Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Childhood Poem

So I was assigned by my literature teacher to write a poem based of of Nikki Giovanni's famous poem Nikki- Rosa.


By Nikki Giovanni
childhood remembrances are always a drag   
if you’re Black
you always remember things like living in Woodlawn   
with no inside toilet
and if you become famous or something
they never talk about how happy you were to have   
your mother
all to yourself and
how good the water felt when you got your bath   
from one of those
big tubs that folk in Chicago barbecue in   
and somehow when you talk about home   
it never gets across how much you
understood their feelings
as the whole family attended meetings about Hollydale
and even though you remember
your biographers never understand
your father’s pain as he sells his stock   
and another dream goes
And though you’re poor it isn’t poverty that
concerns you
and though they fought a lot
it isn’t your father’s drinking that makes any difference   
but only that everybody is together and you
and your sister have happy birthdays and very good   
and I really hope no white person ever has cause   
to write about me
because they never understand
Black love is Black wealth and they’ll
probably talk about my hard childhood
and never understand that
all the while I was quite happy"
The assignment also required us to include certain lines from this poem, and to base it on our childhood. This is my finished result, enjoy!
"Hayley Olivia

Childhood memories are the prologue
to your story.
You will always remember things like the way Suloman’s
rich ice cream melted in your mouth;
just like the way an ice cube melts in a fresh glass of southern made lemonade.
We all used to crave being famous,
and now if you become successful in that way,
with your face plastered on the front cover of People magazine,
you will find that you miss the non – judgmental world that you lived
 in as an innocent child.
They never talk about how jovial it made you
when you captured the flag.
Your teams cheers ringing out in different pitched bells, so cheerful,
when you flew across the yard, and past the guard
winning it all for your team.
Somehow when you talk about home on Romig Road
you get misty eyed as you remember,
the outdoor games, and the unprejudiced people, who once played amongst you
like one big happy family;
along with memories of Suloman’s on the corner and fifty cent lemonade stands.
And even though you remember the drop kick to the stomach when you heard the news,
your biographers will never feel your pain or your family’s,
as the movers placed the last box in the truck,
along with your current contentment.
Though you’re told to sit tight and face the music,
it isn’t them telling you this that bothers or concerns you…
It’s the reality of moving far away from everything and everyone
you’ve known and grew fond of.
Although your parents knew what was right
when they moved you out here you still find it hard
to cope because,
life as you knew it to be was the rug that took
seven whole years to weave
being taken out from under you;
only to be replaced by a loom and newly colored threads.
I really hope that should anyone write about me they know that
I took those threads and with the help of the loom, started a new carpet.
Because the one thing that I want everyone to remember is
life goes on."

~Hugs from Hayley


  1. You are so talented and you make me so proud every day!! Love U!

    Love, Mom :-)

  2. Very well written Hayley! I remember my parents moving us from my childhood home when I was 12--your poem brought back those memories. And, yes, life goes on and we make new carpets:)


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~Hugs from Hayley