It’s no longer National Poetry Month but ya’ll know it’s always time for poetry around here! All or Nothing (read it here) is now available. Listen below and don’t forget to subscribe!
Tag: spoken word
The Journey Begins
Be sure to Follow Tehilayah’s new blog! Tehilayah is an inspiring author and poet working on her first book. She is also a contributor to my 2nd Annual Poetry contest!
Thanks for joining me.
Like any journey there are uncertainties. But how would we know what the journey holds if we do not at least try to experience it. Introductions are always awkward and sometimes uneasy so we will just jump into it.
My name is Tehilayah (pronounced, Te-hil -la -yah). Simple right? My name means, “Song of Praise to Yah”. Can you believe that I like singing. Yes, I sing everything. I make everything a song. For example, I sang instructions to my children to get ready for bed. Yes, there was a whole song. I personally thought it was cool but the look on my children’s faces said otherwise. It’s the side of me that’s goofy and carefree. I am a wife to an amazing and supportive man who pushes me to step out my comfort zones. Sometimes I can be a bit stubborn but I…
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Author Spotlight: Yecheilyah’s 2nd Annual Poetry Contest Judge: Tehilayah Ysrayl
Today we are introducing and spotlighting Tehilayah Ysrayl, mother, wife, poet and our 2nd Annual Poetry Contest judge! Join me as we catch up.
Tehilayah, whose name means song of praise, is an aspiring author and poet who was born and raised in Fort Wayne, Indiana. She attended IPFW and Ivy Tech Community College and currently works for a life insurance company. Tehilayah has been happily married for six years, has four beautiful children, and a Jack Russell named Sevyn that is selective in who he deals with and has a “big dog” mentality.
This mother is not afraid of the stage, presenting her poetry at various venues and impromptu poetry gatherings in her city. She enjoys singing, sewing, reading, wine, whiskey and, most importantly, words. Some of her favorite poets include but are not limited to, Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Amiri Baraka, Countee Cullen, Sonia Sanchez, Steven Willis, and Rudy Francisco.
Tehilayah is also a voracious reader and fell in love with Urban Fiction because of Donald Goines. From there she branched off to discover other authors like Sista Soulja and the love stories that Eric Jerome Dickey brought, Carl Weber and many more. Currently, Tehilayah is enthralled in the Ashley and Jaquavis novel series. Tehilayah reads not only for the entertainment but also for the techniques in writing.
Currently, this karate mom is working on her first book, a collection of poetry! “No Idle Word” is about encouraging the faint at heart, providing awareness to the ignorant, and healing to the broken.
Blog: https://nolineleftbehind.wordpress.com/
IG: @tehilayah/
Twitter: @tehilayah
Email: tehilayah12@gmail.com
Coming Soon
YouTube: New Poems Added! Subscribe Today #NationalPoetryMonth #Poetry #SpokenWord
New poems have been added people! Listen to Her Bended Knee, Truth, I Was Not There and more!
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Her Bended Knee
Once a mother
always is
they bend their knees
to raise our kids
they laugh for our broken
as if never have cried, for our burden they soothe
as if our souls had died
they coddle our demons on the top of their heads
—colored gray with grief
fake smiles
and gritted teeth
a generation held together
by tiny pieces of silver string
those grayish-white pieces of hair
prophesy of her bended knees
their bodies ache
due our trials and needs
our depression states
our miscarried dreams
all have a home on the top of mother’s head
our souls they touch
our bull they fed
can’t wash the stench
of our almost dead
but they straighten their backs
and lift their chin
throw on their head
our hopes and sins
and at night
when we run the streets
and sleep in sheets
they bend their knee
and cry to sleep
and then wake up
all smiles and grace
let us never see tears run down their face
instead, see your life on your mother’s head
the next time you see those
grayish-whites
just know that someone prays for you at night
no tears be seen
all frowns be gone
just bended knees
and prayer songs
Mother to Son | Langston Hughes
Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
– Langston Hughes
Present | Sonia Sanchez
This woman vomiting her
hunger over the world
this melancholy woman forgotten
before memory came
this yellow movement bursting forth like
coltrane’s melodies all mouth
buttocks moving like palm tress,
this honeycoatedalabamianwoman
raining rhythm to blue/black/smiles
this yellow woman carrying beneath her breasts
pleasures without tongues
this woman whose body waves
desert patterns,
this woman wet with wandering,
reviving the beauty of forests and winds
is telling you secrets
gather up your odors and listen
as she sings the mold from memory.
there is no place
for a soft / black / woman.
there is no smile green enough or
summertime words warm enough to allow my growth.
and in my head
i see my history
standing like a shy child
and i chant lullabies
as i ride my past on horseback
tasting the thirst of yesterday tribes
hearing the ancient/black/woman
me, singing hay-hay-hay-hay-ya-ya-ya.
hay-hay-hay-hay-ya-y a-ya.
like a slow scent
beneath the sun
and i dance my
creation and my grandmothers gathering
from my bones like great wooden birds
spread their wings
while their long/legged/laughter
stretched the night.
and i taste the
seasons of my birth. mangoes. papayas.
drink my woman/coconut/milks
stalk the ancient grandfathers
sipping on proud afternoons
walk like a song round my waist
tremble like a new/born/child troubles
with new breaths
and my singing
becomes the only sound of a
blue/black/magical/woman. walking.
womb ripe. walking. loud with mornings. walking.
making pilgrimage to herself. walking.
– Sonia Sanchez
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