Sample 3 from “the wordsmith’s alley”

i am the wordsmith

i am the wordsmith,

the thought weaver,

the literary sculptist.

i am the master of word manipulation.

I am the witch doctor

of the spoken word.

i work my magic

in an unconventional style,

just to see you smile.

i invoke the magic

of an ordinary word.

i am the voodoo priest of language,

performing literary incantations.

i sprinkle recherché gems

into your ears,

hypnotizing,

mesmerizing,

thoughts and words

that keep you fantasizing.

i am the accumulator of words,

the collector of thoughts,

the purveyor of rhythmic chant.

i bring nuance to the monotone.

i am off the beaten path,

light years from the mundane,

miles away from boring lane.

i formulate complexities

from the simplest of thoughts.

i bring you something new

that you’ve never heard,

and give new meaning to the word “word”.

i am the wordsmith,

the thought weaver,

the literary sculptist.

i am the master of word manipulation.

copyright  2008  blackstarr

Sample 2 from “the wordsmith’s alley”

with shades of e e

i find the comma not uncommon
they infiltrate my sentences
they are everywhere
tearing apart creating mere fragments
of what once was a creative thought
the comma becomes saturation liquidation
an over abundance of concentration
it is like so many ghetto bars
so many inner city scars
like so many roaches and rats
and sunday go to meeting hats
you will forgive me if i say
so
knowing clearly that what i meant was
too
i drop the comma to forget to mindslip the over abundance

and why would i even give thought to the use of the period
it is an ending
a death of sorts
so final
or too
again
it turns my endless verse into something so finite
i dare not use three of them separated by spaces
for then my original thought perfect and correct becomes flawed
for now i must subsidize my original thought
perfect correct with yet another
they placed a period upon my beloved land
by dropping crack into the palm of my hand
put a virus into a sensuality that once was grand
yes i omit the terminal period in hopes that our posterity
is timeless and never ending

intentionally there is no use of the powerless semi colon
it falls short in its imitation of the colon
not quite good enough to be whole
there but to cause hesitation
to make one flinch
in the face of what is to come
recall
that langston spoke of a dream deferred
we listen
as farrakhan gives us the final word
but it flees
like the musical quickness of bird
my words and thoughts will not fall short
by the use of the semi colon
they will survive or better yet thrive
my words will not instigate my reader to hesitate

you will not find the mark that exclaims
as it only helps to fan the flames
and to perpetuate those media games
it is missing from my passage as
it merely serves to incite
it causes one to over react
to lose that natural coolness
which we regard as everyday fact
adding one more too many headlines
last night another drive by shooting
inner city crowds turn to looting
while agent orange is still polluting
the mark that exclaims
has no place in the lines that i write
i tone down my message so as not to incite
my messages are toned down so as to soothe

would i have cause to capitalize
are not two letters both of equal value
without capital isms all are created the same
why should i give one letter more recognition than another
when there is no given proof that one is the greater
the sphinx once had a royal ethiopian nose
but the british quickly eliminated those
because it was my face that the artist chose
capital isms separate over time they devastate
no two remain equal
hence i choose not to capitalize
nor to lend help otherwise
in creating the illusion that one is better than another

and finally i expunge the query as to me it brings to mind
but one word
that being what
not what as a thing
but what as in please repeat
are my words not loud enough
that they might be heard without reiteration over and again
did huey not resound his every word
is what michael sings really so absurd
why does jesse speak but is seldom heard
therefore
i refuse to query that which is loud and clear
in hopes that others might also listen and hear
the query would have one believe that a voice was never heard
when all the while

perhaps

one

never

listened

copyright 1997 blackstarr

Sample 1 from “the wordsmith’s alley”

open mike night at the coffee shop slash cyber bar(and you with a front-row seat)

sister naomi

was loud and clear.

she blasphemed your yesterdays,

cursed your tomorrows,

laughed at your pathetic, whiny sorrows.

she wanted you to hear

what was relevant for today,

and demanded that you hear what she had to say.

she shouted obscene truths,

confronted all of the lies,

then, dubbed you foolishly wise.

she chastised, demoralized,

then insincerely apologized.

sister naomi was loud and clear.

