Tag Archives: prose

Remembering Medgar Evers Today – “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.

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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

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simply

 

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My words come like a muffled organ /cornered
in a country side church.

I pray one reaches you clear
flattened forever between verses of the New Testament.

 

 

 

Alice Walker… the Scholar

I have seen Alice Walker speak twice here in Atlanta. Both times, the crowd was mostly women, predominately white women. My last observation of the energy from the admiration of her literary works came during the Q and A. I remember sitting there trying to construct a precise question on how she connects her creative process with her person as a black woman. What I realized specifically is that the majority of the questions from the black women were trying to get the same information as I was and that the white women were asking her about spirituality. I remember thinking how odd that seemed to me that both black and white women seemed uninterested in the documentary that was just viewed. We wanted more and yet, Alice Walker is for the most part a fiction writer.

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Fast forward to me now back in grad school and how often she is referenced in Africana Women’s Studies, Gender Studies and Women’s Studies. It all makes sense. My question on how she connects her creativity  and her womanhood is in all of her work. I know realize how intuitively and effortlessly this is done in her work. I’m not certain of this, but I don’t think as she sat and wrote prose, short stories or poems that she was thinking on how she could contribute to feminist critical theory or black feminist theory. Nor could she have known how her personal expansion of feminism into “womanism” would take on entire subjects. Or perhaps she did… after all she is also an essayists and speaker.

Continue reading Alice Walker… the Scholar

She Chronicles presents: Duania Hall

Mended 

As I think of all the detours in life,
I am reminded that some of us are hurting,
struggling and stressed out
and God wants to remind all of us that our struggles
did not claim His promises for us
We may have some lingering emotional pain
and in other ways be bruised, but we are not ruined
We just need to be freed from any perceived faults
We need to be strengthened and restored
We need to be mended
and God is still in the mending business.

Some may say “Girl I don’t need mending, I’m good”
But the reality is things fall apart and when they do,
we start to question the essence of who we are
We are fearfully and wonderfully made women
We are the ones who were created from man because
we were necessary for carrying out God’s plan
We were given the spiritual insight to mother
the King of Kings, yet at times we’ve gotten
paralyzed by earthly things; and
some of these things severely rocked, and shifted us
and every time, the ‘Mender’ came and lifted us
because like the sun, moon and stars,
when He looked at us for the first time,
He said “That’s my best work by far”
God looked at Woman and He was pleased.

But even with His approval, sometimes,
the vibrations of our issues and traumas
bring us to our knees; afraid to move in any direction
But from a biblical recollection, we are pre-wired with
a spirit not intended to hold’s fear’s place
On the cross, He already set the pace for
dominating in life’s race, so, we must part ways with the
frays of those thought patterns that tend to leave us saddened.

When it comes to our spouses and children and
jobs and churches; we worry about being enough
and get trapped in the cuffs of “I need to do more”
or “What else can I do”
Women before us say the work of our gender is never through
We need mending!

Some of our history includes betrayal by someone who appeared
loving, but deemed us fitting for the splitting of our spirit,
as they denounced our value through acts of violence that
reversed our innocence; sent shock waves into our system
with every blow, until domestic violence became our daily show
and we no longer took time to enjoy the view…
Newfound positions as ‘Cover Girls’ with just the
right shades to camouflage our brokenness
We need mending!

Some of us had a foster brother or another
who took advantage of his vantage to, access
the bedroom where little girl memories are created—
elated was the perpetrator’s feelings each time they left
Now into adulthood, emotions swept, because those on whom
we relied—denied that the experience was more than
a fake story—now we accept their sentencing, or we,
keep pushing forward while burying the bones of
their infractions in fractions of our minds
We need mending!

We need the one-of-a-kind Savior whose
mercy on us never passes and His grace is open
wide to remove bandages and exchange beauty for ashes…
not needing any cashes because Jesus’ blood
dripped down until it was as round as the highest valued coin
He loves us from His loins, so know that the validity of
our pain and anguish are not in question
The ultimate sacrifice was made so that we could
move beyond tragedies and partake in divine function.

Some of us have lost jobs, cried through divorce and buried
our parents or children—
Bearing these crosses, made this world much more difficult to live in
Then there are women who are younger who have watched
the weeds of depression rearrange their emotional gardens,
hardened by the need to ease the tumultuous friction
Evil got us walking around like cutters
Taking painful memories and re-opening old wounds
while filling our minds with clutter,
feeling even lower as we realize that surviving can be
worse than the act—pack of angels the Father timely sends
to ensure we don’t end what He started
No matter how bad it seems,
His love for us cannot be departed and
He always knows when and how we need mending!

