I never looked at Black History Month as a pity party or societies crumb to black folk. Each February I indulge in the sweet excess of trial and triumph. The truth is....NO ONE talks about history all year long. So by saying black history should be all year long is to say lets not talk about it all year long like we do the rest of our history lol. Even though we should treat everyday like Christmas, the truth is, we don't and we won't. We are too caught up by life and its ever present distractions to work, to pay, to serve, to care and are heads are spinning tops. I love the quotes, the excerpts, the facts of black history....for a poet...it is chocolate. The acknowledgement of Black History is a powerful one, not just for black people but for strugglin people, down and out people. I draw strength from those who overcame and so does the rest of humanity. My life is not over so I live and I struggle and I look to those who knew the kind of pain I may never know but somehow maintained a sense of fight, joy, and hope. .. that it can be done. Yes, we are most certainly NOT defined by our past but by taking a look back we see how far we've come and also how much farther we must go. But the overall accumulation of what blacks did from slavery and throughout history is so remarkable, it deserves to standout. It is the Oscar, Grammy, Emmy performance of our American History and should be acknowledged as such. Blacks arrived on slave ships with a treatment of being less than human to become president, politicians, doctors, entertainers, athletes. Whatever we want! "A Paradigm Shift is a change from one way of thinking to another. It's a revolution, a transformation, a sort of metamorphosis. It just does not happen, but rather it is driven by agents of change." Black History is one of the main foundations that caused a paradigm shift in American thought and morality. I don't want it to blend in with everything else, I want to celebrate it for a month. We all need a reminder sometimes so Happy Black History Month!!!!

Poetic Justice Prose

Was up late watching Poetic Justice and I was "Lying, thinking last night how to find my soul a home where water is not thirsty and bread loaf is not stone. I came up with one thing and I don't believe I'm wrong.That nobody, but nobody can make it out here alone." Janet's box braids, long and righteous. Always swinging heavy with burden, hanging on to glory. 2Pac's dirty nails, "Give me your hand."  A pure smile emerges beyond the blue and red flashing  lights, of screams and sirens. "Beyond this rage of poetry, give me your hand." Smooth skin, life lines searching for love. Maya Angelou whispers. Phenomenal Woman. Kendrick Lamar raps. "If you're looking for empathy, there's blood in my pen." Poetic Justice. "If a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?"

A Taste of Chicago That Will Ignite the Spirit! A Book Review by Melica Niccole!

Sharday Cage definitely dishes out The Taste of Chicago in her new poetic work called Shadows and Silhouettes. This Chicago resident delivers flavorful pieces that allow the reader to digest every bit of what makes her very passionate and purposeful about her craft. A craft that has truly been perfected to the point that readers can close their eyes and feel her words create poetic imprints on their spirit. These Imprints are in the form of love, challenging relationships, and delightful misfortunes. Her playful use of the word “Beautiful cacophony,” shows her skill in utilizing oxymora to get her point across.

I truly enjoyed many of Sharday’s poems and felt as though I was experiencing her life firsthand. When reading, “Graffiti Mouth,” I thought of something so corrupt or disfigured that no beauty could come from it. It brought to mind people who gossip about other people and graffiti (Slander) their name on the ears of willing cohorts. The poem was upfront, honest, and true to some societal norms. My favorite poem was “Lover’s Cup.” I felt as though I was in Love’s Utopia, waiting to release the most powerful energy in my body; love. I too wanted to “Lasso the moon or pluck a star.” I wanted to sip from my “lover’s cup” and get drunk from my emotional connection to him. The last poem, I really liked was called “Daddy.” Sharday started off the poem by saying, “I was a daddy’s girl without the daddy.” The poem focused on her imagination of a daddy that was so real that she would walk hand-in-hand with him in the park. The poem changed with emotion as her daddy reminded her of a ghost; “he came and went, he was here then gone.”

The Making of the "Other" Chicago

A must read article on the violence in Chicago. I loved it so please cheack it out!

The Making of the "Other" Chicago!

A Note About Race

(I just wanted to share a note that originated from Facebook so some things might not make sense but trust me, there are issues in this note that everyone should read!)

