Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “Mothers” by Nikki Giovanni

the last time i was home

to see my mother we kissed

exchanged pleasantries

and unpleasantries pulled a warm

comforting silence around

us and read separate books

 

i remember the first time

i consciously saw her

we were living in a three room

apartment on burns avenue

 

mommy always sat in the dark

i don’t know how i knew that but she did

 

that night i stumbled into the kitchen

maybe because i’ve always been

a night person or perhaps because i had wet

the bed

she was sitting on a chair

the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through

those thousands of panes landlords who rented

to people with children were prone to put in windows

she may have been smoking but maybe not

her hair was three-quarters her height

which made me a strong believer in the samson myth

and very black

 

i’m sure i just hung there by the door

i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady

 

she was very deliberately waiting

perhaps for my father to come home

from his night job or maybe for a dream

that had promised to come by

“come here” she said “i’ll teach you

a poem: i see the moon

               the moon sees me

               god bless the moon

               and god bless me

i taught it to my son

who recited it for her

just to say we must learn

to bear the pleasures

as we have borne the pains

 

Nikki Giovanni, “Mothers” from My House. Copyright © 1972 by Nikki Giovanni.

Source: The Collected Poems of Nikki Giovanni (2003)

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Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “For Saundra,” by Nikki Giovanni

tree roots, asphaltFor Saundra

I wanted to write
a poem
that rhymes
but revolution doesn’t lend
itself to be-bopping

then my neighbor
who thinks i hate
asked – do you ever write
tree poems – i like trees
so i thought
i’ll write a beautiful green tree poem
peeked from my window
to check the image
noticed that the school yard was covered
with asphalt
no green – no trees grow
in manhattan

then, well, i thought the sky
i’ll do a big blue sky poem
but all the clouds have winged
low since no-Dick was elected

so i thought again
and it occurred to me
maybe i shouldn’t write
at all
but clean my gun
and check my kerosene supply

perhaps these are not poetic
times
at all

 

From Black Judgement, copyright 1968, Nikki Giovanni

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “Woman,” by Nikki Giovanni

wet-spider-web-in-the-grass-11746

 

Woman

she wanted to be a blade

of grass amid the fields

but he wouldn’t agree

to be a dandelion

she wanted to be a robin singing

through the leaves

but he refused to be

her tree

she spun herself into a web

and looking for a place to rest

turned to him

but he stood straight

declining to be her corner

she tried to be a book

but he wouldn’t read

she turned herself into a bulb

but he wouldn’t let her grow

she decided to become

a woman

and though he still refused

to be a man

she decided it was all

right

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: Allowables, by Nikki Giovanni

BW Spider Web

ALLOWABLES

 

I killed a spider

Not a murderous brown recluse

Nor even a black widow

And if the truth were told this

Was only a small

Sort of papery spider

Who should have run

When I picked up the book

But she didn’t

And she scared me

And I smashed her

 

I don’t think

I’m allowed

 

To kill something

 

Because I am

 

Frightened

 

 

by Nikki Giovanni, from “Chasing Utopia: A Hybrid,” 2013, William Morrow 

 

 

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “For Saundra” by Nikki Giovanni

For Saundra
by Nikki Giovanni

i wanted to write
a poem
that rhymes
but revolution doesn’t lend
itself to be-bopping

then my neighbor
who thinks i hate
asked – do you ever write
tree poems – i like trees
so i thought
i’ll write a beautiful green tree poem
peeked from my window
to check the image
noticed that the school yard was covered
with asphalt
no green – no trees grow
in manhattan

then, well, i thought the sky
i’ll do a big blue sky poem
but all the clouds have winged
low since no-Dick was elected

so i thought again
and it occurred to me
maybe i shouldn’t write
at all
but clean my gun
and check my kerosene supply

perhaps these are not poetic
times
at all