Dark Night

The darkest evening of the year was the night six people stole women’s constitutional rights.
The darkest evening of the year was the silence in Uvalde, Texas where
the souls of 21 people left this earth because of gun violence and the racist woes.
The deepness of the tragedies only reflect the heart of our American humanity.
Who is listing to the out cry of community, family and humanity of 11 black souls gun down in a NYC town.
Now that is the “darkest evening of the year.” perhaps we all live in fear.
Robert did not know this evening would come.

Perhaps with the hope of our divine one’s intervention,
Tomorrow night will be better? I will pray, wait and see.

“darkest evening of the year.” Robert Frost, Poet

This poem was writing while participating in the Poetry Marathon today,

My Grandmother Paced and Prayed


My cousin said, “those Eady men aren’t no good.”

My thoughts about grandmother’s shame I understood.

My grandmother pacing back and forth on  wood.

Back and forth from room to room she’d roam.

Back and forth sighing and crying with a moan.

Back and forth side to side she would pray.

Lawd let grandmother see a better day.

As a child, I watched intently as grandmother prayed

Lawd please show these children a better way. 

Grandmother prayed, perhaps for her man to return someday.

Grandmother prayed, perhaps to comfort her heavy heart.

Grandmother prayed, perhaps to mourn the loss of her baby.

Grandmother would call for Jesus to ease her pain.

Grandmother said, Catherine was her baby’s name.

Grandmother mumbles, she died in her crib.

My grandmother grieved  that baby by pacing the floor.

My grandmother never went to school; had to scrub white

folks floors.

My grandmother talked about how she suckled white babies

at her breast.

Perhaps my grandfather was not his best, after the baby died. 

Perhaps my grandfather Eady was misunderstood.

Perhaps my grandfather loved his baby girl.

My grand-mommy as I called her, loved Jesus.

My grand-mommy wailed for the suffering she knew.

My grand-mommy washed clothes for a few coins.

My grandmother paced and prayed

While on my sick bed I laid, oil on forehead.

Preacher came for the laying of hands.

I now sing for Yahweh’s band.

I can hear my grand-mommy pray.

Now down to sleep I lay.

Now I know how to moan and pray.

My grandmother paced and prayed sorrow away.

Prayed and paced my grandmother swayed.

Today, I pace and pray for God to take the care away.

Night falls brings its woes.

Black bodies from the trees like fruit.

Perhaps grandmother saw a few black fruits.

She picked cotton in the south before I was born.

White people our family escaped, My great-grandmother prayed.

Prayed and paced, paced and prayed.

What I would give to hear that melodic voice pray.

Dear Jesus, help my people find a way to survive this hell. 

The Nourishment of Poetry

Starting my day with my ink pen, is like eating a breakfast for champions.
It’s the way my cerebral cortex connects to the universe.
It elevates my thought life into the atmosphere of possibilities

Starting my day with my ink pen shapes the trajectory of my days plans
Poetry written heightens my awareness to avoid the nothingness the mundane 
Ideas are formed into words, words nourish my soul

I assail into a thought life absent of oppression, toil and strife…
To be continued in my next book!

Poetry Flows

This is my sonnet I wrote about poetry. I am only publishing the first eight lines of the poem for publishing protection. I am working on my second manuscript of poetry. Please comment on the virtues of my work. Enjoy

Poetry flows from my heart to my hands
My soul does an intellectual dance
Calliope melodies sparks passion
Literary symbol devise image
Poetry transcends obvious meaning
Dialects live in poetic kingdoms
Waltz with words create imagination
Spoken while silence waits for utterance. . ..

It is time to SHINE

Well I am just about there. Ready to launch my book with World Stage Press. I am so excited to have an opportunity to share my poetry and creative writings with the world. Large or small I am going to give it all I have to raise awareness about Black Victims of the Holocaust. We must be aware of the philosophy of hate. The hegemonic discourse of an oppressive system is little language that we understand in this present day time. However, it is up to us to educate ourselves, young and old of the dangers that lies ahead with hateful speech and language. We been desensitized to the institution racist propaganda that is in the media. People are returning to their roots of hatred and separation. We must engage in dialog that is uplifting and reaffirming. Otherwise history will repeat itself. IJS

Dreams Interrupted

My cat interrupts my dreams
I mean he actually stops them in their seams

My cat interrupts my dreams
A familiar grunt softly at first it seems

Its my cat interrupting my dreams
Again this morning, I think its a scheme

Its my cat, not a bat, with a bat
he’s stretching at the bed post, my heart hears his whispers

Its my cat interrupting my dreams
I welcome the consciousness that his light nibble on my finger brings

Knees to the Ground

This is an excerpt of a poem that I wrote in December 2017 this is the last 2 verses,

No moral compass-no morale-no trust in political leadership to be proud of until our children are safe in schools and our black lives matter in churches.
No you keep kneeling black America, until the Red, White and Blue stands for me and you too.

Keep kneeling as we watch and pray that together we will see a better day
Martin’s dream has yet, to be fulfilled he didn’t get to the mountain top with us and we are not there yet
Black people kneel until America remembers that she is not America without liberty and justice for all

“SOS, I am calling all black people to come on in. . ..”


I wrote this elegy after losing one of my closes friends. We were college students together and both singers. Her name was Christy Douglas her persona was fascination and her talent was mesmerizing. She passed away suddenly before accomplishing her goals of becoming a superstar. She was a star in my eyes and I treasured her friendship tremendously. I never shared this poem with anyone until today. 2/25/2018

By Dawnna Mathieu (Ashay)

If I were a memory
I would wrap you in a blanket of love

No moment is any fonder
Then when I ponder

Time spent remembering your smile
Miles of laughter and good times
are scented with the reflections of you

This, I will never forget

Nor Regret-creating images as spontaneous as our friendship
Silent reflections as a whispered prayer

My favorite past-time
With love supreme and joy divine
Reflections are all mine