The (in)Justices of the Supreme Court (part 1)

When United States Supreme Court justices are sworn into office, they are sworn in for life.

Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens is eighty-eight (88) years old. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is seventy-five (75) years old. Justice Antonin Scalia is seventy-two (72) years old, followed by Justice Anthony M. Kennedy, who is seventy-one (71) years old. The remainder of the court’s justices’ ages does not get much better. Another thought to ponder is that when Justice Ginsburg was appointed to the Supreme Court, she was already sixty-years old. Does anybody see where I’m going with this? In case you don’t, lifetime tenure for justices has outlived its usefulness. To further state the case for a change in a justice’s tenure, some justices have already outlived their states of health. Justice William H. Rehnquist was still in office, yet hospitalized, and was eighty (80) years old when illness took his life in 2005.

When the Constitution was formulated, it provided that justices “shall hold their offices during good behavior”. That means “for as long as he/she shall live". They have the option of resigning or retiring, but, it is not mandatory. Lifetime tenure was given to keep the courts independent of the political branches. In effect, the founding fathers wanted them to have absolute power and independence so that influence was not a factor. Their salaries are not revocable ($214,000 per year), so that neither Congress nor the Senate would be able to threaten them with loss of salary due to unpopular decisions by the justices. – giving them the freedom to vote as they will without fear. That “untouchability” is at the root of the current drive to change all of that. There is but one course of action to have a justice removed: impeachment. No justice has ever been removed through impeachment. What was once a good idea has become an hindrance.

Consider my mother, who is eighty-five (85) years old. She is just about as sharp as ever. Even so, I do not believe she has the soundness of mind to run things all on her own. Things have changed, technology has become more challenging, and even the language of the day is not what she once knew. The justices of the Supreme Court are no different. Do we really need someone who is eighty-eight (88) years old determining Constitutional wording, meaning, and scope? If the mind is still in good shape, what, then, of the body? Justice William Douglass served for nearly thirty-seven (37) years. During the last ten (10) months of his service, after a stroke in 1975. His colleagues decided (unofficially) to make null and void any decisions in which his was the deciding vote. In 2005, Justice William H. Rehnquist was barely able to make it to the podium to swear in President George W. Bush for Bush’s second term. Health concerns aside, it is a bit more troubling to know that a justice in his/her eighties is making the decisions that shape the country for centuries to come. It is time that the “injustices” of the Supreme Court to lose their tenure.

Please join us on Sunday as we delve further into the “Injustices Of The Supreme Court”.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance!”

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millennium, Supreme Court, justices, tenure, age, impeachment, lifetime, Chief Justices, founding fathers, Rehnquist, Berger, Marshall, Alito, O'Connor, Scalia, Ginsburg

Symphony for Sin in Seven Parts

a soul as old as the sands of time
owner of a house without reason or rhyme
only infidels are invited in
to partake all the delights of sin

thus the doors are opened wide
welcome to the darker side

Livia, Delilah and Jezebel
grin as they greet you at the gates of hell
keepers of the eternal fires
grantors of your darkest desires

thus the doors are opened wide
celebrate the darker side

a room full of mirrors crack’d and stained
sad souls dance before them ‘til they’re drained
down vanity’s slope these souls did slide
into the valley known as Pride

thus the doors are opened wide
take a look at the darker side

for those who Envy there’s a special hoard
of lovely things they could never afford
items they wish they could’ve bought
baubles for which they bitterly fought

thus the doors are opened wide
rejoice in the darker side

there’s a massive kitchen for Gluttony
in here you can eat everything you can see
smack your lips and watch your belly swell
then waddle thru the halls of hell

thus the doors are opened wide
drink deep of the darker side

the cellar holds a diabolical jury
for those who spent their lives in fury
follow a steep and spirally path
to cavort with the demon Wrath

thus the doors are opened wide
gambol in the darker side

we’ve not left out a room for Greed
so satisfy your every need
money and sex, or jewels and power
you’ll never have an idle hour

thus the doors are opened wide
delight in the darker side

lazy souls can pledge their troth
to the slovenly spirit Sloth
a simpering and mindless jerk
with him you’ll never have to work

thus the doors are opened wide
all hail the darker side

our favourite room was saved ‘til last
for boasters of their sexual past
the attic holds the incubus Lust
come copulate amidst the dust

thus the doors are opened wide
learn to love your darker side

copyright © 2007 KPMCL

Renaissance, New Millennium, darkness, poetry, sin, deadly sins, Hell, the darker side