I know no one really wants to talk about race, I mean I know this. It's a hot topic and it's one of those things you want to sweep under a rug and hopefully forget it was there in the first place but somehow the dirt ended up right below my feet in kind of this unexpected way on facebook. I posted a poem by WEB Du Bois, "I am the Smoke King", where the poet finds strength and sorrow in the legacy of the slave hoping to find a new strength and dignity that all African Americans can unite behind. I recieved such a negative reaction from a white male and though it didn't end well because I think anger got the best of all of us but I would like to believe I am a rational person. I'm open...completely! So afterwards not fully understanding where he was coming from I sought out the help of a friend who has this ability to see both sides of the table and from a perspective I don't necessarily understand at times. The white male lol! I had issues with skin color growing up so black empowerment is natural to me but when I really look at it, I wonder how white people must feel sometimes, to always see, "My black is beautiful" or "Black Girls Rock"...you know this messages that they necessarily can't create themselves without being labeled racist or seen as some sort of white supremacy group. I think especially for the newer generations who don't feel that this is necessary in todays times. It must feel unfair. Anyway, my friend wrote this incredible note back to me that I just have to share because he really tapped in on both sides. I feel like he gives you a mirror of understanding into both groups that make you want to say, "Ohhhhh ok, I get it." Lastly, he references the thread where all the drama went down so if you want to check that out first I recommend it just so you can understand what he's talking about. I didn't delete it because I don't believe in that. I think there is something to learn in whatever situation whether the outcome is positive or negative. You can still grow from it. I tried to make this the most diverse tag EVER because I felt like if were going to talk about race, let's get everybody in on it. In the end, that's what we have to do to truly progress anyway. It's very insightful, I just wanted some people to walk away feeling like this helped them understand what maybe they didn't before.



"I am glad you brought me in on this. The conversation (or argument) you had with that young man is reflective of a raging (though under the surface) social debate in our country. Most Americans seem to think that we live in a post-racial society. We do not. I used to think we did. We don’t. Yes, we have a black president, black political leaders, black celebrities, and black people filling all kinds of roles in our society. However, when we talk about them, they are a "black" president, a "black" leader, a "black" this and a "black" that. We very much live in a society sensitive to color. Even you and I discuss our races. We joke, we debate, we compare, we contrast. As a society, frankly I think we are obsessed with race, but we don’t even realize it anymore. And that goes for black and white. As you know I have always been a politics and history buff. And a few years back my reading and personal study led me to read a lot about the Civil War. I walked away from that believing, as I do now, that it is the most significant event in American history. It shaped who we were, and continues to shapes who we are today. It was a war about race, and it was a war about directing our collective futures. The argument that it was simply about abstract states’ rights ignores that the state right in question was slavery. There were nearly a million casualties in the Civil War in a collectively bloody effort to hash out the issue, yet we are still fighting it today in one way or another: racially, geographically, culturally, and the fact we are even discussing this right now. After coming to these historical conclusions, I decided I needed to read more Afro-centric literature and history. I needed more context. I realized I knew nothing about black people. Yes, that is a blanket statement. But, what I realized is that all I knew of the black community was the pop culture stuff: the athletes, musicians, and famous people. I didn't know the writers, the poets, the philosophers, and the thinkers. Reading The Souls of Black Folk kind of recalibrated my compass in regards to looking at race in America. Here is a book that is over 100 years old, but could have been written today. And that is my point. We have made progress in terms of race, but we are still very far from the finish line. I know reading books about groups of people doesn't make me know who they are, but I think it’s given me a better idea of who I am in relation to black people. Our understanding of races other than our own, has to be through the prism of who we are ourselves. My understanding of the black community can only be through my own eyes as a white man. Understanding who I am to the black community is step-one in my gaining a deeper understanding of who they are, individually and collectively. In America, we evaluate the color of the face first, and the content of the character second. That’s not a good way to understand someone.

