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Showing posts from April, 2016

Lemonade by Beyoncé

Rarely, if ever, do I use my creative space to review another poet or creative's work, the reviews I do are on Tayé Foster Bradshaw's Bookshelf.

This release by Beyoncé has rested in my spirit for the past day, on the end of a week where a childhood friend died unexpectedly from a stroke and aneurysm while her granddaughter was being born and a few days after learning that Prince unexpected died sending purple rain upon us all.

It is only fitting that the week ended with imagery of my black woman, Creole Haitian heritage displayed with every bit of Yoruba spirituality and generations of mother's prayers.

The poet, Warsan Shire, a Somalian born woman squarely in the womanist voicing of her millennial generation, has given her sisters, mothers, and foremothers a gift, the gift of acknowledgement.

Sojourner Truth once asked, "Ain't I a Woman?" in a time when white womanhood was treated like a delicate flower, Beyoncé's musiciomentary seems to capture the com…

Bridges by Tayé Foster Bradshaw

Walking
across time
Bringing me to you
or
you to me
over a way through-
tears and fears
to bring us to
the other side of possibility
probability
reality
reality
crossing
structures
through
over
under
hold on
don't look down
look down
walk on over
dance on over
wheels on over
over over over
water and roads and
all the modes that
bring
me
to
you
or





you
to
me
collectively
connected
collaborating
across
the great
wide
way


©2016. Tayé Foster Bradshaw Group, Antona Smith. All Rights Reserved.

Bridges used to scare me as a little girl. In the town where I grew up, in order to get from my neighborhood over to the swimming pool or summer activities, we walked. I was always fine until we reached the crest of the hill and that looming structure that connect roads-to-roads, over cars zooming beneath, promising me opportunity on the other side, if I just trusted the weight of my tiny skinny nine-year-old self against the wind blowing or the sun streaming over this manmade steal structure.  My l…

The Roar of Her Silent Scream

She sat down to look around her
and wondered
- what
- happened
-to
-her
-life
waiting for
time to be on her side

to be -
wanted
noticed
appreciated

LOVED

until she sat  up
stood up
reached up

...and walked out

screaming at the top of her lungs
silently
tired

of waiting
...
to be loved
to be nurtured
to be wanted
to be admired
to be needed

so

she ran

into the arms

of

herself

and ...
found her love.
loved herself

and nurtured herself

and wanted herself

and encouraged herself

and

and

and

ROARED

I AM HERE AND I AM WORTH IT

then she flipped her hair

and shashayed

to her brighter tomorrow.



River City Sisters Speak Currents™
©2016  – All Rights Reserved. Tayé Foster Bradshaw is a poet, writer, essayist, nurturer, teacher, mother, wife, mentor, teacher in the St. Louis suburban area.