A Seasonal Reflection

Photo by Efrem Efre

I was born in the late 1980s and grew up in the 90s, so groups like Jagged Edge, 112, and Dru Hill are my jam. Jagged Edge has this one song called “Seasons Change,” and although their song is about romance, it also makes me think about seasonal changes in general.

Toward the end of the year, there are always seasonal changes. You might notice the support is different or that you are different. This is part of preparing for a new season and, with it, a new era.

As the golden hues of autumn deepen into the stark whites of winter, nature offers a poignant lesson in letting go. Once heavy with vibrant green leaves, the trees surrender their foliage to the whims of the wind. It’s not a loss but a graceful shedding, a necessary preparation for renewal. 

“Every time the seasons changes we do too. Nothing remains the same, neither should me and you. Gotta have faith in the way that he moves, as the seasons change.” – JE

If I could have glimpsed how this year would end, I would not have chosen to write about joy. I would have chosen overcoming or something more relatable to the times. The truth is joy has been a struggle. I look around the world and wonder if anyone cares anymore. I realize there is a time for everything. In the words of Zora Neale Hurston, “I have been in Sorrow’s1 kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and a sword in my hands.”

For this, I am reminded that although the seasons do change and nothing is the same as it once was, it is joy in this release, a quiet celebration of trust. Autumn reminds us that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting but making space. The crisp, cool air carries the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of something new. In letting go of what no longer serves us—old habits, lingering doubts, or past mistakes—we find ourselves lighter and more open to the possibilities ahead.

With its stillness, winter teaches us to embrace emptiness’s beauty. The bare trees do not complain, but in the dead of winter, they stand tall against the snow, a reminder that strength remains even when we’re stripped of adornment. There’s comfort in the quiet, a chance to reflect and rejuvenate. Letting go allows us to rest, dream, and trust that life cycles will bring renewal in our own time.

See how joy can be found in letting go. It is not a loss; it’s a transformation. Like the seasons, we evolve, finding beauty in the shedding and the stillness. And as the days grow shorter and the nights longer, we learn that the most profound growth often comes in the quietest moments.

  1. Dust Tracks on the Road by Zora Neale Hurston ↩︎

Don’t forget this year’s poetry contest. The theme is joy! Submissions are Open now through December 1st (Midnight). Click this Link to Enter!

When Artists Go to Work

Toni Morrison

You don’t have to write a think piece today.

You don’t have to post a long, drawn-out social media thread about America’s sins.

You don’t have to debate and argue with people in the comments.

It might look like a gloomy day for some of you, but I want to remind you that Joy remains.

And do you want to know why Joy remains?

Other than you woke up this morning?

As Toni Morrison puts it, this is precisely the time when artists go to work!

“There is no time for despair. No time for pity. We speak. We write. We do language.” – Toni Morrison

This raw vulnerability many of you are feeling is precisely what you should put into the work.

Allow this emotion, good or bad, to bleed into one of the most potent poems you have ever penned.

Let it be the most profound and truthful piece you’ve ever written.

You don’t have to post it to social media, but write it down.

What I know of moments: They pass.

This historical moment will be written on the pages of history books, so what should you do?

Do what you’ve always done. Do the work.

As one woman put it on Facebook:

“You are awakening to the same country you fell asleep to. The very same country. Pull yourself together. And when you see me, do not ask me, ‘What do we do now?’ How do we get through the next four years?’ Some of my ancestors dealt with at least 400 years of this under worse conditions. Continue to do the good work. Continue to build bridges, not walls. Continue to lead with compassion. Continue the demanding work of liberation for all. Continue to dismantle systems. Continue to set the best example for your children.”

“Continue to be a vessel of nourishing Joy.”

– Venice Williams


Remember, we are accepting submissions for this year’s poetry contest on Joy from now through December 1st! Get started by subscribing at yecheilyahsannualpoetrycontest.org.

Click Here For the Entry Rules and Guidelines

If you would like to support our poets with a donation, you may do so by clicking on the website’s donation page here.

Hope to see you soon!

