of sublunary attraction.
The road clear, It beckoned and called
for me to become a man of action.

This path stood fast against the pull-

It stood fast! Bastion of some hope,
some dream that refused to be deferred.
Last stand by some far flung fantasy fancy
created as the former paths converged.

Beauty and I took in the linking sites
as they swirled together, innately fleeting.
Transient companions, we parted soon after;
Only one party though, was leaving.

Welcome to the Coup de Grace!

Welcome to the Coup de Grace, A new poetry group consisting of 5 black writers in New Rochelle, New York.

Feel free to browse around and see what you can find. Soon to come, poems, events, and videos!