Get a poetic recap to the hit drama, “REBEL” before the season 1 finale airs tonight! Make sure you check your local listings and TUNE IN this edge of your seat finale.
Here you can find all things “REBEL” including the four poems I wrote for, “Rebel Yell”:
Almost a Lamentation
Bang Bang
Reverse Opinions
Score Board
It’s Tuesday so you know that means “Rebel” comes on BET tonight! Enjoy the last poem I wrote for the “Rebel Yell” series on BET.com entitled, “Reverse Opinions”. AND TUNE IN TONIGHT!
“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.”
Click to hear the new poem “Scoreboard” from Rebel Yell. Listen as Rebel talks about her childhood and men wanting to settle ‘scores’ with her.
TUNE IN TO an all new “Rebel” Tuesday night at 10pm EST!
TUNE IN TO “REBEL” on BET, Tuesday 10pm EST!
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.
I was cold. I didn’t know too much about The Fire Next Time (James Baldwin) or that it could be easily identified as the return of the spirit of the movement.
The presence of our ancestors to re-connect the seven sciences that we all represented.
I just know that of the several bonfires that appeared /I chose the one closest to my home. A few others had come to get warm.
We dared to stare down the center of this chemical process to identify what was causing the combustion. And nothing was there. Not with the naked eye at least. It was simply a fire and I was cold.
Continue reading Gathered Around Fire (a prose piece for roux makers)
“How dare I resent the man who taught me how to pray when I know people who never had a father in the first place, so thank you.”
Nikki Skies 