I must’ve mistaken breath for clouds /
my purpose for hand grenades
because, if this is not fire
I don’t know what living is.
If my hand isn’t in boiling water
or my thoughts at war
I don’t know a storm.
But somebody turned on the heat
And it’s not my jacket or coat
cause life has a way of
stripping away your fashion and
colorful bouquets of joy.
snatch your seat from under you
and make you stand
face to face with your past
toe to toe with love /
and as much as I want them both to be
they split me in half like mishandled glassware
make my sleep become / scattered marbles.
So I stay woke.
I see the cracks
I see the valleys
I feel the webs wrestle against
the satin of my face
I won’t take your hush money
or accept your violence as water
it doesn’t flow with the sunrise of my blues /
It ignored my SOS when I needed it most
so I will drive I will push
I’m going to create furious thunder for the skies
blow rapids under the waves
I’m going to make you feel this bass pummel from my heart
not some timid toned treble
I heard you speak / I’m woke now,
what else would you expect from a
The poem, Being Woke, by Nikki Skies for Rebel on BET.
It’s a poem if the words can live without you.
If the allegory can make blinding light shine from tombs
breathe them back to – reality.
It’s a poem if,
there are possibilities for similies linking people
from fallen walls to picket signs
drawing scents of lemons
shake hands of farm girls to vegetarians
likening poetry to biblical days
with your comrades
logging different chapters
forcing the community for just one night
directly into the sun
That’s a poem.
from the poetry book, Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips
This is a snippet of the poem, “A Note on Time“. The entire poem can be found in my book, Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips and I wrote it actually for both of my parents.
“The Gods huddle over your recipes trying to decipher your chicken soup.”
“It don’t matter if I as 10 or 2, you still sat me down and told me the truth.”
TUNE IN TO “REBEL” on BET, Tuesday 10pm EST!
It is Sunday here. You are getting your mind prepared to go into work on Monday. Relax and listen to the words and sounds of my one and only poetry cd, “Moody“.
The word love
inter-changes in my life / between a noun and a verb
like a bloom from a seed / without me knowing
until someone yells foul
and throws a wounded heart on the field.
And I’m not the only one
reminiscing and remixing / tea and lemonade.
hoping for a different outcome when it’s left in the sun
—— we still become bitter.
because it’s still us.
or maybe it’s me
trying to make new history
with the same songs
the same wrongs
the same long
days and nights
of wanting to be recognized or feeling justified
for the march in my walk
the bite in my talk
My love for you is always there,
a noun, like / friend.
Friends you won’t dime on cause their
life is worth gold
and their mistakes are splintered wood better buried.
I love the courage of my camouflage
business of my blue
and I remained true
even when you abandoned me like an end of December Christmas tree
/ I hung you on my key ring with the other places I needed
to go back to. I kept you – around.
Love is like a boulder on my
a landslide ready to give in
love starts moving when I add – i.n.g.
I suppose love is only a verb
when it comes to unapologetically loving
(performed by Danielle Mone Truitt, “Rebel“)
almost a lamentation for “Rebel Yell” on BET.com
Click here for the full video
AND TUNE IN TUESDAY 10PM EST for a new episode of “Rebel”