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Poems written by Tonya Bolton and other various writers.
Let there be Fire: Women Arise
Let there be fire,
till women arise over their mountains like the sun at dawn.
Till weeping tears heal invisible scars.
Till battered butterfly wings yearn to fly.
Till women words becomes flashes of lightening striking deaf ears.
Let there be fire,
till the will to live & breathe is set alight.
Till droplets of molten larva rains down destruction on the heads of oppressors.
Till the mouths of mean men fuse together until mute.
Till clenched fists are amputated and stored like piled up carcasses.
Let there be fire,
till women turn their silence into sacred song.
Till dry bones jump and dance like ashes in the wind.
Till disfigured faces recognise themselves as victors instead of victims.
Till spirits are refined without burning and transformed into the purest gold.
Let there be fire,
fire… FIRE… FIRE!
Copyright Tonya Bolton
Click here to listen to the audio version of this poem.
The Unseen Women Workers
Commissioned by Collide and performed at The Birmingham Academy during women’s international week 2002
We celebrate the unseen women workers,
past, present and future.
Slaves, factory workers, nurses, mothers, housewives, teachers,
dressmakers, hairdressers, carers, cooks, cleaners and church leaders.
We honour surviving sisters with blistered hands,
working overtime to meet family demands.
But please find time:
To shower yourself with the love you deserve.
To nurture your dreams.
To weave your own destiny.
To iron out any obstacle,
and paint the world with your unique vision.
Women of every age, occupation and race,
you are called to recreate a new space.
Women of the world,
every grandmother and girl,
unite at this sacred hour,
for we are born to liberate and empower.
Women of every shape, shade and size,
now is your time to reclaim and rise.
Copyright Tonya Bolton
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
with your bitter, twisted lies,
you may trod me in the very dirt,
but still, like dust, I'll rise...
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
You may shoot me with your words,
you may cut me with your eyes,
you may kill me with your hatefulness,
but still, like air, I'll rise...
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise…
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise…
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise…
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maya Angelou
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