20:30 A.D.

he doesn’t even give his Soul.
Doesn’t /slit his wrist for them to feed on his
he just talk shit
and they savagely lick and sniff it like captured
orangutans at the zoo.

and out of the pack
one is a sheep / and the other wolves
and they are leading the masses in the darkness of the forest.

no home based knowledge to stir up conversation
simmer and brew some intellect

he just likes the attention
so he performs poetry.

from the book, “Pocket Honey, Wind and Hips” by Nikki Skies


A Prose for Fannie Lou Hamer


She stood by the bedside of Jordan. A lotus. Feet grown from delta mud. She was creation. Exploded from chaos. A holistic believer.

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 dust and escaped through the vents.

She believed in every rain drop. In every baby’s cry. Others snapped their necks against frozen water. Prayed up. Since the fire started. She conquered all octaves. Roamed every chance in her soul. Democratic National Convention. Taught. Listened. Patient black sheep. In the cotton fields. Raised a Freedom Farm. Thousands rejoiced. Fulfilled. God spoke. Tell me now.

Forgive his-story. If you see her. Tell her you remember.

from the short story book, “Mississippi Window Cracks” by Nikki Skies

Missing rifle Missing woman (for Harriet Tubman)


sky readers / moon believers / before the sunrise prayers
Wisdom born mamas sew star, sun, earth, heart shaped patterns on
Quilts to warm babies & free souls
Hearing from the winds when to hang ’em high on the clothes line
Before the rooster crow / before master know
Patterns on quilts mapped out which way to go
To wade in the water
Missing rifle / missing woman.

from the book, “Pocket Honey, Wind and Hips” – nikki skies

premiere of the lost Amiri Baraka film The New-Ark (1968) at Rutgers-Newark, Tuesday, April 22!



Here is something I’m very excited about: next Tuesday, April 22, we’ll be premiering the restored version of Amiri Baraka’s The New-Ark (which he wrote and directed as LeRoi Jones), at Rutgers-Newark:

The New-Ark_Flyer

The New-Ark had been almost entirely forgotten until Lars Lierow discussed it in his recent Black Camera article about lost Black Arts filmmaking (even Baraka himself, so far as I can tell, made but a passing parenthetical reference to it in his autobiography). The only known print in existence is at Harvard Film Archive, in the collection of cinematographer James Hinton.

Here are some glimpses from it (courtesy the James E. Hinton Collection, Harvard Film Archive, Fine Arts Library, Harvard University):

New Ark 4New Ark 3 interior crowdNew Ark 2 BarakaNew Ark 1

New Ark end titlesNew Ark title three frame

I’ve been doing some archival digging on the film, because I’ll be introducing it with some brief comments about Baraka’s film work—much of which has gone nearly as overlooked as The New-Ark. The 1967 adaptation of Dutchman (which you can

View original post 579 more words

7:30 AD

I came / black girl
dark black girl
2nd generation city girl
mama gave me all she knew from what was torn between rebellion and
I know fried spam and boxed potatoes
hot nights with white wet sheets over fans
I know the aroma of lost time / depressed eyes that shame your
I know a dream deferred / every word
every pebble on its beach
I’ve swam on it
drowned myself in its waters more times than my fingers and toes
and I still have enough space on my back for you.



I am a lover of perseverance. I am folklore. I am consistency and contradiction.

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