She Chronicles presents, “A Woman of Class, Race, and Color” by DragonPoetikFly

She wrote about it.
I decided to read it.
I talked about it, and wanted to be it too.
Being about it is our business.
The issue of our revolution states:
“Women of all superiority, not inferiorities embrace the authority. For all your worth and
wealth to be like common; to be a race class of glorified gender. Free yet splendid, and
not yet worldly desired. Thinker and strong willed back breaking baby baring queens.
Raise your fist like this!
Put them in the air like this!
Be proud like this!
Civilized nature isn’t bliss, we have no colors of suffrage.”
Am I not a woman?
Unleash the femininity of your womanhood.
Put the power on them!
You are naturally nurturing our future into progression,
not with standing oppression.
This is my confession, and all I want to shout out is
“Power to The People!”
Stick my pick in my afro with the fist erect,
and know better days and ways are here.
Yes I patiently await its coming.
We are just now recognizing we are free.
But we still think, feel, and behave like slaved women.
We are scholars, felons, activist, writers, philosophers, and many uncrowned
accomplishments in one.
A hero this woman is,
and an personification of the struggle of women.
She embraces her community and its families.
We are fighting against aggressive relations.
Lady love embrace our nation.
I love you Angela Y. Davis a woman of race, class, and color

Inspired By: Angela Y. Davis 1981 Novel “Women, Race and Class”
DragonPoetikFly Publishing Ink.© ™2018

 

Click here for more works by DragonPoetikFly

 

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She Chronicles presents, “Gladys Hedgpeth” by Jetta Dya Jones

She was a close friend of one of the twentieth century’s most celebrated contraltos, Marian Anderson, and renowned educator, Mary McCloud Bethune; an admirer of Booker T. Washington; and once wrote about going to hear Ethiopia’s Emperor Haile Selassie and how disappointed she was when her children didn’t know where Ethiopia was on a world map.  Sadly, not much has changed 75 years later.  Civil rights activist and gifted seamstress, Gladys Hedgpeth’s story is one of courage, faith, and simply being aware things just weren’t fair when it came to equality in the quality of life . . . academic opportunities; career visions realized; and cultural exposure.  Against all odds, the self-educated, ‘very pretty’, brave and defiant mother of 9 helped bring a school board to its knees.

In 1943, Trenton, New Jersey wasn’t much different for ‘people of color’ than small towns in the South.  Daily racial oppression was just not as blatant, but most ‘Negroes’ were still confined to segregated facilities; venues; and prospects.  Although having to endure the sole responsibility of being a divorced single mother, a small portion of Gladys Hedgpeth’s days were still spent lugging a big, black pocketbook loaded down with NAACP membership envelopes.  It wasn’t easy convincing folks to join the so needed historic organization (founded in 1909) when that same dollar could buy two loaves of bread.  The crusader knew she had no choice but to try.

When Junior High School No. 2 was built, Gladys and other parents on the block thought their children wouldn’t have to travel to far away Lincoln.  That was definitely not the case.  Ten years before the decision of Brown vs. the Topeka, Kansas Board of Education (the Supreme Court’s decision on public school desegregation), the protestor and her neighbor, Berline Williams filed a lawsuit against the Trenton Board of Education.  They were represented by an NAACP attorney, Robert Queen.

Soon more than 200 black school children had transferred from Lincoln to other city junior high schools.  In 1946, Lincoln began enrolling white children making its principal Patton J. Hill, one of the first black men in the U.S. to head an integrated secondary school.  The case was cited by Thurgood Marshall in his arguments in the 1954 Supreme Court case.

(February, 1944) New Jersey Supreme Court Justice Newton Porter announced the Court’s decision . . . “It’s unlawful for Boards of Education to exclude children from any public school on the ground that they are of the Negro race, and a school board has no legal right to refuse Negro children admission in the school nearest their residence and compel them to attend another school where colored children are segregated from other children.

Celebration and honor!  In 1993, Junior High School No. 2 was renamed the Hedgpeth/Williams Middle School.

Resource:  Spring, 2005 – American Legacy Magazine

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Kansas City native, Jetta Dya Jones is a retired educator, motivational speaker, and freelance writer.  Her debut inspirational book, Ba’al Perazim:  The Breakthrough, will be released early summer (Life Chronicles Publishing)

 

She Chronicles presents, “I Won’t Lie For Her” by Gianni North

I read an article the other day about a high school girl who refused to stand for the “Pledge of Allegiance.” I saw myself in her. I did the same thing when I was in eighth grade. At the time, Los Angeles felt post-apocalyptic. We were only a few years removed from the Latasha Harlins case and the LA Riots. My Black and Brown friends were being assaulted and handcuffed for no reason, murdered with impunity and many fell prey to mandatory minimums. I watched as children of immigrants jumped from the second-story windows of my junior high school to protest threats of deportation from a country that was stolen from their ancestors. I walked past homeless people begging to be seen as humans. Gay friends could not walk hand-in-hand. So I could not understand how I could be asked to pledge allegiance when I knew “with liberty and justice for all” was bullshit. It still is.