He will Make Everything Not Destroy us

even though it seems to deplete us

He will Mince Evils Needing Dismantling

He will Maintain Efforts to Needlepoint our Destiny

He will keep Mapping the Entrance to New Dreams

previously left dormant

He will Meticulously Endorse Noteworthy Declarations of

our forgiveness and favor for future foundations

After every problem, every issue, every crisis, every confusion,

every “why come,” every “What do I do,” every “How did this

happen,” every heartache and every tear…He, will, mend!

Women are intricate instruments intended to redefine this world;

and as we are impearled by His mending, we will meet the very

best version of ourselves and become, the greatest blessing.

Get ready to receive your mending!

________________________________________________________________________________________

duania

Duania Hall aka “The Owner”, is known for owning the stage when sharing her poetry. She also previously hosted the poetry venue Speak Out Loud in Inglewood, CA. Duania is Woman of God, mother of two, Social Worker who creates and facilitates empowerment and poetry workshops for youth and adults, from all walks of life. Duania believes everyone has the capacity to create change and her motto is “when we create, we change the game”. Look out for her next poetry book, More than Words, set for release later this year. Duania can be reached at: poeticdezigns@gmail.com

She Chronicles presents: DragonPoetik Fly

“Granny, It’s So Hard Remembering”
Granny,
I am the one to never lie to you,
we shared so much through the years so many beautiful secrets you and I.
No one child you put before another,
and come together like family is supposed to
and keep it real with each other.
I love and care for you so much
it is fatal to my life and all of us grew from your wisdom,
A beloved mother a dependable grandmother.
When walking through the universal gates of ol’,
the trumpets will raise up and play to your praises.
“Oh She’s A Jolly Good Granny, Which No one Can Deny!”
I can picture you now walking through the house with your
hands in your robe pocket.
That memory I will forever cherish,
and store in my hearts locket.
The many things you said to us, evening calling us
“Rocking Fools”. We would not stop we are going
straight through the walls via the living room.
I would and still today would give all that’s in me to hear
you speak of what fools we are, and it wasn’t
a problem being a fool for you.
I would give my everything, and anything at all to have grown to be like you. (No regrets)
You are still a strong woman, if not stronger now
as well. Your heart was beautiful, but weak
with bruised lungs you could not spare another breath.
I was always scared this one day would happen to me and it did just that,
now I understand why you left.
We asked alot of you, our all in all.
You continued to look upon us Granny with no cruelty,
even when we fall. I fell so many times, and thought I would never get up.
I was dying in this world, but living in your remembrance.
I am embraced by what I know…those peaceful
thoughts and words that I heard silently flow.
Your illness was just a means for many years a norm,
but only God and you knew your soul was in healthy form.
Bleakness to an understanding I can sometimes
grasp from you everyday in my present light.
I am walking in a dim light shadowed by your glow,
and radiance aligned in plain sight.
You have and forever will shine on your family.
I can’t speak for us all to thy own self be true, I appreciate
and respect you. There was no way or how I
could forget the speedy tongues of words whispering
through your raspy voice. A unique sound,
and smooth light brown skin, I knew where my natural qualities
were bred within. I can never forget you Granny
as years surpassed my mind a light flickers in mind it’s you “EVELYN”.
I smile more and less tears drops from my
heart and spirit. I have inner peace I am calm,
collected, and cool. On the day they tried to bury you away from my view,
I became a fool to cry cry cry!
But as I whined down, and looked somehow
deep in my soul. I could now admit to myself
it was your final time to fly fly fly!
I will eternally love you, and all the years that have passed
miss you very much. I adore your spirit,
and wept many a day’s lonely without your presence to clutch.
As you have been laid to rest in an unstressed sleep,
I can not caress your outer arms and face. The flesh of your existence
are gone my heart is with sorrow so deep.
All your family gathered around your resting place
we could not let you go right then,
I did not want any final goodbyes Granny.
I will see you later I promise this one day we will
meet again. This feeling comforts my mind although my love,
it is so hard remembering.
As I laid that rose upon your grave, I know you are free
so free. God favored you dearly and I can
come to peace now remembering.
Rest In Love “Granny” Evelyn Smith, blessed be your soul!
________________________________________________________________________________________
dragonfly
More information on DragonPoetik Fly can be found at: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/8225958-marbea-e-logan

She Chronicles presents: Petru J. Viljoen

The Woman and the Bear
Thus she was found:
scraping salt from her cheeks
with an open blade
working towards the
open throat looking on
with reckoning, bloodshot eyes.
Such, such intention
she was (able to) made to harness
By whom? … you may well ask
She was made to harness such
intention,
step by step up
a tall mountain
one foot exactly
in front of the other …
you haven’t said thank you … She froze.
from deep
the shriek was fetched,
strident rising outrage
screaming cadence.
Crashing up through
slabs of concrete silence
sustained sound relentless
growing roaring, howling;
the very earth, appalled,
doubted its foundation.
The bear by now awoken
bristled, bellowed its outrage;
a crescendo,
the very air felt threatened
of being rent.
the woman at its throat – the bear …
have mercy …
the mountain shook
her soul who heard
the call and rose, persisting through its
rise abating softly, softly rising
insistent, illuming,
until she heard,
and let it go.
-written April 2014
_________________________________________________________________________________
A Note from the Author:
This poem is loosely based on the folk tale ‘The Crescent Moon Bear’ as
published in Women Who Run With the Wolves in chapter 12: Boundaries
of Rage and Forgiveness by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.

