Wrap It Up (1)

I hate, hate, hate to jump on the bandwagon! Unfortunately, everybody seems to be doing it, these days. It has come to be expected upon reaching certain blog pages. If it’s good for the goose, then, it must very well be good for the gander. Therefore, I present the first of many “wrap-ups”. I’ll make it a bit different by not so much wrapping up the events of the last few days, but, rather, simply adding a few thoughts to what has happened recently. OK – fine!! I’m jumping on the bandwagon!! There – I said it.

Impeachment – Like most of the country, I am all for the impeachment of G Dubya. If ever there was a person to whom I did not take a liking, it has been old G Dubya. Before we impeach Mr. Dubya, I think that we need to impeach someone else first – but quickly. That would be Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. She has, in no uncertain terms, decided that there will be no impeachment of G Dubya – at least not until after the general election in November. Rep. Kucinich took the time and effort to present as many facts as could be garnered, presented his impeachment motion, and Ms Pelosi and the remainder of the House, including those who voted in favor of the motion, sent it to a committee that is known for “killing off” a bill, motion, or idea. We can question why we elect these people into office, thinking that they will do our bidding. A wiser question is “Why do we continue to allow them to remain in office, if they are not doing our bidding?”

Discrimination – Colt 45 is at it again. I don’t mean the gun manufacturers – I’m speaking of the other African-American killer, the other producers of weapons of mass destruction – the malt liquor company. In Philly, as may be the same elsewhere in the U.S., we have a ton of murals throughout the city, depicting historic eras, celebrities, politicians, and just “plain old folk”. The murals were designed as a two-fold venture – to stop the senseless graffiti which had plagued our city throughout the years, and to bring forth education through the huge renderings. One of my favorites is the two- or three-story depiction of Julius “Dr. J” Erving. It is so detailed that it actually looks more like a photograph than a painting, and one that constitutes a spitting image of the man. I consider myself to be “up” on my Black history, but, I have come to find that I learn something from nearly every mural that I come across.

Now that Colt 45 has decided to add their two-cents into the game, I have learned something from their mural, as well. The company has no qualms about selling a product that is not only counter-productive to society, but, also dangerous to the body, mind, and soul of a human being. They have plastered a huge mural on the wall of the well-traveled Girard Avenue, depicting graffiti-type characters wielding Colt 45 cans and bottles high in the air. Several community groups have already spoken out against this discriminatory practice, and, there is no doubt in my mind that the mural will soon be removed. The message on the mural? “The Tales Of Colt45.com . . . works every time”. In smaller print it reads “Yo, enjoy our frosty malt beverages responsibly”. Walk through any suburban community and you will be hard-pressed to find one small ad depicting the benefits of drinking malt liquor, much less a larger-than-life mural on every other billboard. The sale of malt liquor is designated as a ghetto product and is marketed there and there only. I said that I have also learned from this mural, just as I have the other positive murals: genocide comes in many forms.

Music – I have already given you “La Factoria”. I ranted and raved about them for forever. If you recall, I had no clue as to what their message was – their music is sung in Spanish, which I don’t speak. I also said that I refuse to translate the words because they sound good and I’d hate to find out that the translations don’t sit well in my mind. I still listen to them everyday, and I still do not know meanings of the words. I do know the meaning of the word “harmonize”. If you check your “down wit it” dictionary for its meaning, you will most definitely find a picture of K-Ci and JoJo. Slide on over to Free Napster, and step back into time, a time when harmony was at an all-time high. The album, as well as the song, was “Tell Me It’s Real”. O-M-G!!!!! Not since the Persuasions has there been such a coming together of the forces of nature. Don’t stray too far. The next album is “Love Always” and the song is “All My Life”. If you were never a fan, these two songs alone might make a believer out of you. Go ahead – believe.