The guy you debated didn't realize that the topic of race, and how black people feel about themselves collectively IS IMPORTANT. It is very relevant particularly in relation to white people. Here is why he got mad: a lot of white folks feel like there are things black people can say and do and "get away with it" that white people can't. To a large extent this is true. But, that is because of historical context, and your facebook friend fails to realize that. It took me a long time to understand that. I didn’t realize it until my mid-twenties. The black community is a minority community, who has been historically disadvantaged, and live in a white-dominant society. The collective-efficacy of a group of people (particularly a minority group) hinges on their ability to understand themselves, build shared values, and have a common purpose. That is just historical fact. Your facebook friend sees Black Entertainment Television and thinks its racist because there isn't a White Entertainment Television. But, guess what? THERE IS! It’s called ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, CNN, and every other channel. American cultural values and entertainment are still largely driven by Western-European (white) heritage. Removing all the racial history in this country, and then looking at these issues, then your friends point would be valid. But, we can't erase history. We also can't ignore that there are simply more white people than black people. That’s not race, that’s just numbers. And because of that, most things reflect that. What your friend doesn't realize, is that he lives in a society that is largely controlled by his own, and my own. The white male remains largely in control of our society. And so people who are not like us, would naturally want things that reflect their own heritage, and their own image. If I were living in Beijing, China as a minority, I would want to be able to watch tv shows where the people looked and sounded like me. That is a natural human inclination to seek out things that reflect ourselves. In a society of white faces, it is totally natural for a black minority community to want to turn on the television and see a black face. That’s not racist, that’s human nature.

I do believe some of your friend’s points, or perhaps what he intended, are valid. I think our society has become way too politically correct. It’s really difficult for white people to talk about race in public because we are terrified of being labeled as racist. That term can ruin someone’s career. And that’s unfortunate. Even what I have written here to you today would be torn apart if read by a large audience. Black folks would say that I boiled down their entire history and culture into a couple books, and that I think you are all the same. White people would tell me that I think all white people are racist, and that I am rehashing history. Discussing race in our country has become a zero-sum game; one side wins, one side loses. There is no discussion, only yelling. What I believe is that we are a society who has made incredible strides forward, and righted a lot of wrongs, but that there is ALOT of work left to be done. We are the only society in human history to self-correct. We identify what we are doing wrong, and we modify the behavior. This is unique in the course of human events, and it is something all Americans, of every color and creed, should be very proud of. There are still some bad apples, but they really aren’t the problem. The primary road block to progress is the regular folks like us who are either unwilling, or just too afraid to discuss race openly. It’s impossible for me as a white man, to completely understand you as a black woman, and vice a versa. But, that’s all the more reason to get to know each other better! You and I were not participants in the past; we can only be the architects of the future. I do not believe the answer is to ascribe to the belief that we are all the same, and nobody should recognize our differences. Differences are what make us individuals. Differences are what create this beautiful culture we all share. Differences are how we come up with solutions to our common problems, and ideas for our common goals. I just think we are all so uncomfortable with race that we don’t know how to deal with it. It’s really difficult to dislike someone you understand. So, a little bit of reciprocal understanding could go a long way. Let’s talk more."

When I write or post things of black empowerment, it's not to offend anyone or escalate race relations. I just feel there is still much brokenness in terms of the way we see ourselves sometimes and in order to move into the colorless society we all hope for, we need to repair the damage to truly progress. You can't build a home on sand. You need a strong foundation that can withstand anything! Well I hope this was just as insightful for you as it was me! Peace everybody. Much love and enjoy the rest of this great and eventful month!

Nightmares

Day 2.  My sleep places its skeletal fingers over my benign dreams and smothers them out. There is nothing sweet left but the familiar remains of yesterday’s tragedy corroding the inside of my pretending walls; painting its corruption on the surface of my many moons. In the background I can hear children crying as I walk down a long hallway filled with black windows and black blinds. Does it matter which door I open?  Every room is waiting to be just the same, isn’t that how nightmare’s work? It doesn’t matter what you do or where you go, the same scenario waits for you? As I walk in I watch the darkness walk out and the darkness was everywhere, filling up every corner as well as the silence. There was only one chair for me to sit in which was conveniently placed next to my perfectly poised nightmare. 

As scared as I was, I could laugh at the energy he took to present himself with such properness; black suit, legs crossed, he even patted my chair as a gesture for me to come sit down. I could only smirk at how how well-mannered he appeared, knowing that it was a matter of time before he impolitely took over my sleep. It’s hard not to stare at what’s haunting you, the same way it’s hard not push a button that says “don’t push.” Fear and curiosity is a bold tonic, you’re somehow left with a feeling of nausea just to be addicted still, hanging on to every moment, waiting for the chance to get one more look of its scare once more. My pupils crawled to the corner of my eyes but were met by a beaming bold stare already hovering over me, forcing me to fall over in my chair. He looked at me until his mouth, stitched and sewn, formed a long winding contorted smile. I knew then, I was being taken under my will to a place of horror and unrest.

