wasted membranes

i get high on crystal meth;
i get stoned, like a soul picnic,
wasted membranes,
you’re gone
and i’m left with twisted grey matter.

she’s my pusher,
wide open,
and ready for action.
she, her, they.
i know it’s you,
but do you trip like i do,
on the vapor trail?
get busy child, trip like i do.
i’m jaded, i’m faded, i made it
to a place
where darkness veils
when all else fails,
and darkness is the mask
that hides us all.

it’s been three days,
and now, i’m starting over.
there’s high and low
and crystal meth is high
and twisted matter is low.
and i know it’s you, but you
don’t trip like i do.
bound too long,
you know it’s hard, or do you?
you’re wild, sweet and cool,
wide open
and ready for action.

i get high on crystal meth;
i get stoned, like a soul picnic.
i end up with wasted membranes.
and, i know
you’re right,
but I’m left
with twisted grey matter.

This is blackstarr saying "Vive La Renaissance".

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millenium, wasted, crystal, grey, matter

Change: part 2

In 1969, from August 15th through August 18th, the first Woodstock concert took place in Bethel, New York. It was an historic event of magnanimous proportion. I wasn’t there. I was only 17 years old, and Mom said, quite calmly and simply “No”. She would have said “H*ll, no!”, but, she’s not a swearing woman. Years passed, and I became a father. On July 29, 1985, my son was born. I was there. On August 9, 1987, my daughter was born. I was there. On July 2, 2005, Live 8 took place with concerts all around the world, in an effort to convince the major powers of the world to drop or, at the very least, greatly reduce the debt of African nations. One such concert was held here in Philadelphia. I was there, along with my two children, witnessing history once again. Finally, on April 18, 2008, another historic event - another historic event of magnanimous proportion took place, and, again, it was right here in Philadelphia. Sen. Barack Obama spoke at a rally, at Independence Hall . . . and I was there!

“CHANGE!” Did you hear that?! Let me play it for you one more time. “CHANGE!” That’s the sound of nearly 40,000 people shouting “change” all in one huge, unanimous voice. That was the scene this past Friday when I witnessed the voice of the most charismatic person that I’ve ever had the pleasure to hear. There was the warmth of summer-like temperatures. Frisbees were tossed about as if we were back in Haight-Asbury, circa 1968, and there was the seemingly endless chant of “Obama, Obama, Obama!” Music was being piped into the microphones, and the crowd sang along and danced to the tunes that were familiar, but, soon, they grew tired of even the peppiest of tunes. There was but one thing that they had all gathered for – the appearance of Sen. Barack Obama.

We’ve all heard it before. We’ve all listened to it over and over and over. Yet, we never seem to tire of that charismatic voice saying that what this country needs is change. He reminded us that Sen. Hillary Clinton was not above playing the same old political games of kowtowing to big business, and business as usual. He reminded us that the name “John McCain” was just another way of saying “George W. Bush”. He reminded us that he was not willing to let the lobbyists maintain their headlock upon the will of the people. He said more than a mouthful. More than anything else, he reminded us, again, of what this country needs. Not for one second did we ever tire of his trademark call for change.

I missed Woodstock. I really wanted to be there. Four days of wanton freedom and it slipped through my fingers. I was fortunate enough to be present when my children were born, and I was there to witness history in the making, with my children in tow, by attending what could be called “the concert of the millennium”, Live 8. This past Friday, I witnessed history, once again, as I stood among the crowd of nearly 40,000 admirers, and listened with bated breath as the man say “Change”.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance”.

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millennium, Barack Obama, change, Hillary Clinton, John McCain, George W. Bush, Live 8, Woodstock

Change: part 1

No matter what accomplishments President Barack Obama should accumulate during his eight years in office, his claim to fame will be one simple word: change. There is a lot of talk about the folly of voting along party lines these days. As I always like to remind everyone, in a presidential election there are only two parties: Republican and Democratic. No matter who else runs, they are the only two that really count. When it’s all said and done, the winner will be either a Republican or a Democrat. It is what it is. That can change in the future if we make the right efforts at the local and state levels, priming a good, viable candidate for office, regardless of their party affiliation. For today, it is what it is – Republican or Democratic. Do you want change or do you want another eight years of no foreseeable way out of poverty for most of America? Do want change or do you want to continue to live in a country that does not care one iota about its citizens’ health? Do you want change or do you want our children, our future, to continue to receive a second-rate education? Do you want change or another few more years of American soldiers dying in yet another war that should not have been in the first place? Are you going to get out there and help us vote in a Democrat? Will you help us to vote in a Democrat who will bring about a change?