Are you sill on the Free Napster page? Good for you, because you know that I would not leave you hangin’ like that. Your eyes are probably getting weary from all of this reading so, here’s a little something that will make you get up out of your seat and make you dance a jig across the room. Guess what? It’s jazz!! Who woulda thought, huh? The group is called Us3, the album is Rare Requests, and the song is Cantaloop. I personally guarantee that if you don’t get up outta your seat and start dancing, I will double your money back!! Unfortunately, unless you are a member of Napster, as I am, you will not be privy to the re-mix that I listen to. It is Bebop at its best and it has a slice of Rap thrown in, and is topped off with some very unique scat thrown in for good measure. While you check that out, I’m gonna check out, ‘til next time. Peace.

copyright © 2008 blackstarr

Blackstarr52@gmail.com

The Renaissance, The New Millennium, wrap-up, G Dubya, Nancy Pelosi, impeachment, Kucinich, Colt 45, racial discrimination, genocide, malt liquor, murals,anti-graffiti, music, La Factoria, K-Ci and JoJo, Us3

Untitled

Everyday
The whole day long
Everyday
The same tired song
Feeling parallel parked
In a diagonal world
This way and that
Our image tossed and twirled
Hope and change vowed on the campaign
Yet we’re going down the same road again
Hope we’re not being used as political bait
Change how we think, let’s try to relate
That airing dirty laundry doesn’t make it suddenly clean
Stand up with a solution, a suggestion, I mean
We sit and we watch as we’re thrown under the bus
And no one says anything because “it’s just us”
So when does it stop, when does it end
How can we bring about a positive spin
We all aren’t lowlifes and tricks on the street
We got to school and work, have ends to meet
I want hope and change that I can follow
Not just words all too soon ringing hollow
Dark as midnight
We hear all the time
If not midnight
Then 11:59
Was the day originally meant for celebration
For good fathers to enjoy a moments elation
Not mentions of men with the backbones of squid
To overshadow the positive and good they did
It’s not that the message lacked real truth
Just that the timing was a bit uncouth
You can’t succeed
And then proceed
To bash us when the heat gets hotter
Our image and esteem your political fodder
We have problems yes, I’ll admit that’s so
So I’m not saying toss them out the window
The only thing I’m really trying to say
In perhaps my own misguided way
Is that continually speaking of the negative without
Offering solutions is no doubt
The quickest way to lose integrity
Not to mention it’s the epitome
of efforts done in futility.

© Missy 2008

myeishaspeaks@gmail.com

Renaissance, New Millennium, New Millennium, diagonal world, change, hope, futility, negativity, positivity, Barack Obama, poetry, social commentary, politics

HERO

My father is my hero
And his daddy was his.
It is the way it should be
It is the way it is.
He is always there.

My granddaddy was special;
He was a short,
Thick, tree stump
And was a smutty brown
Like the soil in
His vegetable garden.
And he took me
and my friend fishing
and I hated the worms
but I showed him I could
do what he could do
even though I was a girl.

My granddaddy let me
drive his blue Malibu.
I was only fifteen.
I liked his house.
His back yard was
Woodsy and sunshiny,
with a black iron pot with
boiled squirrels
and chitins,
And I ate them
and I hated them,
choked on the smell
but I showed him I could
do what he could do
even though I was a girl.

My father is my hero
And his daddy was his.
It is the way it should be
It is the way it is.
He is always there.

My granddaddy
Let me hug him
With my little girl arms.
And he hugged me
Back.
And I loved him,
Until
He wanted me to
Be his flower,
And be a part of his
Special garden.
But I didn't,
He wanted it to
Be our secret,
But I couldn't
Even though I was a girl.

My daddy
heard my secret.
My daddy could slay dragons,
but his daddy was his hero.
He kept my secret
and said nothing more
I asked him years later
As a daughter woman
If he ever had ever thought
About it
And got angry about it. He looked at me and would not say anything.
Because he kept my secret
And said nothing more

His daddy was his hero,
And my father was mine,
It is the way it was
The mystery it remains
For all time.

Copyright © June 2008 by CC Gill. All rights reserved.

cee_duncan@hotmail.com

The Renaissance, The New Millennium, heroes, dragon slayers, anger, granddaddy, daddy, poetry

The Great Gas-Out (part 1)

People - please don't forget that today is the first day of the


GREAT GAS-OUT.


Please do not purchase gas today.

If you must, please do it sparingly.

I will be more diligent next week, and remind you for the

upcoming Saturday,

June 21, 2008.

Peace.


copyright © 2008 blackstarr

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

Renaissance, The New Millennium, rain forests, indigenous, South American jungles, Jose Carlos dos Reis Meirelles, Funai, savages, cannibals, cannibals, cutting-edge, traditional values

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

Renaissance, The New Millennium, ghetto summers, poetry, poetry, Virginia Beach, bar-b-ques and cookouts, gin and juice, garbage strike

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

Renaissance, New Millennium, ghetto summers, drugs, Lexus, Chucks, poetry, social commentary