BIO

Jane Musoke-Nteyafas was born in Moscow, Russia, daughter of Ugandan diplomat parents. She has lived in Russia, France, Denmark, Cuba, Uganda and Canada and has travelled extensively throughout the world. She speaks English, French, Spanish, Danish and Luganda. She is the first born of four kids and she lives in Toronto, Canada. She writes poetry, lyrics and short stories and she is looking forward to publishing her first book Daughters of the Earth once she obtains a publisher. She says "Poetry is my passion as well as visual art. I am proud of my African roots and a lot of my poetry reflects that." She was the winner of the Miss Africanada 2000-2001 pageant.

Jane Musoke-Nteyafas is a prolific writer and performer. She has been published in the Toronto Star, The Monitor (Uganda), The Share Magazine, The Pride Magazine, Taj Mahal review (India), an anthology and several websites. She is a member of Toronto poets and has performed her poetry orally at La Parole, Increase the peace, Brown girls in the Ring, 52 Inc, The Miss Africanada 2000 pageant, CKLN radio Station, Flow and many other Toronto venues.

Poetry

Uganda

THE VILLAGE BEAUTY

The village beauty was she

With voodoo hips

And sweet velvet lips.

She traipsed with promises

Of dawn mildew fragrances

And ivory gardenia scents.

The village beauty was she

With melanin rich skin,

Blessed with a wealthy miasma

Of sun kissed sands

And silhouette darkness

With silky, smooth softness.

The village beauty was she

With pyramid tall braids,

Bedecking her massaged roots

Wrapped like Tour Eiffel locks

Of black cotton threads

On her myrrh perfumed scalp.

The village beauty was she

A proud picturesque princess

Like a Kibuuka painting

Sketched by mosaic colours.

She was a haloed jewel

Scintillating in this mundane galaxy.

The village beauty was she

She danced by poplar trees,

Melodic movements mystic.

She held the villagers in hypnosis

With the charms of her seduction,

Eyes flashing like summer stars.

The village beauty was she,

Breasts ripe like small melons

Tall like an African giraffe,

Unaware of her inebriating loveliness,

Was this daughter of Kasaato.

Bakima was her name

The village beauty was she.

By Jane Musoke-Nteyafas

Tuesday 11^th December 2001

Copyright JMN ã2001

THIS MASTERPIECE

This masterpiece

Of crystal stones

Dark ambergris candles,

Antiquated ivory ribbons

Laced like the Caribbean Islands

Round the length of my neck

Has been sculptured

By God’s fingers.

This masterpiece

Of warm crimson rivers

Running through the threads

Of my dark-coated veins,

And of ebony soaked wool

Resting upon my scalp

Has been sculptured

By God’s fingers.

This masterpiece

Of seashells and cowry shells,

Of scented lavender ambrosia scents

And cocoa butter aromas

Of my bright like rubies

Chocolate skin, kissed by sun,

Has been sculptured

By God’s fingers.

By Jane Musoke-Nteyafas.

Monday 26^th November 2001

Copyright JMN ã2004

LEGENDARY BEAUTY.

She had a legendary kind of beauty
And turned heads wherever she went.
It was that chocolate brown, smooth, silky skin
That totally enraptured, enthralled people.
As smooth as a baby's milky skin.

She had a legendary kind of beauty
She had beautiful, blackish-brownish eyes
That shone, scintillated, sparkled seductively.
Those almond-shaped eyes needed no mascara,
No make up for they were naturally darkly outlined.

She had a legendary kind of beauty.
Everybody admired her luscious, full red lips,
Carved out by a perfect sculptor, the Creator Divine.
Her long black, bouncy kinky hair was a marvel.
The different styles she'd design in it, incredulous.

She had a legendary kind of beauty.
When her lips spread out into a smile
Evenly shaped, pearly white teeth were exposed,
A pride of her African heritage.
She had the kind of smile that endeared crowds

She had a legendary kind of beauty.
There was nothing extraordinary about her body,
It was curvy and sensuous, the Afro way.
The rose-flavored perfume she always wore
Lingered behind her, intoxicating, drunkening those around.

She had a legendary kind of beauty.
When she opened her lips to speak
A delicate feminine voice would emanate.
She always stood out in the crowd,
Cotton, chiffon, silk. Lace attire gently
Caressed, clung to her curvaceous figure.

She had a legendary kind of beauty.
She had the kind of walk that stopped traffic.
Smooth, shapely legs striding, elegantly poised.
She was the combination of the stars
Moon and sun intermingled.
She meant the world to me.

She was my mother

By Jane Musoke-Nteyafas

THIS ISLAND MAN

This Island man

With the caramel essence of the

Morning sun upon riverbanks

With eyes that are dancing with

Calypso beats and reggae rhythms,

That flow within the passage of time

Like cerulean springs of water.

This Island man

With the mahogany traits of the

Night sky upon nut beige sands,

Lighting up the silver rocks

With lips that sing songs

Of old thatched African villages,

Of a lineage of Kings and Queens.

This Island man

With the ebony locks of crinkly hair,

Thick as the verdant shrubs

Of the volcano-filled fertile lands.

With a touch of Haiti and a

Sprinkle of Santiago de Cuba

That flows in his veins.

This Island man

With a beauty described

In biblical terms by ancient prophets.

Born in the snowy realms of Canada,

Birthright among the hills of Montreal,

Of an ancestry that hailed from

The burning coals of Africa

This Island man

Is my man.

By Jane Musoke-Nteyafas

Tuesday 27^th November 2001