Yecheilyah’s 1st Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2017

Yecheilyah’s 2nd Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2018

Yecheilyah’s 3rd Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2019

Yecheilyah’s 4th Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2021

Yecheilyah’s 5th Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2022

Yecheilyah’s 6th Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2023

Pockets of Joy

She Wins Society, 2023

Last year, members of She Wins Society were surprised with awards in the mail honoring their contribution to the community. Imagine my excitement about getting Most Poetic Sister. Scrolling through pictures on my phone, this one stuck out as we prepare for our Conference and Awards Ceremony on November 9th!

It also revealed to me the role that photographs and images play in our joy.

Images are not only suitable for memories; they are silent whispers of time, capturing fleeting moments of joy and weaving stories without words. Pictures are pockets of bliss that freeze laughter and emotions we can experience whenever we look back at them. 

Sometimes, when I want to experience joy in a difficult moment, I look at snapshots of a happier time. Each frame holds a fragment of elation, and in their stillness, they evoke the essence of joyful energy. 

Remember, we are accepting submissions for this year’s poetry contest on Joy from now through December 1st! Get started by subscribing at yecheilyahsannualpoetrycontest.org.

Click Here For the Entry Rules and Guidelines

If you would like to support our poets with a donation, you may do so by clicking on the website’s donation page here.

Hope to see you soon!

Yecheilyah’s 1st Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2017

Yecheilyah’s 2nd Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2018

Yecheilyah’s 3rd Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2019

Yecheilyah’s 4th Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2021

Yecheilyah’s 5th Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2022

Yecheilyah’s 6th Annual Poetry Contest Winners, 2023

Why Not Joy?

Spent time with these cuties this weekend!


Why write poems about joy in such a time as this?

This has been a constant question in the back of my mind. It is not something anyone has asked of me personally, but something that the subconscious, always overthinking part of my brain asks when it wishes to second-guess itself. And, in the rebuke of these thoughts, I answer:

“Why not joy?”

I do not mean always being happy when discussing cultivating a spirit of joy. No one is always joyful in the basic sense of the word. I do not mean toxic positivity or whatever that’s supposed to mean.

In the same way that we embrace anger, grief, and frustration (which are normal and have their place), we can also embrace more joy and gratitude. If sadness and depression suck our bones dry and drain our life force, then joy and gratitude can be a powerful life-saving nourishment.

As I’ve said in Black Joy: “Nobody talks about society’s addiction to Black trauma / how much more profitable it is to talk about pain than poems/depression than joy.”

This constant cycle of death and war is draining to the soul and rotten to the bones. Where do we find or hold onto our sanity without joy? Have we forgotten that it has always been here with us? If enslaved people found joy, why not us? Or do we believe we are that special of a generation that we can survive without it?

In “The Role of Joy and Imagination in a Revolution,” author Marii Herlinger writes: “White supremacy culture values objectivity, overworking, and neglecting self-care — joy interrupts that. White supremacy culture teaches us to be individualistic, self-serving, and distrustful of each other — love interrupts that. Therefore, joy, imagination and love are revolutionary tools which actively defy capitalism and white supremacy.”

Sounds like a page out of Tricia Hersey’s book!

Speaking of Hersey, in the same way that resting more does not make one lazy, nor is it the same thing as being idle (you can be well-rested and still do the work), more joy does not make one blind to the atrocities of the world. On the contrary, it can help one to see things more clearly by stepping outside of the chaos. As Jaiya John puts it, “It can be a revolutionary act of love for yourself and others to not let yourself be sped up by the pace of a toxic, anxious, frantic, desperate, traumatized culture. Stay slow, my friend. Everything beautiful in you is gestating.”

This year, our poetry contest theme is joy, so I want to give you more to consider as you pen your entry!

The Latin word for Joy is gaudium, meaning to rejoice. Think of a time when you found joy in the unexpected. How did that make you feel? In what ways did you rejoice?

I cannot wait to read/hear your masterpiece!

We accept entries from October 21st through December 1st!

PS. I just found out this blog has been listed among Feedspot’s 30 Best Self-Help Book Blogs and Websites of 2024! Thank ya’ll for rocking with me!

