To see the full piece, click either link below: Continue reading


Remembering Dr. King My Way Part 4


I wrote in an earlier post that the theme of my book, Thou Shalt Eat Dust, was my way of remembering Dr. King and that the book’s theme was that there are consequences for our actions.  Continue reading

Remembering Dr. King My Way 2

Writer’s note:  That night, we sat up all night, fully dressed, with the lights off in the living room, watching.   Chapter 38 from, Thou Shalt Eat Dust.

Chapter 38

THE RAPID KNOCKING at their front door was what woke him.  But it was the urgency in their neighbor, Miss Leona’s, voice that had piqued his curiosity. Continue reading

Remembering Dr. King My Way


Remember Dr. King My Way – Part 1

In April of 1968, I was 15 years old and living on Flournoy Street on the West Side of Chicago.  And we hadn’t been here very long having moved from Latham, Alabama in 1966.   And I vividly recall the riots that broke out upon the news of Dr. King’s death.  I wrote about them in my fictional novel, ‘Thou Shalt Eat Dust. Continue reading

O. J. Simpson


O.J. Simpson arrives for his parole hearing at Lovelock Correctional Centre in Lovelock


Orenthal James Simpson has been granted parole for trying to take back property that was stolen from him.

As a Black woman, who watched his trial for murder, hopefully, this experience has taught him to stay away from white women in the future.

But, as for being confident and out-spoken, that’s just who the man is and that I hope he doesn’t change.


A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth

Eliza D. Ankum
Author of
Flight 404
Ruby Sanders (The Ruby and Jared Saga)
Jared Anderson (The Ruby and Jared Saga)
OneThreeThirteen – A President Agent Novel Series Book 1
The Hunt For Red November – A Presidential Agent Novel Series Book 2
Dancing With The Fat Woman
Thou Shalt Eat Dust
A Woman’s Voice: A Book Of Poems
STALKED! By Voices


For The Crutcher Family


I wrote the following poem for Trayvon’s mother, Sybrina.  But I’d like to send it out as a condolence to the Crutcher Family.


I mourned so deeply that I hurt, physically.
I mourned for the children.
Mine, hers, and yes, even theirs.
I mourned, so deeply, because I knew her suffering
Like it was my own.
Because it is my own.
I know her agony, her tears, and her shame.
“Shame?” you ask.
Yes, because she was not there.
Oh, God how it must hurt knowing that he called for her
Yes! I am well acquainted with her demons.
Hate, anger, shame, guilt, remorse, and pity
Her demons are my very close companions.
Old friends with whom I commune daily.
With whom I share my deepest secrets, joys, and hopes.
They are everything to me.
And everything has been stilted and tinted by their presence
Nothing has escaped.
I have never eaten a single meal that they have not shared.
Drank a glass of wine that they did not pour
Or had conversation where they did not offer up their opinion
Yes, they are with me daily

Excerpt is from, ‘A Woman’s Voice: Book of Poems

Eliza D. Ankum


A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth