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Vee Sherman Poem
There is a deep message within my soul power within my closed hand-
You can’t understand the fire that burns within me even standing at a
Distance would consume your entire family at its very roots.
The very smoke exhuming from the flames alone are more than enough
to cause any hope you have for me to dissipate in the atmosphere.
Never expect my truth to bow down to anyone other than He who has
Called me into the truth, never at the feet of what you refer me to be.
With all your self- proclaimed knowledge please ask your God for just
A drop of His wisdom to set yourself free.
Never will we dim our lights and take a seat in the darkness of the back
In the back seat of a bus as our forefathers did in years of yore.
We will not be intimidated into quieting the strength of our mighty voices
Neither muffle our majestic tones for fear of images hanging from trees.
No! Our pace will not slow down simply because your heritage is weak-
We are the seeds from the tribe of Judah our steps will not be redefined!
Soon we will unclench our fist and hold tight to the hands of our people-
We hear the songs being sung, the timbrels being played awakening our own!
Prepare yourself Esau! For your rewards will soon call your name.
~Shalom~
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
BENEATH THE OLE’ SYCAMO’ TREE
In an unkempt place hidden in the backwoods underneath the ‘ole’ Sycamo’ tree lays a remnant of a people whose existence is noted only by weather beaten fragments of splintered wood.
Beyond anyone’s watchful care – beneath the over grown decayed debris are the souls of those whose epitaph is scripted by the symbolism of life over on the other side.
A ‘no’ named people who once stood feeble before those who detested them for the sole reason of the color of their skin- beckoned by anything other than who they were created to be.
A dark-skinned people whose lives were valued less than that old hunting dog licking his colored masters’ wounds.
Valued as nothing more than ole’ rags- now rest in the presence of an omnipotent Almighty God their existence is no mystery.
Their strength of powerful legacies has been written and seeds of purpose have been sown to give voice of the silence grounded in Him.
Powerful witnesses throughout the night who have taken hold to their beliefs and have never looked back can still be heard.
The battle cries of their existence can no longer be seen yet, whips across their scarred bloody backs are evidence of forced attendance.
I’ll go to that unkempt place hidden in the backwoods underneath the ‘ole’ Sycamo’ tree and shake hands with the elders gone on before.
Sit down and feast with the aged mothers exchange songs as our souls look back in wonder how they made it over.
Hug on the young ones whose lives were ruled and unjustly taken by a beastly, barbaric people who feared who they could become.
Reference each one by given names replacing those weather-beaten fragments of splintered wood with the dignity of acknowledgement.
I’d address you by the God given name birth had given you instead of the ones replaced during your painful arrivals.
My back powerful from the strength of those legacies left to me are strong enough to bear witness of what once was.
In an unkempt place hidden in the backwoods underneath the ‘ole’ Sycamo’ tree lays a remnant of a people….
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
There is a deep message within my soul power within my closed hand-
You can’t understand the fire that burns within me even standing at a
Distance would consume your entire lineage at its very roots.
The very smoke exhuming from the flames alone are more than enough
to cause any hope you have for me to dissipate in the atmosphere.
Never expect my truth to bow down to anyone other than the truth
of who I am and never at the feet of what you refer me to be.
With all your self- proclaimed knowledge please ask your God for just
A drop of His wisdom to set yourself free.
Never will we dim our lights and take a seat in your darkness-
In the back seat of a bus as our forefathers did in years of yore.
We will not be intimidated into quieting the strength of our mighty voices
Neither muffle our majestic tones for fear of images hanging from trees.
No! Our pace will not slow down simply because your heritage is weak-
We are the seeds from the tribe of Judah our steps will not be redefined!
Soon we will unclench our fist and hold tight to the hands of our people-
We hear the songs being sung, the timbrels being played awakening our own!
Prepare yourself Esau! For your rewards will soon call your name.
~Shalom~
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
The beauty of their promenade, gracefully enhances all-natural things-
Tho’ their truth concedes to the pale, contaminated lies of who they are.
The smoothness of their chocolate, caramel, and toffee colored skin-
Bear witness to the many untold unfamiliar truths of a nation they bore.
Exquisite inward forms struggle to release their assigned image without-
While anchored in the bosom of the Almighty, their Creator.