I am who I am. No matter what most other folks are into, I can only be me. I’m not into reality TV – not in the least. I’m not down with the touchy-feely philosophies that a lot of people feed into as of late. More importantly, I’m not as “politically correct” as most folks would have me to be. That having been said let me remind you that Barack Obama is a truly charismatic man, that he professes an affinity towards change, and that he claims to be against letting big corporation lobbyists maintain control. Perhaps all of that is true, but only time will tell. Those are all good reasons to cast your vote for Sen. Barack Obama. I will give you one more reason – one more valid reason - for my African-American brothers and sisters to help vote Sen. Barack Obama into office – one for which the “politically correct” folks will probably fry me. Sen. Barack Obama is someone with whom I can identify – he is an African-American. That alone is reason enough for me.

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, new millennium, change, Barack Obama, Democratic, Republican, party lines

u-n-i-t-y

I’m an inveterate collector. Books, CDs, DVDs, earrings, watches, wigs, handbags, shoes, photo frames....you get the picture (apologies for the pun). This forces me to clean my closets twice a year in a vain attempt to make room for those items I’ve ‘collected’ since the last cleaning.

While performing this bi-annual ritual I came upon a long-hidden box. This box made the journey with me six years ago when I moved from the US to the UK. It contained photographs, which I hid because it made me too homesick to look at them. I have long since conquered my homesickness, so I dragged the box down from its corner on the top shelf, and dumped the contents onto my bed.

There were Ma and Daddy. They often fought like cats and dogs, but they loved each other – they had each other’s back. A dog-eared picture of me with my siblings at a long-ago Fourth of July celebration...lined up in birth order, arms around each other, forever entwined. And a photo from a block party of me, my siblings, and the East 148th Street gang (from the days when ‘gang’ meant your friends as opposed to the people you ran around with killin’ other folks): John, Eleanor, Trish, Nina, Eric, David, Stevie, Leonard, Denise, Debbie, PeeWee, Gail, Junior, Donald, and the Jackson twins.

What struck me most about this picture was the way we looked like we belonged to each other. A stranger looking at this photo could see the ties that bound us to one another – our unity was a palpable presence that transcended the celluloid it was captured by.

There is a saying: “it takes a village to raise a child”. This was the creed which I, my family and everyone I grew up with lived by and adhered to. We looked out for one another. We took care of each other. When Mrs. Hawkins found me behind the garage smokin’ weed with her kids, she didn’t just whip them, she whipped me as well, then phoned my mother and told her, “I just found Katherine behind the garage smokin’ that funny shit with Edgar ‘n them ‘n I beat all their asses.” My mom would say “thank you Jean” – and when I got home, I got another whippin’. When Mrs. Barbara died suddenly and Mr. Barbara fell into a depression so profound he couldn’t even speak, everyone on the block took care of him: he was fed, his house was cleaned, his grass was cut, and the men of the neighbourhood held him when he cried.

Sadly, some where between the time of my childhood and the time I reached adulthood, that sense of unity disappeared in the black community. No longer did neighbours look out for one another. The extended family – indeed, the black family – crumbled and fell apart, decimated by the demons of divorce and drugs, crack and crime.

Beautiful black people - my people - we need to get that unity back. It’s not an impossible task; our history is filled with kings and queens, princes and poets, idealists and inventors. Our history resonates with the words of men and women who had high hopes and dreams for our collective future, people like Phyllis Wheatley, Frederick Douglass, James Baldwin, Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, Maya Angelou, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King.

Barack Obama is a man who sees the need not just for blacks to re-discover that unity, but for a nation to discover and embrace unity.