My nightmare was the permanent clue that my shoes were stuck to. I was the hopeless observer, the distant dissector of the chaos at Sandy Cook Elementary. Why am I here and why am I getting a front row seat? But this is what nightmare’s do right?  They take a piece of reality that you fear, amplify it along with your weaknesses, make you utterly useless and when you get to the point where you’re about to die, you wake up. It’s been a long time since I had a nightmare or remembered that I had a nightmare. I mean I’m talking since I was a kid and I think it’s because I’ve somehow I learned to control it. All too quickly my anger started to dissipate the inheritor of my fears and I was fighting for an alternate course to a massacre that was replaying itself in my thoughts. This time, I looked down and my feet were free, my right hand now held a weapon. I looked up to see the gunman a couple of feet in front of me and he was looking in the other direction. I looked at my weapon and I looked at him. I ran lightly like the floor was made out of feathers and just like that I watched him fall to the floor. I remember another scenario where I shot him in the leg so that I wouldn’t kill him just so I could lecture him for hours and THEN I killed him which sounded a lot more like me anyway.

I just wanted to be there; to run in just in time and save the day. I know so many people wanted to do that too; just to get in there and save those beautiful babies. I kept seeing them line up preparing to die. Can you imagine your fear for a moment? Now imagine how much greater it had to be for them and no one was there to hold them or love them. I realized it was a dream. I was having a dream. Whether it’s from a massacre of multiple children or a young victim of violence in the streets of Chicago, in my dreams I could’ve saved them and protect them. I could’ve saved them all… in my dreams.  It wasn’t until I woke up that I realized this is the real nightmare. Sometimes it is our very reality that can be the true nightmare.  









A Poem from Me and Maria

It's been a minute....sorry. Annnnnd I still don't really feel like saying anything at all. Mostly I'm not quite energetic enough to tackle all my thoughts and place them before you like neatly folded laundry. If I threw it at you now, you would be lost in translation and frankly so would I. BUT I wanted to drop in and give you a poem I've been in and out of. It's true what they say tho..."a poem is never finished, just abandoned." Especially with this piece for me, every time I read it, a change something. I just had to face the realization that this poem will never feel complete to me. I do really like it though because it's me being brutally honest and open about the things I would never come out and openly admit or say....but poetry...*smiles* it has a way of sorting those kinds of things out now doesn't it. I also thought maybe you would enjoy this poem that I fell in love with. It was in a collection of poetry and of course for me, it was the most memorable, touching, daunting, emotional one I came across sooooo.....

My poem Naked....


Naked
I’ve been obscene for days
Twisted up in my own nakedness
Looking down at the darkness spilling over me
As my limbs remain out of place
I sit
Cracked and proud
Then shattering into a complete picture
Hanging on to broken bones
Like a perfect breakable piece
With desperation
I bleed
Like an overthrown queen
A timeless victim
Eyes wide open
Because death saw first
And still
Though lifeless
I wait for you
Haunted and unwilling
I remain
A hundred moans that sound the same
Coded in screams like murdered murmurs
I choke from my own blood
Babbling its rustic wine
Swallowing drops of bitter blindness                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         
To stay alive
Waiting for you
Pleading my last moments of light
Like a second of hope
Straining for you
To see me
Waiting for you
To save me from my own self shame
That I exist in ruins
But look at me
With eyes similar to Gods
And proclaim me not
Damaged
But adorn me in pearls
And declare me still
Beautifully born
As I die
So that I could prove
Love did not




One Life
BY MARIA HUMMEL
I don’t know when I stopped believing in heaven,
or if I do. Maybe I just stopped receiving heaven.

The sun rose. I climbed into the pines’ brittle
crowns. You could say I was retrieving heaven.

Not a place or a time, but blindness to everything
but one light, pulsing, pleasing: heaven.

We married in September. Everyone was still
wearing their summer shirts, sleeves of heaven.

It was white, there was a bend, and the car
spun. It was then I prayed, pleading with heaven.

When he goes limp, lie him down on the gurney,
Mom. Oxygen mask, breathing heaven.

The hospital shines, our son flies in and out.
The snow falls hard, relieving heaven.

He loves the colors of planets. I teach him
their lifelessness: beautiful, deceiving heaven.

I don’t know who is buried beneath me
but I hear her break as I am leaving heaven.

How can you cry for one ruined life, Maria,
when you could be grieving for heaven?