Lips so artful and full…serenade their people with their violins of truth-
While stroking the minds of those assigned to sit at their powerful feet.
Gazing in to the eyes of a hungry generation…desiring to know without
Delegation...the truth to save our entire chosen nation.
For their arrival brings excitement to those awaiting their solo entrance-
As gifted jewels longed for, yet exquisitely beautiful and rare as Saffron itself.
From the ashes of the unknown they arise with the power not their very own-
But, bestowed upon their people even before their conceptions began.
Mighty footsteps leave prints of wisdom for their seeds who are soon to arise-
Leading those who were birth from the wombs of the mighty chosen ones.
Their soft, yet, majestic voices captivate those at the top of the mountains-
Deepest of valleys leading them into truths freedoms years have failed to give
.
Powerful women of color who often speak without words…
within the four corners of nations... oh, how you’ve been heard.
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
The beauty of their promenade, gracefully enhances all-natural things-
Tho’ their truth concedes to the pale, contaminated lies of who they are.
The smoothness of their chocolate, caramel, and toffee colored skin-
Bear witness to the many untold unfamiliar truths of a nation they bore.
Exquisite inward forms struggle to release their assigned image without-
While anchored in the bosom of the Almighty, their Creator.
Lips so artful and full…serenade their people with their violins of truth-
While stroking the minds of those assigned to sit at their powerful feet.
Gazing in to the eyes of a hungry generation…desiring to know without delegation….the truth to save our entire chosen nation.
For their arrival brings excitement to those awaiting their solo entrance-
As gifted jewels longed for, yet exquisitely beautiful and rare as Saffron itself.
From the ashes of the unknown they arise with the power not their very own-
But, bestowed upon their people even before their conceptions began.
Mighty footsteps leave prints of wisdom for their seeds who are soon to arise-
Leading those who were birth from the wombs of the mighty chosen ones.
Their soft, yet, majestic voices captivate those at the top of the mountains-
Deepest of valleys leading them into truths freedoms years have failed to give.
Powerful women of color who often speak without words…within the four corners of nations... oh, how you’ve been heard.
~Shalom~
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
God equipped you to be that beacon in the thick of the storms-
For your light radiates from your soul at its appointed time.
The care in your eyes give peace to those in your presence-
The mighty sequoias are beneath your meek and small statue.
Frail yet precise arms possess the power to embrace the lost.
Mother..
Strength of your back raises those with no courage of their own-
Til your footsteps become weak and give way to the heavy load.
Yes, our Heavenly Fathers Grace and His Mercy both carried you-
You dear Mother are the fresh wind that blows in my new season.
When the thickness of despair almost takes my breath away.
Acknowledgement of Mother Maxwell
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
Once I sat with only the ticking of the clock
By the phone I waited you said you'd call.
All that I had I put in one basket for you
You had to return I gave everything my all.
Even the letters I wrote, 'Return to sender.'
Each letter formed from the personal pen
Dipped in the scent you liked so very much.
Shall I wait for you now as I did then?
No not this time.
Living on memories of what you meant to me
Your sweet nothings whispered in my ear.
Broken promises from you -you did freely give
From an imagined love one not really here.
I was surely taken to that one moment in time
With closed eyes I took in all of your view.
Savored each emotion seemed so real to me
Shall I wait in hopes to live my life with you.
Not This Time
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2015
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Vee Sherman Poem
‘WHITE COLUMN RESSURRECTION’
Even now you stand poised with memories of a corned cobbed pipe in one hand-tight gripped lapel in the other-perched against thick southern charmed columns positioned on a once so powerful veranda .
Peering across your fields at the silhouettes of a people once controlled by fear of a self- regulated people-whose hopes are for nothing less than resurrecting their white columns.
Your beastly-uncivilized-arrogance, as Nero himself stands erect-as if mans very bane existence lay solely upon your word and yours alone.
Hope to interrupt a culture taking their rest from labor of long ago lay within your desires...to carry on the brutality of your lineage upon them-a legacy handed down from generations before.
Sounds of rustling chains echo through time driving the very ego within you-to the valley of dry bones-in hopes these bones live again-taking a people back in time when they were told their place?
It was your reality which took away all their freedoms to hope-freedom to dream-freedom to live out their individual created purpose-instead tossing them into a dead valley they would once again join.
