Category Archives: writers

9th Ward, I Saw You

I finally saw where you ran.  I finally saw where you climbed.  I rode on the freeway you slept.

I wept.

I saw your cobble mixed streets and humidity strangled window panes

the markings on your porch remain / your neighbor remain refrained from returning

and we partied on Bourbon Street.

I saw how you thought it’d be safe to stay / I saw where the levee gave way

…the Mississippi lived up to her name, Mighty.

like yellow stained teeth from coffee and smoke / I saw

the flood stains that remain against your doors and fences and house panels

up to 6 feet / too deep for grandmother and her 55 year old niece

and we partied on Bourbon Street.

and I saw the roofs where you climbed / the shot gun houses with attic crawl space

for the young to cling to who were small and few

I know how you pray / so I know you thought it’d be safe to stay

forgive us for not pouring some spirits on the streets for your soul of mind.

9th Ward, I Saw You.  I saw where you met Katrina.

 

inspired by a New Orleans visit 6/2013 -copyright nikki skies 2013

Sky Builders

“Even Harriette
left her husband because of his fears
no going for cigarettes or bread story
she simply said,
You keep the banjo and the bed, I’m out!” -for Harriette Tubman by Nikki Skies

How to Drink Moonshine

You drink moonshine with the honest intentions of getting drunk. Drunk with good memories of thigh slapping laughter and fistfuls of sticky dish candy.

You drink moonshine with grown moments. Not shallow kisses or store bought espresso shots.

You drink moonshine with album covers laid across your living room floor. With cheap candles burning against 24 year old wallpaper inspired by a Barbara Streisand movie. Moonshine is ancient.

You drink moonshine from a frosted green glass, by yourself, upon the smell of the Saturday rain. Get drunk with solitude and independence and darkness and patience. The same way it was brewed away from company.

You drink moonshine with open toe mary janes and slightly chipped purple polish on your big toe. Living fly. With a summer strapless dress wearing a too little bra. Carefree and comfortable. Cause hell, the bra is holding half of ’em in.

moonshine
monkey lines
rip tides

Me time. Moonshine brings precise direction of tomorrows paradise and yesterdays error arrows. You drink moonshine in the morning shower with singing alongside the radio.

You pass moonshine times to the ones you love. Hot, steady nights saving on the electricity bill with wet white sheets atop floor fans. Moonshine banjo. Moonshine phone dimes.

You drink moonshine when it’s right
to get it right.

You drink moonshine by yourself, upon the smell of the Saturday rain.

Why I Stopped Blogging

This blog was created some two years ago.  I had incredible intentions to express myself as an artist and newly formed parent of my nieces and nephews.  I wanted to share with other people the newness that I was experiencing and hopefully get some insight as how to handle certain situations.  Now, I have been either writing or performing for years now. If I’m not performing then I am writing and vice versa.  So the discipline that is needed and where I need to go with myself came easy but what stopped me were the reactions.  The consistent and earnest support I began to receive.  The love that surrounded my situation.

As an artist, we receive stories from within (the Most High) and they always connect with somebody.  And that somebody has been waiting for you and when you arrive they have a genuine love for you.  They keep you connected with that unselfish, free feeling.  That plentiful emotion with the Most High continues if you deliver the message.  So you stay there as an artist.  When in fact, you are only delivering the same message to different people and not growing your spirit.  Because how dare you change and contradict yourself!

I sat in my theatre performing for years with the same emotions and only got out because I graduated with my degree.  I sat in my writings for years with the same emotions and only got out because people began to perform my works without my consent.  I then sat in my performance of theatre and poetry for years and only got out through a relationship.  I had been a captive to my art for years in fear of growth and because I feared what people would think.

So when people became affianced with my blog and my situation, I stopped.  I stopped in fear I would be held accountable to stay in whatever mood I was experiencing at the time.  Now being responsible for children, I knew this was not the time to wait around to be saved through a situation or person.  I knew I could only come back to my art with an unabashed confidence and a solid buoyancy about myself.

So, here I am.  Nikki Skies, author/performer and active aunt of five.  No longer afraid to be my perfect companion and grow amongst minutes.

inspiration confirmation

image

I remember the day I got this letter!  I stood in the post office and the world stopped… then I sat in my car and let the world stop again…

I was working on my first play and wanted to use a snippet of Lady in Purple from Ntozake Shange timeless piece, “For Colored Girls…”  Out of all the things she could’ve been doing, out all the business she was tending to, she wrote me a letter of approval.

This letter meant the world to me!  Everyone wants to write the classic piece that can live without them.  And Shange taking the time to read my material and send this letter confirmed I had true passion for this.

I want to inspire someone someday.  Provide that encouragement when they want to run for security to plan B.  I hope to keep them on track to want to perfect their craft and believe in it.

Thanks Ms. Shange,

passing it on…

for You on Our day

I’m with you swaying

standing next to you during that moment of silence

seeking to find me in Martin Luther King, amongst Garvey, between the Panthers so I

collect afros and scraped down

heels from marching

surrounding myself with titties and thighs

cause I know I did something more in the movement than take notes and mix lemonade

Where’s my day?  My stamp?  My park?  My street?

no building/no parade/no libraries

but I know the shoulders I stand on

and today is our day.

 

 

angelaandalice