Aphrodite’s child revisited

thoughts both beautiful & obscure
a heart as dark as it is pure
the sum of everything she’s sown
is Aphrodite’s child full-grown

lost lovers like so much debris
the strong gnarled arms of her family tree
the reflection of tiny lines on her face
as she grows old in another place

without & within the doors are open
a little wiser & well used to copin’
at childhood’s demise she will not mope
yet loves & writes with childlike hope

she works / she cleans / she cooks / she eats
then dreams at night on crisp linen sheets
unspoken wishes in a brain that’s yearning
dark desires that keep her stomach churning

a woman alone without a womb
at peace in Eden’s grey & green room
where angels look down from the walls
& memory dwells in hallowed halls

she lives with the voices of the ages
& with the Magi regularly engages
no matter that her arteries harden
there is joy amongst the words in her garden

what care she for the grey in her hair –
she, who’s endured the black dog’s glare?
she’s happy with the witch doctor’s pills
& the damp embrace of the Scottish hills

there’s no fear in the mistakes she accepts
just anger & grief & ashen regrets
yet she will fight a wee bit longer
& every battle will make her stronger

rejecting the role, rejoicing in the place
her duelling done with style & grace
demons & tricksters & stealers of hearts
felled at her feet with poison-pen darts

no matter that her waist grows thick
her breasts remain firm & her mind is quick
immune to anybody’s taunts
serenely meeting her needs & wants

barely free, torn between two homes
inside her head she endlessly roams
divided mind with heart still wild
is aging Aphrodite’s child

copyright © 2008 KPMCL

We Are Not Alone!!

Over the weekend, I checked out a friend’s friend, and then, one of their friends, and before I got around to checking the GPS, I ended up taking a blog walk through cyberspace – far outside the realm of Windows Live Spaces. It was an incredible journey, and as Scully was so fond of saying, as he desperately tried to win Mulder over, “We are not alone!” I found the humorous bloggers, the informants, the ramblers, the political/social commenters, and of course, the loonies (Oh, Beam me up, Scotty!). Not surprisingly, I found that just about 9 out of 10 that I stumbled upon were blogging about Obama and Clinton, or some odd offspring of the two. As if you don’t already have enough to do, as it is, here is my brief summary of a few of the more interesting sites that I’ve hit upon.

I started with the chocl8t diaries, a veritable African-American Aphrodite. I suppose that one would say that she specializes in “social commentary”, especially those things which are “African-American relative”, though not limited to the same. She has apparently been blogging for quite some time, as have most of the bloggers that I encountered over the past few days. She is involved with a network of bloggers who have a weekly “game” of “Old School Friday”. One particular week, each person in the network had to “name a vocalist you wanted to be like and state the reason why”. I didn’t quite get the part about “wanting to be like”. Nevertheless, it seemed to be an interesting game. Overall, the site is well worth a second, third, and fourth look.

From her page, I visited Mind Of Marcus (by Marcus Langford). Mr. Langford is a young, enterprising African-American out of Washington, D. C. He speaks on politics, business and humor, and has the ability to bring them all together, often in the same sentence.

I somehow found myself engrossed in an article at BlackPerspective.net, by D. Yobachi Boswell. Mr. Boswell’s self-description pretty much says it all: “Discussing the Diaspora as seen through an internal Black lens”. Since the political process has really intrigued me more than it has in any other year, I was at the site for quite a while. I did not bother to leave any comments, as he and I would surely be at odds for quite some time, and time just wasn’t on my side. He’s rather outspoken about his stance on politics, but, at the same time, amazingly open to others who venture by. Therefore, it is a foregone conclusion that “I’ll be back!”

Over Analyze It is a social/political/humorous blog by AJ, “a brother of color” as he puts it. He seems to center around news articles that are of particular relevance to people of color, and he does a great job with information dissemination, coupled with his own commentary. Of particular interest to me was a post entitled “Caption This”. It presented a photo of a sunglasses-sporting Barack Obama stepping out of his silver SUV. Folks dropped by with some very delightful captions. The two that struck me most were “Let me go show these fools in DC how it’s gone be” and “Dayum, you look good.”

Although the list from my journey is very long, I’ll end today with a woman who is very well-known in the Windows Live Spaces realm, Being Tru. Her non-Windows Live spot is entitled TruScapes, which is a photoblog. Although there are a few (very few) photos that decry her self-assessment of “I am a work in progress”, you may find that hard to believe, as most of her work is professional grade. She has a way of capturing “life in the raw” – a site that should not be missed.