One of my Stateside friends sent me the email below:

Why is it that a black man can create a tiny piece called a filament (the electric light, Lewis Latimer) that allows people to see in the dark? Yet he is not seen as fit to lead a country to the light. Why is it that a black man can create an instrument (the clock, Benjamin Banneker) that all people use to tell time? Yet people don't think it is time for him to run a country. Why is it that a Black Man can design a place for the authorities to meet in (Washington DC, Pierre L'Enfant) and a place for the President to live in (the White House, Phillip Reid)? Yet he is not good enough to lead these meetings or live in this building himself. Why is it that a black man was brilliant enough to do the first open heart surgery (Dr. Daniel Hale Williams) and show the world how to get and preserve plasma (Dr. Charles Drew)? Yet he is not good enough to put a program in place where everyone can afford this surgery. Why is it that a black man was creative enough to design an instrument (the traffic light, Garrett Morgan) to bring multiple people and vehicles to a halt? Yet he is not seen as creative enough to design a plan to bring all this unnecessary and worthless fighting between countries to an end. Why is it that a black man could create the soles (for shoes, Jan Matzeliger) that people walk on everyday? Yet he is not seen as good enough to fill the shoes of a bad president. Why is it that a black man was smart enough and brave enough to teach himself (Fredrick Douglas & Thomas Fuller, both slaves) and others how to read, write and calculate math? Yet he is not seen as smart enough and bold enough to calculate a platform to be President to a country.

My Brothers and Sisters, what I am saying is let us not forget our past, which led us to our present and can definitely be the backbone to our future. We were good enough, smart enough, creative enough, and bold enough then, so let’s give Obama the chance to show that we are still these things and more. We all are as strong as our weakest link, so don't be that weak link that denies our people that chance to show we still can overcome.

To put it simply, it’s called UNITY.

Y’all know what you need to do.

copyright © 2008 KPMCL

Dark Army

just before the sun goes down
just before dark
with shades of black & brown
just before the sun sinks into its hole
come the voices of those that have no soul

voices of violence
from the past
voices of nightmares
determined to last
voices of terror
despairing in the dark
voices of insanity
at its most stark

just before the shadows fall
just before dark
when the ghosts come through the wall
just before the clouds bleed red
come the voices of the dead

copyright © 2008 KPMCL

What have you heard, lately?

My people are just destroying the English language, bit, by bit, by bit. Yes – my people: my Black people and my Caucasian people. I’m not so sure about my Hispanic and Asian people, because half the time I have no idea what they're saying. More on them later.

My Black people - wow! Usually, I am lambasting the younger generation for the way they speak. They kinda get a pass today. I’m not talking about “Ebonics”. Ebonics have flavor - wrong - but, they have flavor. My thoughts about language, today, span every generation.

My Black people do not use “Mayflower”. They have to do it themselves, so when they move, they go out and rent a “U-Haul-It” truck. Come on, people! If they have a letter or package that needs to be somewhere quickly, they use “Partial Post”. What? I remember my childhood and playtime after school. We would come down the steps at the front of the house, and after we hit the last one at the bottom, we were standing on the “palement”. O – M – G! Directly opposite was another “palement” and in between the two was a “skreet”. By summer’s end, inevitably, a ball has gotten away from our grips and fallen into the “zooey hole”. Of course, when we got back in the house we would wash our hands in the “zinc”. Goodness gracious! What always happens when my Black people have a few extra dollars in their pockets? We order some “swimps”. Yes- I’m talking about the little curled up seafood that has the head off and the tail still attached – swimps.

Like most of America, Pennsylvania, at one point, was inhabited by the American Indians. Their tribal names are in use today all over the state as County names, City names, and street names. In Philadelphia, you will find just about every one: Dauphin, Susquehanna, Chamonix (pronounced “sha moe knee”), Wissahickon (pronounced “wis a hickken”), and Schuylkill. Schuylkill (pronounced “skoo kill”) is not (to my knowledge) a tribal name, but, I had to throw that one in because of the spelling, and because it appears everywhere. Now, take a moment to review those names and look at those weird spellings. Which one do you think my Black people have the most trouble with? Believe it or not, as difficult as those words look, most people in Philadelphia have no trouble with their pronunciation. Instead, my Black people have a big problem with “Hunting Park Avenue”!! You see, “Hunting Park” obviously refers to a place where the Indians once hunted, and is often confused with another street named “Huntingdon Street”. Invariably, my Black people will say “Huntingdon Park Avenue” - every time! There IS no “Huntingdon Park Avenue”, people! It’s “Hunting Park Avenue”!! Get it right! Across town, there is an avenue by the name of “Haverford Avenue”. Again – invariably – my Black people will say “Halford Avenue”. What the humina humina? Please tell me how “Haverford” progressed over the years to “Halford”. But, hey, that’s my Black people and their own sense of language. Gotta love ‘em.