The young protester was expelled from school. She filed a lawsuit, determined to hold the Constitution to its promise. I hope she wins; but I’m a cynic. Even if she wins in court, she’s fighting to be readmitted to complete an inadequate education. S.T.E.M. classes are undervalued. Books are being removed from English and history classes for being too offensive.  All that’s left are watered down texts perpetrated as knowledge. They won’t tell our kids the truth. If they did, the system could not train them to be new slaves.

I want to write this young woman a note of encouragement. I want to tell her not standing means something; but I can’t. Just as my mother couldn’t tell me.

I love my country. She taught me “God Bless America” in elementary.  I sang with sincerity and my hand over my heart, but that was before I learned the history America wants to forget. She doesn’t want to talk about the European men who raped, murdered, robbed, and left her in bloody pieces. She tries to distract me with patriotism, but she can’t hide the truth. This is not the “give me your tired, your poor huddled masses yearning to breathe free” America. I have hope for that America. I’m willing to fight for that America. The truth is that version of our country is still just an idea written on old paper. It is the truth America fears the young protester already knows.

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 Gianni North

For bio and more works, visit: Indiefemme (Independent Women Making Independent Films)

She Chronicles presents, “Notions” by Sandra Rivers-Gill

When she was a girl in those days
Her Mama bought a piece of mosaic fabric
Weaved salvaged edges into historical truth
I heard her say

You could buy a piece of mosaic fabric
For ten cent a yard
She resounded with clarity
Through her veil of trimmed notions

For ten cent a yard
Inspiration was sewn into our lineage
Preserving amid the crow of notions
Her Mama made sack dresses from lack

Stitched threads that spurred our lineage
To crease hems in place of mediocrity
Sack clothing was made with praising hands
Because Southern crops impaled the boll of grasps

She turned to hymns instead of idle hands
And waved them like her Mama’s kinfolk
Who toiled fields that impaled their grasps
But their unbreakable spirit was their balm

Her Mama was as immovable as her kinfolk
She was vigilant and strong and learned
How to wear unbreakable spirit like a balm
That worked narratives into folded seams

She trained her daughters to be watchful; to study
How to buy yards of the mosaic fabric
And line their narratives into the upright seams
We weave our salvaged edges with tangible truth

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A native of Toledo Ohio, Sandra Rivers-Gill is an award-winning poet,

writer, performer and playwright. Her literary work has appeared, or is forthcoming in Common Threads, Toledo Streets Newspaper, the Toledo

Museum of Art (Online), Flights Literary Magazine and The Kerf. Sandra

served as the 2016 Literary chairperson for the Prizm Creative Community

Art-Affair Exhibition, and has been a featured poet in Toledo and

Dayton, Ohio and continues to read and perform  her poetry. She

currently facilitates poetry workshops at Naomi Inc., a non-profit

treatment facility for women in recovery from alcohol and drug abuse and

is the editor of Dopeless Hope Fiends, a poetry chapbook featuring the

work of the women she serves. Sandra studied communication and received

a Bachelor’s degree from the University of Toledo.

She Chronicles presents, “Reflections” by Dawn Edwards

We all have moments where we get caught up dealing with life’s chaos and whatever struggles we’re facing, and we have a hard time filtering out all the negative crap that likes to build up and overwhelm us. That’s when it’s crucial that we are careful about the kind of “Self-Talks” we have because if we’re not careful, those little talks can too easily be consumed with an unhealthy amount of pessimism and bitterness that tends to accompany us in times of stress and worry.

When times are hard, they can often be blessings in disguise- so you must let go and allow life to strengthen and guide you, because no matter how it much it may hurt, you need to hold your head up and keep it moving- remember this when you’re having a rough day, a bad month, or a crappy year- just know that things will change and you will not feel this way forever.

We gotta keep in mind that we are in control of our attitude and our way of looking at things, and it doesn’t take much sometimes to let our thoughts overwhelm us and then our heads are filled with, “I’ll never get this finished.”  “I can’t.”  “What else can go wrong?”  “I have too much on my plate, I can’t deal with it anymore.”

That’s when you gotta manage those self-defeating thoughts and acknowledge that to attract positivity, you gotta start by giving off positive energy. Stop focusing solely on what’s going wrong and what can’t be done, and put more energy into doing whatever is in your power to better your situation.

Try shifting your perspective, Take a deep breath. Take a walk.  Move to another room.  Sometimes working from a different location can bring a different perspective and some much-needed clarity.  To keep your sanity and stay mentally sane, sometimes you just need to change your point of view and tell the negative committee that likes to meet up inside your mind to be quiet.

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Dawn Edwards wrote her first short story at the age of 8 and has cultivated a deeper love for the written word over the years. She is now a published author, her book is entitled, “Food 4 Thought” and currently has two book projects in the works. She’s a blogger and a political activist who wholly believes that she has the responsibility to use her words, in addition to her legal knowledge and political science background to uplift, motivate and address issues that affect her community. Dawn’s also a mother of 3 boys, and a trained dancer.