There is a virtually infinite number of bloggers out there, some of whom will tickle your fancy, while others may succeed in “getting your dander up”. There are also a few that I intentionally left out. Why? Let me give you a political analogy: Although I know better, McCain is a “non-entity” to me. He represents all that I despise and for me to even acknowledge him grates my nerves. I should, at the very least, be aware of what he’s saying. By the same token, I came across a few bloggers who are way out there, lost in space, as it were. I don’t meant the usual “whacky” stuff – I’m speaking about those whose pages border on hate, and if not hate, then, at least so far to one side that they are not worth acknowledgement. However, like McCain, they should be read just so that you know what morons are lurking in the background, planting seeds of ill-will to the unsuspecting. E-mail me and I will get you a link or two, if you want. Now, go back and click a link to cyberspace that sounds interesting and I assure you that you will soon discover that “We are not alone!”

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance!”

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millennium, blogs, chocl8t diaries, Mind Of Marcus, BlackPerspective.net, Over Analyze It, TruScapes, Scully, Mulder, We Are Not Alone

The Harlem Renaissance: Part 5 of 5

Countee Cullen (1903-1946) (born Countee Lee Porter) was probably born in Louisville, Kentucky, although Cullen was known to confuse his associates with tales of being born in Baltimore, MD., or New York City. Most have settled on the idea that he was born in Kentucky. His young life was filled with tragedy. His mother died when he was still a young boy. He was then entrusted to a woman who is believed to be his grandmother, who took him to Harlem to live. She died in 1918, when Cullen was just 15. He was taken in by the Rev. F. A. Cullen and his wife. He was never officially adopted by the Rev. and Mrs. Cullen, but, he eventually took on their last name. Although he was one of the few Blacks at his high school, he became very active, becoming known for his poetry and for being inducted into his school’s honor society.

He attended New York University (NYU) and was editor of The Arch, the school newspaper. One of his most notable works, Color (1925), was published during his senior year. The book dealt with race, and was ushered in with concern from his critics. His second book, Copper Sun (1927) was less about race and more concerned with life and love. He graduated from Harvard University in 1927. From that time until 1928, he worked as associate editor of the magazine Opportunity. He was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship, which allowed him to study abroad. Before leaving for Europe, he married Nina Yolande Du Bois, daughter to W.E.B. DuBois. That union lasted less than a year.

Countee Cullen wanted to be recognized as an “Anglo-American” as opposed to a “Black poet”, causing an uproar with such acquaintances as Langston Hughes, Claude McKay, and Zora Neale Hurston. He wrote The Ballad of the Brown Girl in 1928 and The Black Christ and Other Poems in 1929. From 1929, until his death, he wrote many articles and poems, but, the reception that he had received with his earlier works was no longer present. His remaining years were dedicated to teaching English and French to mostly black high school students. He collaborated on a play with Arna Bontemps entitled St. Louis Woman. The play was based on Bontemps’ novel God Sends Sunday (1931). A few months before the play was to open, Countee Cullen died of high blood pressure on January 9, 1946.

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We thank you for following our five-part series on The Harlem Renaissance, and hope that it was entertaining, as well as informative. There is a wealth of information on The Harlem Renaissance to be found on the internet. Here are a just few links:

Perspectives in American Literature

Harlem Renaissance (MSN Encarta)

Harlem Renaissance - The New Negro Movement

Please join us soon for an important series exploring the dangers presented by none other than our own Supreme Court system, and the justices that rule with absolute power.

This is blackstarr saying “Vive La Renaissance!”

blackstarr52@gmail.com

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

Renaissance, New Millennium, Countee Cullen, Harlem Renaissance, literature, poetry, Color, Copper Sun

Aphrodite’s Child

at the tender age of ten
come the attentions of the men
merry monkeys who endeavoured to appear innocent
as they praised her parents for producing
“such a beautiful child!”
& her parents - wishing not to appear too proud
responded with “she pretty, but she wild!”

bony bare-legged black boys
made her gifts of their most-prized toys
& watery-eyed white boys wistfully wished
for a way to get her alone
(they wanted no witnesses when they asked to walk her home)
moody & mesmerizing
teasing & tantalizing
fully aware that she’s everybody’s baby
neither affirmative nor negative, always a murmured “maybe”

the boy next door is on the precipice of manhood
know-it-all 19 to her tentative 13
& goddess status is no guarantee
against infallibility
fooled by flowers & flattery she falls from the pedestal
eager to believe this is love
(unable to perceive it’s merely lust)
too soon she is forlorn & forgotten
her love reduced to ashes & dust

the powerful patriarch plays with thoughts of slaughter
of the upstart who dared to seduce his daughter
quietly the queen mother dissuades him
using her womanly wiles to persuade him
to hunt for an Hephaestus for their errant Aphrodite:
“lest this attention make her vainglorious,
before she develops appetites notorious!
already she’s caroused in the conjugal bed –
to save her face (& ours) she must be wed!”