OK. Let’s move on to my other people – my Caucasian people. Our football team is “The Eagles”, but leave it to my people, my Caucasian people, to give it their own spin – “The Iggles”! Yes, that’s their very own personal pronunciation. We have a section in the city called “Kensington”, which is a poor, Caucasian, working class neighborhood. In South Philly, we have an Italian neighborhood. My Caucasian people from both neighborhoods have the distinct and erroneous manner of saying “I bet ya”. No – I’m not talking about making a wager. That’s their way of saying that they got there first. You know what I mean - the word that really should be “beat”, as in “I beat you”. What? “Bet” is not a replacement for “beat”! But, that’s my people, my Caucasian people. Gotta love ‘em, too.

I grew up with an Asian guy and an Hispanic guy. I guess with all of this “political correctness”, I should say “Puerto Rican” guy, as he hails from the island of Puerto Rico. Both he and the Asian friend have been in this country for at least thirty years or more, by now, but for the life of me, I still can’t understand a word they’re saying. Their accents are so thick that you can cut them with a knife. They may be using proper grammar and vocabulary, for all I know. Perhaps they are cussing me out for something that I agreed to a long time ago on which I never followed through. After all, all that I’ve ever done while in the midst of conversation with either of them was nod my head, as if to say “I understand”, when I really didn’t. It keeps the conversation moving and gets it over with. I still have no clue as to what words come forth from their mouths.

Well, there you have it. That’s my people. My Black people, my Caucasian people, my Asian people, and my, er . . . my Puerto Rican people. No matter how they choose to say the words . . . you gotta love ‘em.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance”.

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Renaissance, Millennium, New Millennium, have you heard, Wissahickon, Chamonix, Dauphin, Susquehanna, Schuylkill, language, U Haul, Parcel Post, my people

The Harlem Renaissance: Part 2 of 5

One of the most well-known writers to come out of the Harlem Renaissance was Langston Hughes (1906-1967). His father disapproved of his choice of careers (writing), and suggested that he take up engineering. Hughes enrolled at Columbia University. Although he maintained a B+ average, he dropped out after a short time. In 1923, he took a stewardship aboard a freighter bound for Africa. He soon found himself in Italy. Shortly thereafter, he spent time in Washington, D.C, but by 1926, he returned to Harlem which he loved so much. Whether his time was in D.C. or in Harlem, he spent a great deal of time in cafes and clubs, listening to Jazz and Blues. It was those very places where much of his famed works were conceived, including “Weary Blues” (1926).

Normally, one writes, gets recognized, and then goes on to fame. At some point, one of his/her works becomes renown, usually a later work. Ironically, one of Langston Hughes’ most famous poems ever was his first published poem, “The Negro Speaks of Rivers”. My personal favorite, not just of Hughes, but of all time and of all poems is “I, Too, Sing America”, penned in 1925. Although he was an icon of the Harlem Renaissance period, he continued his writing well into the 60’s, up until his death in 1967. One such writing was “Harlem”, written in 1951. Most of us know the poem by the question posed in its first line “What happens to a dream deferred?” That very line went on to become the muse for Lorraine Hansberry’s play “A Raisin in the Sun”, which became the first Broadway play by an African-American female.

During his rise to fame, while in Harlem, he became friends with and partied with the likes of Zora Neale Hurston, Countee Cullen, and Carl Van Vechten. Two of his closest relationships were with Arna Bontemps and Jean Toomer. It was in 1926 when he met Zora Neale Hurston. After about a year of friendship, he accompanied her throughout the South on her famed quest for folklore. Although the two collaborated on the play “Mule Bone”, they had a falling-out and the play was neither published nor produced until 1991. Carl Van Vechten coaxed Hughes to align himself with Alfred A Knopf Publishing, who published “Weary Blues”. Many would say that there were other writers who were more prominent during the Harlem Renaissance than Langston Hughes, but, this writer would beg to differ. Nevertheless, his name invokes the ideal of “poet supreme”, and conjures up images of life in Harlem like no other. What makes him even more endeared to me is that although the years may be different, we share the same birthday, February 1st. Hughes finally attended Lincoln University, in Pennsylvania in 1929, where he received his bachelor degree.

Langston Hughes died of cancer on May 22, 1967. His home at 20 E. 127^th St, in Harlem, was declared a landmark.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance”.

(more blackstarr at "the wordsmith's alley")

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

Langston Hughes, Harlem Renaissance, New Millennium, poetry, Renaissance, New Reanaissance, Millennium, New Millennium