My Soul Speaks

By Bessie Knight Nichols-Farmer

My Soul Speaks in large part expresses my journey through life. When my mind is challenged, I write notes to myself. Looking back, I realized that many of the notes were poetic. The mental force of thought compelled me to externalize my thoughts. My Soul Speaks is an umbrella that shadowed my walk through life as a daughter, sister, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. All of whom my soul speaks through.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646281985

Book preview

My Dedication—My Task

Where responsibility leads me—

In homes, streets, or behind prison walls—

Any place where there are children I will go.

I love them all.

If they are naked, hungry, and their friends are few;

If they are rich with clothes all new;

From the heights of the great to the depths

of the small,

I believe that I can love them all.

The capacity to love,

The courage to be honest,

And the willingness to give.

There are no limits or boundaries.

I am free.

I can go where children live.

I believe that I can love them all.

5-17-1969

Note: An entry in classwork at Miami Dade College and a statement in my philosophy of education.

One Look

Just one look will solve many problems

that some people blame on race;

From the peep of the dawn to the setting of the sun

They do not look themselves in the face;

It is there they will see the unclad truth

That history books cannot tell;

Just one look will solve the mystery

why their neighbors are not so swell;

Just one look you see

Is the name of the game

That people seldom play

Through a grotesque and capricious shadow

Is how people view life today;

Now sit down with your conscious

And take a view through the mirror of your life;

There you will find in every line

An answer to your misery and strife;

After the answer, you will reach the goal

That is buried deep in your soul;

You will rejoice the day you threw that mirror away.

Do not forget, life will reject.

Take one look each day and pray.

4-18-96

Home Again in Alabama

Alabama, where all my fears originated.

Alabama, where all my fears subsided. Alabama, where bravery in me gave birth, where I first became one with the earth.

The rifling of trees and shrubs in March,

The awesome beauty of spring,

The heat waves from the summer skies.

One might think it odd to see beauty in thunderstorms and rain.

Yes! I’m home again in Alabama,

Where autumn comes blending green and spice, where cool and warm air join hands,

Connecting fall and spring and sometimes making rain and ice.

Alabama, the place I remember as having every tree

With a different shade of green,

In the spring hillsides appear to be hand-painted in red.

Alabama, where my mom taught me to make flour bread.

It doesn’t matter how long I was gone—

forty-three years, to be exact—

I always had a hankering to come home,

and now, thank God I’m back.

Back home in Alabama never more to roam.

11-19-96

Humanitarian

Inspired by a conversation

with my brother John

A humanitarian I take myself to be.

I look for good in people,

Even those who don’t know me.

I just go around doing good

In and out of my neighborhood.

My brother John told me,

"Girl, you’re gonna get hurt.

While you’re dishing out good,

Somebody’s gonna dish you dirt.

You’re always talking positive,

Trying to help somebody to live,

But you can’t watch your back

’Cause you’re always trying to give."

I told my brother John,

"Things always work for good.

When you give, you live.

The essence of giving is living.

If you ain’t giving, you ain’t living."

Love you always, John!

2-18-96

On That Old Farm

We did a heap of living on that old farm.

We had no clocks, didn’t need no alarms—

Just an old rooster crowing every morn,

Letting us know that the day was dawn.

Yeah, there were no alarms or sirens out there.

We had to rise early to tend the crops

We worked for share.

We had to feed them cows, pigs, and mules—

Most of the time in bare feet

As we had few socks and shoes.

We hoped for a pair for winter

And fall and maybe a sweater,

And that was just about all.

We did a heap of living on that old farm.

I still dream of that old steep barn

And all that fun we had on that old farm.

2-19-96

I Found My Face

From my great-grandma to me.

They say, old Indians never die—

They just fade away.

Mine only faded.

She never left; she’s here to stay.

I go to my mother, my grandmother,

And then my great-grandmother.

I can stop here.

I found a commonplace.

All these times and years of wandering,

I’ve finally found my face.

All these years sleeping in the grave,

She still influences how I behave.

All