. . . they extrapolate on love, hate and rage,

as spoken word blasts like a 12-guage,

and with a grateful bow, they exit the stage.

black wonder

was loud and clear.

he called you “dear”.

a red-hot, burning flame who

sashayed, and swayed, and played

upon your fears.

he told you that

his sexual preference was contagious,

and all the while, outrageous

rantings of equality filled the air.

he shrieked and freaked you out,

hoped you knew that it was all about

the sapien having always been homo,

about union for all, rights for all,

about “hetero thinking” about to take a fall.

black wonder was loud and clear.

. . . they extrapolate on love, hate and rage,

as spoken word blasts like a 12-guage,

and with a grateful bow, they exit the stage.

the smoking gunn

were loud and clear.

they echoed off of each other’s

individual vibration,

words flowing in syncopation.

they spoke of conspiracies

both hidden and clear,

about wars on a new frontier.

they spoke solo,

then duo,

then back to a trio,

sneering at the so-called neo.

they hissed their poison at right-wing status quos,

and scoffed at their erstwhile political foes.

the smoking gunn were loud and clear.

. . . they extrapolate on love, hate and rage,

as spoken word blasts like a 12-guage,

and with a grateful bow, they exit the stage.

copyright 2008 blackstarr

Pirates In The House Of Somalia

I had the pleasure of visiting The Unmitigated Word for a post concerning the piracy taking place in Somalia (see Defending yarrrrr-self?).  The discussion was, as usual, both lively and heated.  While the author did not endorse these acts of piracy, the post was basically questioning whether “these acts of piracy could be chalked up to self-defense”.  As the discussion went back and forth, the idea was presented that perhaps we should be “examining the “why”; the circumstances contributing to those tragedies is just as important as casting blame and pointing fingers”.  As a result of that discussion, I have reprinted a post from 2007 regarding the real story of “Black Haw Down”, and addressing one particular reason for “examining the ‘why’”.

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Black Hawk Down!

Do a search for Somalia, July 12, 1993, and you will certainly find quite a bit of information available. Most of the information will give a brief summary of what took place that day in Somalia. The most (so-called) significant information that is placed in the forefront is that the U.S. fired upon a house which was to have been occupied by the one person they so desperately sought. In the forefront, you will read that, afterward, five (5) journalists went in to investigate and were killed. Always associated with that story, you will read that several months later a Black Hawk was down, downed by the leader that the U.S. had so desperately sought. The one thing that most reports fail to include is that the targeted house which the U.S. destroyed, housed not the enemy that was being sought: The house contained more than fifty (50) of the clan elders from Somalia, the eldest and most respected in their community. Ironically, they were gathered together to discuss a plan to stop the fighting and bloodshed. When the day was done, they all lay dead.

It never fails to bring a tear to my eye when I read that yet another U.S. soldier has been killed. The tears formed in the seventies, during the Vietnam War. They formed in the eighties during the fighting in Grenada. Finally, they formed again in the nineties, when I read the headlines “Black Hawk Down!”. Unfortunately, as with most of the media, reports about what happens on any given day, highlight one aspect of a story, and downplay some very significant part of what really took place. July 12, 1993 was one such rearranging of the facts. Five (5) reporters were killed because a few moments earlier, Somalia’s most revered leaders were blasted to smithereens without provocation. Later that year, a “Black Hawk was down” because the U.S. had launched an attack on those who were trying to put an end to that very same type of action. General Thomas Montgomery (ret), who was in charge of operations that day, was interviewed by PBS’s FRONTLINE, regarding the events of that fateful day. He would not state that there were leaders left dead in the house. He danced around the issue by saying “When the soldiers got in the building, there were either dead or wounded . . .”.

Before there was a Black Hawk down, more than fifty (50) of Somalia’s leaders lay dead.

*****************************************

Please note that after the building was bombed, four (4) Western journalists, including the renown Daniel  Eldon, entered the building and were killed by “an angry mob”.  This was at the top of the headlines for more than a week or so.  What was left out was that the elders of Somalia had been killed just moments before while attending a peaceful meeting.  As suggested at The Unmitigated Word, perhaps we should learn to take a closer look and understand the “why”.

copyright  ©  2007, 2009  freedom

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