Tag Archives: nikki skies

SHE CHRONICLES: “wanted:love” a poem by Noni Limar

we are spinning on a tilted axis.
growth jilted like crashed jitneys.
two clogged stacked chimneys
with ancient rubble strapped
pain packed along the vertebrae of our spines.

we climb the wilted oak of offense,
roots deeply selfish
cloaked in the pretense of need.
our greed fumbles for logic thru blunt smoke.
sinks cheap bottlenecks into scarlet throats.
falters, praying good head & a firm stroke
can somehow beckon love.

but our lady, she is old.
abused by untold lovers
bold arrows covered & pressed
firm against her breast.

we cannot seduce this cupid
with our feigning dance of devotion.
she can smell our indifference,
denies the golden offerings of heat
stained sheets that reek of jealousy.

we cannot tempt with lack of trust.
there is no cover for our lust.
& so she rejects us.

we are young, stubborn & uneasy
with the unrequited legends of life.
we sharpen our knives with cutting wit.
if luv will not have us,
we will kidnap it, carve it, steal it, maim it
even rename it.
in the dead of night,
stealth covered black, we creep.
palms sweat heavy gripping 9s
we storm upon love
lungs livid as we shout—

we have no fathers
& thus, we have no honor.
our mothers tend the gardens of the tenement.
our teachers are penniless
their patience played so many hands of spades
the jokers themselves are bent.

we’ve been back bending for centuries.
keloid whips still traced in our bitterness.
we try & kiss
but our soured mouths revolt
with the stench of powerlessness.

we are bitches who try & hold
but  we are hoes
with unhealthy hearts.
we are niggas love deemed unworthy.

on this nite,
we will have u love.
we will take u in.
our bones shall know affection & respect
our crowns will grow with grace
wild as lilies laced.
rebuild our wings, love.
plant acres of answered prayers.
cash checks paid by timeless dues  way past due.
from your plate we consume new food,
bask within enchanted gaze.

& if u evade,
we will seek you out in every cave.
blast you from the depths of every hell in every state.
we will hunt u love,
with a hunger that will never satiate.


noni limar is a content creator, musician and love storyteller living in southern california.


SHE CHRONICLES: “For Mamas Who Have Considered Suicide While Loving Daughters With Open Wounds” a poem by Crystal Tennille Irby

If I could rename her, I would call her Oya.  She brought the rain/the storm/the thunder and lightening my heart needed.

I thought my womb would stretch/hips expand/body open for all my children to breath life.

I never imagined my teacher would come to me, age 11/a reflection of my brokenness/an unrelenting stare/unyielding hunger to be whole.

There was no escaping.  A time to heal had come, and so began the cycle of faith and fear.

I never imagined my daughter as a savior.  There would be nothing immaculate about her conception.  How I became a mother would be by birth.  But here she is, no marks to prove my body made room for her/to prove to my soul was given time to prepare for her. But she is here, breathing in all of my dreams as if I whispered them to her as she tossed and turned in my body.

She is a sphinx.  The fire burns but never destroys.  I have witnessed her sift through her own ashes at least three times.  For that, I do not take credit.  I am only here to remind her she has been resurrected before.

I relish in every raindrop/vigilant through every storm/faithful when the lightening strikes because I know rebirth is on the other side.  She has taught me to bury the dead/to forgive myself.  It is her grace I am most grateful for/her willingness to allow me to grow/to always allow me to hold her.  Even in the darkest hours, when our arms can’t seem to stretch around our bodies, I hold her in my heart/in my prayers.  I carry her like child in womb in my soul.

Continue reading SHE CHRONICLES: “For Mamas Who Have Considered Suicide While Loving Daughters With Open Wounds” a poem by Crystal Tennille Irby

SHE CHRONICLES: Video Post, Jaha Zainabu

“Stories that come to me in the middle of the night from folks I don’t know.  Don’t have nothing to do with me except they know I know how to get a pray through and a story straight.”

SHE CHRONICLES: “Crooked Room” by Dessie Sanders

Black Women’s Crooked Room Collection

Museum Hours:
Tuesday – Thursday 10am-9pm
Friday – Saturday     10am – 6pm
Sunday –  Closed for praise and worship services
Monday –  Closed to the public

General Admission is free

Explore Black Women’s Crooked Room Collection your way.
Over 400 hundred years of creativity at your fingertips!
Download the BWCRC app for free.

