Friday, June 13, 2008

Indigenous Tribe of the Amazon

I was immensely fascinated by the story of the indigenous tribe found deep in the Amazon jungle. Seeing is definitely believing and I think it’s beautiful that there are tribes of people out there that live according to thousands of years of tradition rather than the latest five-second technological fad. Jose Carlos dos Reis Meirelles, an expert on un-contacted tribes at Funai states that the indigenous tribe was photographed to prove they exist. Obviously, there are some out there that didn’t believe or didn’t care. Also quite obviously, this has more to do with the land they are on than the well being of the people.

Now that the world knows of their existence, hopefully we can work together to help maintain their way of life. I admit that I am not particularly hopeful and am rather fearful for their continued existence. Historically, Indigenous peoples all over the world have not fared well and they somehow always end up with the short end of the stick -- and a substantially smaller portion of land.
It was stated that in the past, within the first 12 months of contact with the outside world, around 50% of other “unknown” indigenous communities have been lost.

As I type, I’m sure there is a specialized focus group of highly paid corporate consultants thinking of a ways to put a spin on things to justify moving these people so that their oil or logging companies can move in. Sure, right now we hear cute stories about how fascinating it is. I fear that pretty soon, the media will let the words “savages” and possibly “cannibal” slip. Then, there won’t be a man, woman or child alive that will think that these people should be left as they were. Unfortunately that is the true nature of our capitalistic society. If you’re not making money for yourself or somebody else, you’re a drain on society. We do not appreciate nor attempt to understand the traditional culture and values of any indigenous people and we don‘t realize that they have as much to teach us as we think we have to teach them.

We may be on the cutting-edge of technology but we lag far behind in traditional values.

copyright © 2008 Missy

myeishaspeaks@gmail.com

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Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Ghetto Summers (part 7 of 7)

GHETTO SUMMERS


Three holidays, in the summertime,

the backdrop for my ghetto rhyme.

Memorial Day finds me on my way,

to a shore,

a shore with a boardwalk, a bikini, and, a party.

I depart, for a moment, from the confines of my beloved ghetto,

to the clean, endless sand of a Virginian beach.


In July, I depart, for a moment,

to pay homage to someone else’s beloved ghetto.

I depart to the smell of charcoal, of hot dogs.

In someone else’s beloved ghetto,

I taste of cooking put to good use,

and, lay low with a gin and juice.


September finds me at home,

enjoying the sights, enduring the sounds,

feasting on the aromas of a rapidly fleeing ghetto summer.

Money’s too short, now, for one last

trip to that shore of sand, bikinis, and, parties.

So, September finds me at home.

I can’t pay homage to another’s beloved ghetto,

as their money is too short to entertain.

Therefore, September finds me at home.


So, the distinct smell of charcoal

gives way to

the distinct smell of hot dogs and burgers,

gives way to

the distinct smell of ribs and gin,

but,

with city workers on strike, again,

it all gives way to

the distinct aroma of festering ghetto garbage.


copyright © 09.07.1997 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

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Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Ghetto Summers (part 6)

Shorty


I see what they cannot.

They are trained,

and, I am not,

yet, I see what they cannot.

That’s why Shorty sells the drug

that’s on the one.


Out in the open, for all to see,

Shorty, without shame, disrespects me.

Yes, he politely speaks each time I pass.

But,

he buffs his Lex, and, makes it shine,

then, laughs at the Malibu that I claim as mine.

New Chucks, big bucks;

vintage wine, and, a brand new vine,

Shorty sells the drug that is on the one.


Anonymously tipped,

with names, and places, and, dates, and, faces,

those who are trained

cannot see what I see.

Yes, I see what they cannot.

They are trained, and, I am not.

Therefore, from the rising moon to the rising sun,

Shorty sells the drug that is on the one.


copyright © 09.07.1997 blackstarr

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

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Monday, June 9, 2008

Ghetto Summers (part 5)

(il)legal tender(ronies)


I see tights, covering healthy thighs,

and, halter tops that attract my eyes,

and, micro-minis that solicit my sighs.

