Ain’t nobody talking about it
the strong black woman is tired by Tuesday.
and on Thursday,
She buries another virtue so Friday morning can be a
She goes for unavailable men
cause of Her father’s absence.
it’s your problem
cause your daughter plays with Her daughter
I need you,
To care for her.
nikki skies for National Poetry Month
She’s heard more eulogies than poetry so I wrote this for her.
Amidst the sips of licorice tea, I asked her
“what would she do differently.”
She replied she’d “love as fearlessly as she fought
take more time,
soak the greens instead of rinse ’em”
research his heart as she did antiquity.
She truly believed that for years she had a melody
but never a song
“conquer your souls duality” she told me
the world is depending on you to love
Nikki Skies, ©2007 Published in anthology of “His Rib: Stories Poems & Essays by HER” by Penmanship Publishing Group
moon face full of stars.
little woman / soft voice with cursive connotations.
and universe hugging
woman of literature.
my love for her is beyond words.
adoring / fond / attached like a new lover.
even though she is associated with the black arts movement, she is one of those artists who have walked through hip hop with us. her words have survived the linguistic flips and inspire/challenge writers today. she joined blues music with her poetic styles of tanka and haiku. she is the key of b sharp.
she is award winning and legendary and highly sought after for lecturing on women’s rights and literary topics.
I am writing this as if everyone knows where she was born and who she was married to and how many books she has, etc. if you don’t know… look her up and land in love with poetry and prose. over. and over. again.
sonia sanchez, one of the reasons I have realized/actualized I must write.
This poem is from the book “Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips” available for purchase on Amazon.
How black can a panther get?
How high is serious set?
Know melanin and let
Evolve / I then bet
Set the panther inside loose
then serious you’ve met.
She stood by the bedside of Jordan. A lotus. Feet grown from delta mud. She was creation. Exploded from chaos. A holistic believer.
Ruleville, Mississippi. Crooked state. Chosen land. Eternal cost. Chosen woman. Creased face. Her memory wavers like an untuned church organ.
If you see her. Tell her you remember. Her protected skin that matched night. Unafraid. Sleep patterned to that of bats. Called upon. Like Nut and Shu. To uphold the heavens. Keep young mouths breathing. When tempted to swallow swollen faith. She followed the dust and escaped through the vents.
Continue reading a Prose for Fannie Lou Hamer’s
“Poetry is always good to keep the juices flowing. Poetry is the training for any writer. For fiction writers, I’d have them write poetry for a year. It gives you a sense of voice, rhythm, economical use of words for power and mood. It teaches you to be brief. You don’t want to bore your reader.” John Williams
She say for her family
she do what she can
when in reality it be for her
man / who wants a mother like her son
so she wipe both they asses and then her tears cause it be from the same shit
Too tired more/more tired than her mother who taught her how to stay
who lived and died the same way
the palm reader etched on her palm
now that she know/she can remain calm
when he come to bed smelling like fuck nut
and dried saliva.
He’ll say it’s all in her head
so she have nightmares of
forever being a fool.
from the book,
Copies available here
Thank you Ms Lorde for everything. We remember you…