No food and beverages allowed in the galleries, please.
Nada comida y refrescos permitidas en las galerias, por favor.

I think I’ve covered the masses.

Behold our collection of African females of The Middle Passage:
Mapping Women’s Lives
Much attention is given to: their vulnerabilities, survival and resistance
They were the revolt, like Hives.

Enjoy your visit.
But first, we want to make sure that
You understand the Crooked Room guidelines.


@ Times you will have to tilt or bend.
You will be placed in a crooked room and forced to sit in a crooked chair
And align with the distorted images of Black women on the wall.
Careful, don’t fall.

There are miles of galleries to explore
So, I hope you brought your walking shoes
All galleries are wheelchair friendly.

Black women don’t expect you to understand
How the Crooked Room has become grand
Give it time

Too much?

Come back today, tomorrow, or another day.
If not, stay
Spend time with the images that captures your eye.
Some of the collections will make you cry.


You may eat in the kitchen where we use to eat.
It’s only fair; you have to play by the rules.
Sorry, but once upon a time,
Black people didn’t have the right to choose.


Feel free to look but not touch
All works of art in the BWCRC are fragile.
Keep a safe distance; at least three feet.

Want to know more information about the Crooked Room?
Just ask any Black female
For their story, they’ll tale.

Again, welcome to the Crooked Room.


At age 15, Dr. Dessie Mae Sanders was living in a low income
neighborhood located in South Dallas with two parents and three siblings. Her life was overwhelmed by streets that were surrounded by violence, drugs and prostitution. While attending Lincoln High School and Humanities Magnet, in South Dallas, Dr. Sanders found her passion in The Fine and Performing Arts. She was a strong participant and Alto Choir Leader of the Marine F. Bailey Concert Choir, 1985 – 1988, under the Direction of Evelyn B. Hamilton, and Theater, under the Direction of Dr. Louie H. White.

Today, Dr. Sanders is an outspoken, accomplished author, Educator, Playwright, and
Poet. She is the CEO & Founder of HBCU Connection and The Michelle Obama
International Academy of Arts and Humanities. She has an honorary Doctorate in
Theocentric Humanities, and is currently a Doctoral Candidate, (ABD)-Ph.D. in
Literature, at the University of Texas at Dallas. Also, has a Master’s degree in Liberal Studies, Fine Arts and a Bachelor of Arts in Theater from Grambling State University. Dr. Sanders is a professor of African American Identity and Womanism. As a scholar,her research re-imagines the religious nature within Africa and African-American women, the middle passage, antebellum slavery, and popular culture through stories told.

Sanders authored two books: Speechifying: This is the True Womanist Story, Paperback –August 7, 2013; and Bitter Black Female is an Over-Exaggerated SubCategory,
Paperback – July 20, 2015. Her earlier works include Fatbacks & Collard
Greens. A gospel play about Black family life coupled with the Black church. The play was critiqued in, Sandra M. Mayo’s and Elvin Holt’s. Stages of Struggle and
Celebration: A Production History of Black Theater in Theater, 2016. Fatbacks &
Collard Greens is now on (Video) with the Black Academy of Arts & Letters, GRIOT
Productions Season 37, at the University of North Texas Library. Her recent poem “59
Mirror Stage” was published by Eber & Wein Publishing, September 26, 2016. It was
featured at the Dallas Museum of Art’s Jazz Night, June 10, 2015.

SHE CHRONICLES: the way She, a poem by Brad Walrond

Look the way she cares her self
The way her self

Cares and makes room

For grace
For power
For forgiveness

Look how she holds her own throne
Inside her body—

the way her spirit sits up high the way
her legs enable her standing

the way her belly follows the moon the way her
mind weighs the Worlds that depend upon her spine

Look see how she rules the World
She embraces

with time.


Brad Walrond is a poet, author, activist, and mixed-media performance artist born in Brooklyn, New York to first generation Caribbean parents from Barbados. Brad received his MA in Political Science from Columbia University and his poetry has been published in the New York Times, African Voices, Moko Magazine, and Eleven Eleven. His first collection of prose and poems every where alien will be published on Moore Black Press later this year. Follow him @bradwalrond on instagram and facebook.



SHE CHRONICLES Video Post: “Black Privilege” by Crystal Valentine

“Black Privilege is having to have the same sense of humor as Jesus, remember how he smiled on the cross? Black Privilege is a joke, a myth, a punchline…”