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Tionna Robinson Poem
"Eclipse Ritual"
Beneath the lunar scowl, they gather—
figures draped in shadow’s breath.
A serpentine chant curls through the pines,
a hymn to summon sleep and death.
The flames burn cold, phosphorous white,
in bowls of bone and rusted gold.
Their whispers slither through the void,
retelling truths too dark to hold.
A cascade of ash rains from the trees,
as something stirs beneath the soil.
The ground forgets the taste of peace,
the roots begin their ancient toil.
Above them yawns the nebula,
a wound torn in the fabric high—
its bleeding lights, a myriad scream,
a signal writ across the sky.
The wind picks up a broken lilt,
the stars blink once, then disappear.
Whatever once was watching waits—
and now it knows you're here.
written by Tionna Robinson
Copyright © Tionna Robinson | Year Posted 2025
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Tionna Robinson Poem
Ayiti, Still Bleeding
Ayiti, land kissed by sun before storm,
Where mountains cradle hope in trembling arms,
You rise, always rise,
Yet the ground beneath you breaks again.
The sky has fallen more than once—
In shudders, in floods, in firelight.
Children born to cracked earth and empty plates,
Mothers who pray with dust in their throats.
Winds tear your homes,
Quakes split your heart,
Still, you sew the seams with ash and faith.
But how long can skin grow back over bone?
They came with chains, then flags, then aid—
Each leaving scars in different tongues.
They robbed your gold, your voice, your peace,
Then told the world you were your own curse.
A puppet government dancing on strings,
While the people dig deep with hands like prayers,
Digging not for treasure,
But for peace, for bread, for breath.
And still you dance in the rain,
Still you sing between sirens,
Still you birth tomorrow from the ruins of today—
But even steel bends under weight too long carried.
“God doesn’t give us more than we can handle?”
Whisper that again—
To the mother who lost five children to the sea,
To the boy with a book but no school,
To a country still bleeding, still begging,
Still believing.
“God doesn’t give us more than we can handle?”
Written by Tionna Robinson
Copyright © Tionna Robinson | Year Posted 2025
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Tionna Robinson Poem
They told me it coils, waiting—
some snake of light
at the root of all this flesh.
But what stirred in me
was quieter than myth.
Not fire, not ecstasy—
just a flicker behind the ribs
when I wasn’t asking
for anything at all.
It didn’t climb,
it drifted,
slow and unsure
like the memory of a song
you’re not sure you dreamed.
No chakras flared.
No visions came.
Only my breath paused—
and for a blink
I wasn’t sure it was mine.
I stood still in the hallway,
half-listening
for footsteps that never came.
Was that spirit?
Or just the mind
finding a shape
for its own ache?
Copyright © Tionna Robinson | Year Posted 2025
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