#DarkCock hashtag - Bluesky

@chillguy55-20.bsky.social

3 weeks ago

Friday is here !!! #gaycock #darkcock #pinkhead

2 0 0 0

Mebeingme66

@mebeingme66.bsky.social

3 weeks ago

Mid month chub 🍆😈

#fcf #darkcock #thickcock

73 5 1 0

Papi Rico

@papirico1969.bsky.social

1 month ago

Two Black Boys in Paradise They won’t be here forever, maybe just as long as this poem. These two Black boys in paradise. Two Black boys: can you see them? These two Black boys are free. These two Black boys are happy. Black boys are real boys. Black boys are not just little men. Do you believe Black boys are real, like for real for real? Real black boys feel. These two black boys are a healing. Did you poison the apple already? Did you dig up the tree? Are you trying to plant these Black boys in the ground? Did you call them apple thieves? Did you call the police? There are no police in paradise. There are no white people in this paradise. The two boys in this poem have Black boy names. They have grown up now, but their names still suit them. Masculinity has not been required of them. They are in love with each other, and they are in love with themselves. One kisses the other’s Adam’s apple. They don’t make babies. Maybe paradise is just meant for two people at a time. Maybe it will be two Black girls in paradise next time. Maybe they won’t have to be boys or girls. Maybe it will be you in paradise with that person you have in mind right now. © Dean Atta, from There is (still) love here (Nine Arches Press, 2022)

“Young King” A poem for young black men (2019) By BFoundAPen Young King, Listen to me Find that one thing That gets you out of bed in the morning That’ll help you push you out of mourning That keeps you going when your stomach is churning With self-doubt Young King, Listen to me I know the world is cold Bullets snatching lives Leaving the guns of officers meant to protect the people I know it’s hard to do what you’re told When they’re throwing you up against the wall Giving up on you in the classroom Conditioning you to think you’re doomed Either way Young King, There’s a crown on your head That nobody can yank away One that’s here to stay Till the very end They say heavy is the head that wears the crown But if anyone can handle it It’s you In whatever you choose to do Young King, Keep your head up Even when you’re fed up Even when you get knocked down Just know you can always stand back up And stand proud With a heart full of pride With confidence that shows in your stride Never let your dreams die Never let your heart turn cold Because that’s just what they want ### I wrote this poem because I wish I had someone to tell me those things when I was growing up. Young black boys are criminalized at a young age and conditioned for spending a lifetime in and out of a jail cell. A lot of the times, black boys don’t have their father around while growing up. Even if they do, sometimes their father isn’t a good example of how to be a successful man.

Poets' Zócalo See you at the Zócalo / Meet Us in the Square “Baby, I'm for real”: Black-American Gay poets from a generation ago "I dream of Black men loving and supporting other Black men, and relieving Black women from the role of primary nurturers in our community. I dream, too, that as we receive more of what we want from each other that our special anger reserved for Black women will disappear. For too long we expected from Black women that which we could only obtain from other men. I dare myself to dream." Joseph Fairchild Beam (1954 – 1988) from Brother to Brother: Words from the Heart , a passionate 1984 essay directed at all – not just gay – Black men Lamont B. Steptoe (born 1949) “ Maybelle's boy” . I get from other men what my daddy never gave He just left me a house full of lonesome rooms and slipped on in his grave. . Now when muscular arms enfold me Peace descends from above Someone is holdin' Maybelle's boy and whispering words of love. **** Don Charles (born 1960) “ Comfort” . When you looked and saw my brown skin Didn't it make you feel comfortable? . Didn't you remember that old blanket You used to wrap up in When the nights get cold? . Didn't you think about that maplewood table Where you used to sit and Write letters to your daddy? . Didn't you almost taste that sweet gingerbread What did your granny use to make? (And you know it was good.) When you looked and saw my brown eyes Didn't they look just like Home? ###

Beautiful Black Men (With compliments and apologies to all not mentioned by name) i wanta say just gotta say something bout those beautiful beautiful beautiful outasight black men with they afros walking down the street is the same ol danger but a brand new pleasure sitting on stoops, in bars, going to offices running numbers, watching for their whores preaching in churches, driving their hogs walking their dogs, winking at me in their fire red, lime green, burnt orange royal blue tight tight pants that hug what i like to hug jerry butler, wilson pickett, the impressions temptations, mighty mighty sly don't have to do anything but walk on stage and i scream and stamp and shout see new breed men in breed alls dashiki suits with shirts that match the lining that compliments the ties that smile at the sandals where dirty toes peek at me and i scream and stamp and shout for more beautiful beautiful beautiful black men with outasight afros = Mikah Kavita

Wel-cum to...
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AN ODE TO BLACK COCK 🍆
[ ... and all the other beauty... ]

"LOVELY & LARGE: CHOCOLATE MEN" 🍫.👅.

Bonus:
See the poems in the ALT TEXT ❣️

XxX
PAPI RICO
[ CJ in SF]

🍌...💦

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