Tag Archives: prose


Join in sometime today between 10am-10pm EST.  I’ll come on and talk about my role in the series, writing poetry and even encouraging some prompts to hear from you poetic video posts. I hope you can tune in and share some of your work. Definitely tune in tonight for “Rebel” on BET, check your local listings for times.

SHE CHRONICLES: “Almost a Lamentation” by Nikki Skies for ‘Rebel Yell’


I hope you have been able to watch this season of “Rebel”!  As I shared a few months ago, I am the writer of the poetry for the show.  The lead actress parlays as a poet and I write her metaphors, analogies, similies and such 🙂

I also write for the online series updates, “Rebel Yell”.  Here is the first poem recited by the lead actress portrayed by the amazingly talented, Danielle Mone Truitt.  Enjoy,

“Almost a Lamentation”


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.

her side


She say for her family
she do what she can
when in reality it be for her man
who wants another mother like her son

so she wipe both they asses / and then her tears cause it be from the same shit

too tired more / more tired than / her mother who
taught her how to stay
who lived and died the same way
the palm reader etched on her palm.
now that she know,
she can remain calm
when he comes to bed
smelling like fuck nut and dried saliva

he’ll say it’s all in her head
so she close her eyes and have nightmares
of forever being a fool.

from the poetry book, Pocket Honey Wind & Hips
available at


SHE CHRONICLES: “A Prose for Medgar and Myrlie” by Nikki Skies

It landed on the kitchen table next to the watermelon.  Like a Sunday newspaper on Thursday.  Set aside for recycling.  Or an abandoned spoon after dessert. It sat there foreign but familiar.  Like an African American in America.

The carousel sang loudly. Drowned out the relief of parental duties.  Playful screams resonated the atmosphere.  Cotton candy decorated white faces pink and blue. Mustard stains on white t-shirts. Scraped knees caused by unattended shoelaces. The day was glee and the night carefree, as flying gravel spun under running feet.

Her bladder was full of miles like her mother’s.  She watered the ground with chocolate auburn.  The spices enticed the clouds to cry and capture the streets.  She met him where the sun sat in the fire pit.  He kissed her hand to summons a feather so she wouldn’t doubt his words.  His eyes were complete like the turn of an owl’s head.  The preacher announced their commitment where roads met corners with mirrors.  He hung their picture in a birdcage to catch time.  He told them not to be afraid.


The first season spread the hours like a bridge. He supplied water to dry, fallen branches daily.  Believers of the unseen.  She carried unicorns in her pockets.  They wore audacious yellows and greens in a black and white world.  Demanded freedom like 8 a.m. school bells.  Unbalanced as thick as unjust.  At night she placed sweet onions on his eyelids. He remained rooted.  His tongue poignant from the aroma.

Dog’s were death’s best friend.  Hydrants absent from fires.  Hoses present at protests.  Tilted buses full of spiritual songs.  Northern boys with fresh fists. Southern boys with patched will.  Northern girls with golden intuition. Southern girls with ancient maps.  Laughter extinct.  Spit like rain. Freedom rides. Spirits flew. Red summer. Blue years. Freedom wide. Hatred tall. Black bodies hung/ burned/ mutilated. Daylight tardy.

Soprano saxophone accompanied her screams.  Vibrato in her hands.  His head in her lap.  His eyes meeting her’s was the prize. “Sit me up, turn me loose.” Abandoned from forever. She sat him up. Erect as pillars.  Baroque rocked. Down. She sipped tea in China.

Scores for his name. His verses rhymed her forward.  Her passion sweet as fruit. Seasoned. Made days wet cement. For imprints. Slops. Hills. Concrete with purpose. His remembrances sleep at our feet.


a prose from the book,

Mississippi Window Crack

Autographed copies available here

Amazon purchase