More information on the author can be found at: pviljoen.wordpress.com

She Chronicles presents: MLuv

The Struggle

Woman, the struggle is real.

And you know it by the way you feel

Alone, bruised, beaten and battered,

Slapped around by life till your soul is tattered

Riddled with sores inside that don’t heal

Unless it’s with tears

Copious tears that cascade and don’t fade

Until you get still and feel we’re here

Know that

I’m the same as you

Sisters in mind

From Israel’s streets to Russia’s peaks

Love speaks

Listen to our voices

Truth be told we were molded from the same earth

A secret

Under cover of night till daybreak

Mixed and shaped

Held together with Euphrates and Tigress

Ancient moisture

He made a clay

Sprinkled some with cinnamon dust

Some with ground cocoa

Others with vanilla bean

But it’s us

Different, but yet the same

And I stand with you

Outstretched hands

   Waiting to move with you

I Am You

But you knew that.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Mluv

MLUV (pronounced Em Love)is a Radio Personality, Writer, Motivational Speaker, Event Host and Poet. She is the Host of her own weekly online Talk Radio Program/Podcast on the IBNXRadio.COM Network called “LiveLifeInThePURPLE with MLUV.”  Committed to spreading positive vibes and encouraging all who tune in. “The Purple” is a poetic way of communicating the message that life is better when our thoughts, motivation and intentions are rooted in positive thinking. Inspired by research on the colors in the rainbow that revealed that of all the millions of colors in the rainbow, the ones that had the highest measured frequency were the violet spectrum, of which purple is a part. Hence, Live Life in The PURPLE. MLUV uses her show as a platform to give support to Entrepreneurs, Musical Artists and is a voice in the Mental Health Community. She aligns with people in the community who are serving those who suffer and interviews and promotes those who are sharing their light and love.  She is a Social Activist and actively supports Local charitable efforts aimed at protecting Women and Children as well as Sexual Abuse, Human Sex Trafficking and Suicide Prevention and Homelessness and Recovery.

Current Projects- CEO and Founder of Purple Door Creations, LLC and www.R2isetheatre.org troupe member. Her first book of Poetry entitled “Thoughts From A PURPLE MIND”, The Poetry Of MLUV is in production.

Her debut CD is out on Bandcamp and available for digital download. Search for “MLUV” or “Sounds From A PURPLE Mind”.

Mantra: “POSITIVITY, ITS A MOVEMENT BABY!”

Join the Purple Movement and listen to LiveLifeInThePURPLE with MLuV on IBNXRADIO.com

Email: Mluv@purpledoorcreations.com

iHeartRadio- Live Life In The Purple

Mixcloud.com-MluvWall

FB: MluvWall

IG:MluvWall & livelifeinthepurple

Twitter: llitp

Missing Rifle / Missing Woman (for Harriet Tubman)

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sky readers / moon believers
before the sunrise prayers
Wisdom Born Mamas sew star, sun, earth, heart shaped
patterns on
quilts to warm babies
and free souls
hearing from the wind when to hang ’em
high on the clothes line
Before rooster crow / before master know
patterns on quilts mapped out which way to go
to wade in the water
Missing Rifle / Missing Woman.

**Dedicated to the courage of Harriet Tubman and the slaves and quakers that made quilts and hung them to slyly map the way to freedom**

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harriette tubman

from the poetry book, Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips

 

07:30 A.D.

womansideways

henna tatoos decorate the stretch marks
across her chest
from loving many ways.

and they like ’em like that
scratchin’ hipbones with no itch

they like ’em searchin’
movin’
grindin’

glossy lipped and eyed
Nike “just do it” wearin’
southern cookin’
Sunday swearin’
county children raisin’

so much
too much

they like ’em like that.

nikki skies from the book “Pocket Honey Wind & Hips”

 

20:30 A.D.

tiredblackwoman

Ain’t nobody talking about it
But,
the strong black woman is tired by Tuesday.
and on Thursday,
She buries another virtue so Friday morning can be a
little lighter

let’s admit,

She goes for unavailable men
cause of Her father’s absence.
And today
it’s your problem
cause your daughter plays with Her daughter

So
I need you,
To care for her.

-nikki skies

from the book “Pocket Honey Wind & Hips”