the peeved papa searches for a suitor well-bred & well-read,
one who’ll welcome such a treasure to his lonely bachelor’s bed
still grieving, before she can find her voice
the goddess is girded to a man not of her choice
a slovenly adoring ass, incapable of original thought
like Judas, her father sold –
like a slave, she is bought

despite her outrage at her father’s wrong
her sense of filial duty remains strong
she decides to make a go of this life
& at first she is a wonderful wife
she cooks/she cleans/she hides her gloom
a lady in company, a whore in their bedroom
of course he’s happy with his lot
but she’s not – she needs another
& so determines to take a lover
in a greasy garage with oil on the floor
she stumbles on the key to desire’s door
fully equipped with all the arrogance of youth
he’s self-important & uncouth
yet free from all taint of sin, & - blessed bonus! –
a veritable virgin
her stars are lucky (or the gods are kind)
so without examining sub or conscious mind
eyes shining, lips swollen & wet,
she decisively draws him into her net

& he is willing, & he adores her
in abject abasement he grovels before her
in his eyes a kind of madness burns
but before she knows it, the tables have turned
now she’s hypnotized/mesmerized
a body enslaved & paralyzed
a heart beating hard with love & trust
a woman laid low on the alter of lust

her adoration makes her crazy
the constant worship makes him lazy
but he’s there:
to her & for her,
a ballsy sibyl that can do no wrong
seducing her & swamping her
with love’s sensual song

she is swept away from her stupid spouse
from father & family &
the hated husband’s house
o infidel! o infamy!
poisoned by passion & pride
convinced of invincibility
as long as he’s at her side
the world is theirs, for so she arranges
then Chance erupts, & everything changes

into their interlude falls cold white snow
& he dances with a demon
in a place she dare not go
he dances while she dreams & schemes
of a way to win him back,
but the demon brings a Darkness
that forebodes a future black

thunder & lightning, all that is frightening
is passed through the end of a phone
snow surrounds, then topples
Eros from his throne
the sea rages & swells
the sacred shell shatters
Death rescinds love
now her life does not matter

lamenting & lost
in a tempest she is tossed
& she drinks as she cries
she screams/she shrieks/she sighs
in vain she tries to understand
why the gods have withdrawn their hands
the Muses warn she must repent
before the Parent Gods relent

doomed by love
damned by her loss
she flees Olympus
the last line is crossed
so she wanders with whispering voices in her head
capering cacophonous demi-gods
on her journey to the Dead

bleeding/bruised/broken
she wanders without will
seeking potions sweet & noxious
to render heart & body still
a tightly entwined rope
around her slender saddened neck
surely somewhere, something or someone
can put this grief in check

in her woe she is wanton
open to forces beyond her ken
so she roams, restless & reckless
lying with many men
some are nice (& some are not)
most are total shits
something better soon must beckon
so one day she simply quits

she runs/she hides
she makes a brand new home
& her eyes reveal acceptance
of a life that’s lived alone
she buries herself with Art & books
her new life is quiet & pure
to strangers passing on the street
she appears serene & sure
& other lonely souls believe she’s found a magic cure

eyes downcast or hidden
she lives this way for many years
a helpful & happy exterior
swimming in solitary tears
& she dare not admit (especially to herself)
that life & love are passing
while she dwells on this dusty shelf
then one day the gods relent at last
& send her one who obliterates the past

on a hot & hazy morning
sun shining in her eyes
the Divinity appears behind her
transported from the skies
he smiles at her, & she is bewitched
he speaks & she listens, totally transfixed
his demeanor is somehow both gentle & grand
awed & acquiescent, she allows him to claim her hand

he guides her to the garden she’d created for herself
& there he does things to her
that divests the dust from the shelf
her body is a blank book that he writes in
her mind is a fountain that he delights in
then he tells her that he loves her
his voice confident & strong
the words deliver her from the darkness
that has hidden her heart for so long

the chains have been cut
the past has been banished
the monsters of memory that hounded her have vanished
all that once hurt her he has abolished
the demons that dogged her he destroyed & demolished
the goddess has been restored
no longer afraid or alone
in the heart of the Divinity
Aphrodite’s child has found a home.

copyright © 2007 KPMCL

Aphrodite, innocence, tantalizing, mesmerizing, goddess, deathless, Sappho, temptress, adoration, Olympus, Divinity, Ahrodite's Child

dark wonder

a dark wonder
manifest in verse
life as a blessing
love as a curse
hopes that curdle
like spoiled cream
depression devours
every dream
lawless / legless
tortured thoughts shifting
vainly seeking
light uplifting
a buzzing noise
a heart like stone
sweaty / sleepless
nights alone

copyright © 2008 KPMCL

dark wonder, nights, depression, thoughts, love