Locz4lyfe.com

She Chronicles presents “She Is Spirit, She Is Truth” by a Wise Woman

When a Phoenix rises from the ashes

She does not rise alone

She carries in Her wings

seedlings weighted in light not shone

 

She cradles them upon Her breasts

nurturing them with life-giving breath

She casts down the lies of oppression

they have been taught to believe is their destiny

 

Instead builds them up in Truth

to know they are to be

so much more than

just a dead epiphany

 

She strengthens their wings to soar

beyond the world’s interpretation

of who they should be…

imprisoned instead of free

 

She is mighty, She is fierce

Her wings an impenetrable fortress

protecting Her young from

the deadly arrows that pierce

 

She will fight and give Her life

She will weep the aches and bleed

the pain that is not Her own

for the seeds of Her womb

 

Yes, the Phoenix is a Mother

birthing spirits that fly beyond

to lead others out of their blindness

that only sees skin color, poverty, hopelessness

 

For you see, the Phoenix is not myth or legend

and cannot be seen by the eye of mankind

She is Spirit, She is Truth dwelling in empyrean heights

but upon this earth She is seen, and She is known

by another name…              

                                    WOMAN

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Click the link for more works by A Wise Woman’s Journey

She Chronicles presents, “I Am” by Sandra Rivers-Gill

I Am

 

I know who I am. I am who I was created to be

Without being who you expect me to be

Who they assume I am

Who I thought I was

                                    I am strong

 

I have cried and lied and spied and tried

To be that super; that make do, that bag

That pick up the pieces

                                    I am woman

 

I can roar and I can soar

This may not be in your job description

But it is my prescription, because I have changed

Not short-changed

But rearranged myself

                                    I am free

 

To be who I was created to be

I am a unique piece to my own puzzle

Intricate, a benefit, not counterfeit

Fitting into grooves

I thought I’d never fill the vacancy

                                    I am determined

 

If I know who I am

I can respect you, because I respect myself

I can love you, because I love myself

I can respond to you and not react

I can share with you and not be envious

I can converse with you and be real

                                    I am a possibility

________________________________________________________________________________________

A native of Toledo Ohio, Sandra Rivers-Gill is an award-winning poet,

writer, performer and playwright. Her literary work has appeared, or is forthcoming in Common Threads, Toledo Streets Newspaper, the Toledo

Museum of Art (Online), Flights Literary Magazine and The Kerf. Sandra

served as the 2016 Literary chairperson for the Prizm Creative Community

Art-Affair Exhibition, and has been a featured poet in Toledo and

Dayton, Ohio and continues to read and perform  her poetry. She

currently facilitates poetry workshops at Naomi Inc., a non-profit

treatment facility for women in recovery from alcohol and drug abuse and

is the editor of Dopeless Hope Fiends, a poetry chapbook featuring the

work of the women she serves. Sandra studied communication and received

a Bachelor’s degree from the University of Toledo.

SUBMISSIONS NOW OPEN!

Don’t miss out on the submission period for SHE CHRONICLES 2018! This is our annual celebration for literary works for/about/by the feminine narrative. Enjoy some of the highlights from SHE CHRONICLES 2017 today!

 

Embracing the Vision by Natalie Bullock Brown

I am a feminist. I’m kind of late to this designation, at least in my eyes. I’m less than five years south of 50, and I’ve only recently recognized the utility of feminism. The necessity. In fact, I firmly believe that as Nigerian author and feminist, Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche, has written: “we should all be feminists.”

Way more often than I think we’d be willing to admit, however, women often fail to provide the support and nurture we want and require from each other. We fail to adhere to what seems to me to be a basic feminist principle, which is that women support each other on the basis of our shared oppression and struggle. But we don’t always do that. It’s not that we try to throw each other under the bus – not always. But in general, I’ve begun to believe that we harbor in our hearts so many of the lies that society has told us about ourselves that it’s nearly impossible for us to show up for each other when the time comes.

Mother by Almazi B.

Mother was strong and invincible. A tall, sun kissed, beautiful brown Queen that carried her pain through life as effortlessly as her joy. She existed behind an austere silence, keeping the subjects of her kingdom at an uncanny distance. More than anything, I longed for her touch as a child. I desired a physical indication that we shared an immutable connection—undeniably of comfort, safety, and affirmation. However, caught in the crosshairs of survival and solidarity, I realized Mother had to remain free of obvious emotional attachment. She was a warrior and such ties could be fatal, so I believed. I lived with dreams deferred but never forgotten. Mother’s far-reaching and ever-seeking hand of fury taught me to be quick on my feet, determined, and forgiving. Since I could not win against her silence, I rebelled against her pain. I accepted my position as a motherless child and began to appreciate the bittersweet existence we would share. She was a conundrum. However, her unique plight as a Black Woman was very clear.