Black Joy

Nobody talks about society’s addiction
to black trauma.
How much more profitable
it is to talk about pain
than poems,
depression
than joy.

Like we don’t have feelings
just bad experiences
turned into songs
of sorrows
and spirituals
of reaching heaven
cause there can’t be no freedom
here on Earth for Black people.

Maybe this world still doesn’t consider us
human enough
to be happy
someone hand society a roadmap
for getting to know black people.

Tell them they can find us laughing
even when life is lifeing
cracking jokes and turning sadness into praise.
Tell them we are not just guns and gangs.

Our hope does not hang on by string
on some cracked-out corner
or trap house
Tell them how we dream.
Big Mama musta had mustard seeds
underneath the mattress
cause she moved mountains.
Food and faith ain’t never been hard to find.
We gone eat.

Talk about our love
our sense of community
our building
our builders
our beauty.

We’ve had a wild ride here
in this country
But it was not all bad.

Together, we forged a world of our own
found solace in the cracks
made meals from scraps
and carved out our own sense of enjoyment and purpose.

Tell them about how the cells of a black woman
saved the world
and the genius of a Black man lit it up.
Talk about how we bless everything we touch.

Tell the whole truth
that we are not made up only of pain.

Joy lives here, too.


You can listen to this poem on TikTok and YouTube! I’m @yecheilyah on both.

Black History Facts is back! If you’ve been waiting for a signed copy, this is your chance to get your hands on it. We are back in stock. Go now to: https://www.blkhistorybook.com/.

Joy Lived Here Too

My husband’s cousins came over to get some Italian Beef meat we brought back from Chicago. We had frozen it for them. They stayed for hours, most of the time comprised of us sitting around the table catching up. Although we have been married for almost 14 years, there are still family members of his I am meeting for the first time.

“So you’re from Chicago too?”

“Yes. I grew up in Robert Taylor…”

His wife, the cousin, tilted her head, her eyes widening, “Really?”

“You know how to fight then huh?” The husband says, shaking up with my husband, “You gotta know how to fight growing up in Robert Taylor!”

I laugh with them, but my spirit settles into uneasiness. I don’t want to talk about me anymore. We changed the subject.

Lil R’s Bday Party. Can you find me in this pic??

People are baffled to discover I grew up in Robert Taylor, and they don’t know what to say. Even those who try to form words still end up saying something that sounds like “sorry.” They look into my eyes as if they can see what I see. They want to know how someone as educated and “put together” as myself grew up in the place their mothers have warned them to stay away from.

But, we were not aliens living on a different planet. We were people, Black people, and where there are Black people, there is joy to be found somewhere. When the first of the month hit, we took advantage of the glints of light that seeped in to offer a reprieve to our distress.

Women sat on the porch laughing and gossiping as their sheets dried on the gates, and children ran back and forth, bellies full of food and hope.

The men and hustlers brought out tables and chairs they carried downstairs to play spades in front of the building. You couldn’t tell them they weren’t sitting on their own front porch instead of in front of a 16-story government building. They talked smack and poured out liquor for the homies they lost.

As for music, it was our salve and savior.

We left our doors and windows open so that the music from the stereo could scream and echo throughout the building. Nobody protested when someone’s entire door was open, and music was blasting. We sang along to Whitney Houston, Mary J Blige, Tupac, Biggie, Queen Latifah, MC Lyte, and many more, grateful for the opportunity to hear these songs while they were young.

Music transformed our pain into power. It didn’t feel like we lived in the ghetto when cousin Rachel blasted The Fugees from her speakers. It simply felt like home.

Where despair tried to rob us of joy, creativity flourished, and we created our own fun, and I think it’s important to talk about this light, too. It wasn’t all gangs, crack addicts, and shootouts.

Joy lived here too.

Joy

Photo by nappy from Pexels

Call it prayer
Call it sacred
Call these words a psalm
a song
sing
Surrender to serenity
Let the ecstasy of excitement
enter your heart
and nourish you in places
your pride won’t let you admit
still hurt
However, you must
However, you will
in the quiet blooming of the soul
find
your
joy