I see tights that

illuminate every curve of vivacious vixen;

thighs covered tightly,

in tights that slightly cover

luscious curves.

Halter tops, and, blouses that

are not sheer, but, SHEER,

allowing a glimpse of ample cleavage.

Micro-minis coerce my sighs,

causing me to stare, harder than is wise,

at legs that tower unto infinity.

. . . and, Charlene leans, and, whispers to Jean

“Now, you know . . . !!”.

I truly believe that I see

women with perfected bodies,

fully developed in every way.

But, I find that what I see, instead,

is the essence of youth and vitality;

an essence blossomed ten years too soon,

old enough for motherhood,

young enough to call me Sir.


copyright © 09.07.1997 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

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Friday, June 6, 2008

Now what?


Although Obama's winning the Democratic nomination is an historic event, I have to say that he was not my first choice. I’m reminded of an online friend from Chattanooga who foretold this very thing. During an online chat, she mentioned his name as I Googled him on another page. My first thought was . . . ”He won’t get too far with THAT name”. Patiently abiding my ignorance, she encouraged me to look into his record to see what he had accomplished and told me to get over the name thing.

Sage advice that I didn’t follow.

Little did I know that some few months later the very same man would throw his hat into the presidential ring. Normally, I have about a three-second memory when something doesn’t interest me, but even I would be hard pressed not to remember the name “Barack Obama“. Had I maintained contact with my online chat buddy, I would have told her how right she had been and how totally wrong I was.

So, here we are with Obama possibly being our next president and I am 100% on board the “Change Train.” As the saying goes “better late than never”. He has made a believer out of me but, he has to know that even as his greatest supporter, if/when he takes office, I will also be his harshest critic. Gone are the days of electing politicians to office and not holding them accountable for their actions. I think back to all of the hype given to our having a Democratic Congress . . . and well, now what? What have they done? I certainly expected a lot more than I got in that deal.

Of Obama I ask, “Now what?“ First item up is who he will choose as a running mate. I know the world is sitting on pins and needles as am I. I am not wholeheartedly opposed to Hillary Clinton being Vice President (VP). She can help unify the Democrats and bring everyone together to oppose John McCain. Additionally, she has that cutthroat mentality that is sometimes needed in the political arena. Barack will always have to “watch his six” with her as his VP and I'm sure he knows that. With his life already potentially in danger, he doesn’t need the added pressure of in-house fighting.

Presently, with Hillary Clinton stopping short of conceding the race, she is doing significantly more harm than good. Soon enough, even her own supporters will turn on her. If the ultimate victory of the Democratic Party is of any real importance to her, she will stop passing up perfectly good opportunities to help bring the voters together. Right now, it's "all about Hillary". She's making it personal when it's really about the people. Someone should tap her on the shoulder and remind her. In her quest to win, it looks like she forgot.

I don’t know what McCain has in store for Obama but I know he will come out fighting. He has yet to put up his fists because Clinton is doing such a great job of doing it for him. She just went down in flames and it appears as if she wants to take the party with her.

A house divided can not stand. The Democrats divided can not win.

copyright © 2008 Missy

myeishaspeaks@gmail.com


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Thursday, June 5, 2008

Ghetto Summers (part 4)

A Visible Pulse

. . . and, yet, another pulse emanates:

the pulse of just-bought groceries,

the pulse of someone’s hurried driver,

or,

just the pulse of too many cars,

parked on too many, too small streets.

I see the blink blink pulse

of caution lights,

as someone is always double-parked.

It has become the lay of the land,

to leave one’s car unmanned,

with the blink blink pulse of caution lights.

It’s not that anyone even minds,

as it’s done by people of all kinds.

Everyone does it, this visible pulse.

They blink blink out of courtesy,

as if to say

“I’ll just be a moment.”

Now, they’ve returned,

and, the flashing stops, as they finally drive away.

But, before too long,

the visible pulse begins anew,

as another takes the place of the blink blink

that has left for another

temporary parking space.

copyright © 09.07.1997 blackstarr

blackstarr52@gmail.com

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Wednesday, June 4, 2008

We have a winner!!