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Best Poems Written by Nikkia Roberts

Below are the all-time best Nikkia Roberts poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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For Mama

She showed me the clouds
and how to walk on the ninth one. A dreamer.
In the absoluteness of her mind, no barriers
exist within existence
as if her battles have
been won. I think she craves to fly,
past those clouds---another possibility
to make possible, a challenge
to challenge. Or dream about.
She probably thinks that when I complain
I cannot see the clouds,
the way she did when things got rough
in life. Of course, I beg to differ.
She dreams. I live. I don't
keep my eyes on clouds all day
as if there is nothing else to see
to make me understand the world better.
I suppose I'll rest one day, exhausted
by the what-ifs and whys, while Mama smiles
and points upward.

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The Color Purplish

The man on the porch looks out
over his property and towards his daughter.
Nervousness seeps through her plum-dark flesh.
Each eye contact signposts a wicked meditation.
Women are voiceless in those days, yielding to
males and manipulated Bible verses.
Poverty and childbirth loiters the screen.
White men protect segregation and Black men protect pride.
Are there no advocates or women’s lib
in that part of the South? Does anyone care about the mistreated?
Even the animals are sinister, and the young babes.
Horses burdened with stuff amble the pasture.
Fried ham wafts from kerosene stoves.
All the outspoken women are rebellious and prostitutes.
They wear thigh-high skirts, halters, and ruddy rouge.
Men swagger about in cut-price suits, wingtips, and thin-band ties.
They sweat into juke-joints or atop a squeaky bedframe
while records scratch against a dusty needle.
The girl in the front yard runs through hanging sheets
and swings bound books against Mister’s groin.
Her eyes are watery, her hair wild as those purple flowers.
She peers down at her attacker twisted on the red clay
and she shrieks.
Nobody shows up to save her.
She runs off into nothing.

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Behind Death

Behind this barbed-wire fence
                (It hurts to tell you so)

They stripped me naked then stared
At the dirt I could not rinse.

Behind this barbed-wire fence
                (Slit wrists twisted in cuffs)

I told the half-dead counselor
                I’d really had enough.

Behind this barbed-wire fence
                (It hurts to tell you so)

Life is attempting suicide
                In a graveyard where all dirt goes.

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A Chinese New Year

The Lunar Cycle

Holiday of fifteen days

Red lanterns shed light

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The Burn Returns

miniature bullet

your silver flicker ignites

new flames of old pain

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An Ode To Little Debbie

Oh Goddess, Little Debbie,
Queen of all Saturated Fat,
Sometime of Swiss, which is called Roll,
Now of the delightful Court of Nutty Bars,
I respectfully esteem your Zebra Cakes,
I salute your Cosmic Brownies
And I kiss your empty boxes of Oatmeal Crème Pies.

It can’t be, Oh Goddess,
The tasty chomps of your Honey Buns,
Nor that of your delicious and calorie-laden Donut Sticks,
Which causes me now to wear plus sizes.
But since this is your respectful tribute, Oh Goddess,
It seems appropriate to me to proclaim
According to a greedy and overeating custom,
That I complete one roll of your Powdered Donuts.
Your face, Oh Goddess,
Is so adored that I placed a lovely tattoo
On each layer of my 4-layer belly,
Such as a memorial
Or the obsession
Or my adulation.
It is like the cow coming through chocolate-covered grass,
Yet a bit different,
For the grass is not chocolate-covered,
Only carpet and I am the cow.
Loving you, Oh Goddess,
I love all of your consequences;
But I imagine
That even if I did not love you
I would love the sweetness of even your crumbs,
And my fatness, shaped in the honor of all your snacks.

ALL HAIL LITTLE DEBBIE! :-)

Details | Nikkia Roberts Poem

Angry At My Deadbeat Dad

TOMORROW WILL BE BETTER?!?!
 You said that on a million yesterdays!
 Look at the calendar, it’s laughing at you.
 Dude, are you SERIOUS?!
 You should dress up like a “Father” on Halloween!
 You can’t see through that old mask anymore.
 I must still look like a little girl to you,
 the crying five-year-old you forgot to pick-up from school,
 the hopeful eight-year-old you promised that you'd be right back….
Don’t you know?!
 All of those seasons, all of those missed moments,
 all of the times that Father Time ticked me off,
 placed a “no vacancy” sign across my heart and
 brought me to this sad reality:
 You laid down and made me,
 but never stood up and raised me.
 So, take your bull****, all of that lying ****,
 that tomorrow will be better ****,
 and make your grass greener
 for Easter and
 on the other damn side.
 Hallmark should make a
 Deadbeat Dad card.
 Until then, 
 I'M NOT BUYING IT!

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Home Bittersweet Home

Blueberry-cream waves
make sweet this bitter journey
carry this load home

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Oh, Baby

You haunt me, constantly
twisting my dreams into nightmares, and
nerve-racking my mind at the sight of pampers.
Approaching forty, mother of none:
why couldn’t I give birth to more than a hope?
Happily single, despite what you say, without
dealing with a kid who’ll only grow to hate me,
the crumb-snatcher taking from my plans and pay,
but....
I’m so damn lonely and you know it.
You,
you with your what-ifs and would’ve-could’ve-should’ves,
not allowing me to soundly sleep,
making me carry that weight,
with a life as empty as my womb,
tormented
by immoral choices that
stopped your possibilities.
I can only
now say:
“Mommy’s sorry.”

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I Must Go It Alone

I must go it alone
when others negotiate their dignity for existence
running in any commanded direction
during that spell of selection or rejection
I will represent everything but penitence
I must go it alone
while I cherry-pick self-respect over conformity
toeing the line of neutral and neurotic
Picture of self-confidence biopic
as wickedness intimidates the majority
I must go it alone
falling to rise again in another form
where medals will decorate my soul’s sleeve
and I call for a deity that calls me colleague
I entered and exited the world by storm
I must go it alone