Ole’ man of yesterday what has changed since the ruin of your veranda-crumbling of your columns-white suits scented by the aroma of smoke from ravished cities-stained by the blood of your silhouettes. Certainly not your White Column Resurrection.
Their imaginations to be ‘free men’ were brutally invaded by a people who were more beastly than the beast of the fields and fowl of the air-and no more learned than those labeled as uncivilized beings.
Tho’ freedoms gavel has fallen upon the portals of man-they remain as if they were never spoken-never uttered- for you are fearful of the strength a people possess-fearful of what shall be-a people arising by the power of their own God!
Oh Lord our God! Precious Lord take our hands lead us on let us stand we are tired we are weak we are worn…in the morning, in the morning when the dark clouds roll away!
Self appointed curators as high judges over all-sneering down with pre-sentences in hand-ready to hand down the most brutal punishments upon those not possessing your flawed lineage-mirrored image-skin or its tone…is there something you failed to remember?
Lest you forget-it was the boastful you who forcefully violated the beauty of a people you deemed nothing-a people you valued above nothing but below everything-of which none are worthy of the very air prolonging their foul existence?
The darkness bears witness of your secrets-unwarranted penetrations upon a dark-skinned people you lusted for. Your vain disdain raped their minds and bodies-leaving behind secret created ‘images’ of you growing within.
The same darkness bears witness of your hidden schemes of ridding the very connector of you and the dark- skinned people you lay with-the very image of veranda and silhouette-as no proof to your self- inflicted judgment.
Places you thought hidden testify to the secret meetings of the belle of the ball satisfying her strong desire for the stead of a darker pigment.
So, your blood your lineage runs through the veins of a people you so despise.
Until nothing is left but…the quiet of darkness…all sins of evasion are gone never to be heard of again.
No more White Columns Resurrections’.
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
A mother’s love for her child flows freely through her veins -
Sometimes so great she sheds her tears in the greatest of the rain.
A mother’s love for her child makes her pace the floor late at night
Til she sees the face of her child and the darkness gives way to light.
She will hold him close to her breast- rock him in the fold of her arm-
Thank God for His safety that He has kept him from danger and harm.
Even when illness comes his welling cries fill the entire room-
She kisses him gently on the forehead believes the fever will pass soon.
Motherly affection takes over she so gently wipes his brow-
Whispers in his ear ‘I know that God will make a way somehow’.
She lifts her hands unto her father in Heaven and she begins to say-
Jesus I know you to be healer so please hear me when I pray.
Please keep my child Jesus, if you will-remove this dark cloud-
Just speak the Word Sir with your power don’t have to be out loud.
It was you when I was sick who touched and did help me-
When my burdens got heavy too heavy to bear it was you who kept me.
A mother’s love for her child makes her do all that she can do-
Til’ she can’t do any more Lord I’m depending on only you.
No matter how long she stays on her knees and out to God she cries-
Heaven has the last say, sometimes...still…her child dies.
Through her veins is the love of a mother.
V’Cleotis’S
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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Vee Sherman Poem
AS I DREAM...
Silk pajamas, satin sheets, coolness of the breeze against my silky flesh-
Winds from the distance arrive with fragrant masculine cologne.
Rekindling such sweet memories of not so long ago, oh I remember.
Gentle winds ruffle the sheets create indentations of where you lay.
Outlined silhouettes of you flowing freely beneath the sheets.
Reminding me of where you were and where you shall always be.
Wind don’t stir up or awaken pleasures of Love until it pleases-
For love pleases at the proper time releasing its gentle fragrance.
As I Dream…
An aroma strong enough to take me above and beyond the clouds-
Soaring through the sky…along side the mighty eagles perhaps...
Beyond the depths of the deepest ocean even the vastest of seas.
Many waters cannot quench it nor do the flood waters drown it out-
The mountains cannot hide it nor can the widest valley conceal it.
Within your love I see your face like that of a strong gladiator-
Strength to carry his armor as he mounts his muscular steed.
Voice so enticing alluring captivating the hunger in my very soul-
Oh As I Dream…
Silk pajamas, satin sheets, coolness of the breeze against my silky flesh-
Gentle winds ruffle the sheets creating indentations of where you lay.
I Dream…
Copyright © Vee Sherman | Year Posted 2018
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