Archive for the social commentary Category

emergency (re-posted for those who lost their lives)

Posted in music, poetry, political commentary, politics, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2010 by joelle blackstarr

on 911 to the one,

we looked down the barrel

of a loaded gun.

i thought this might be

w w three,

no more me.

on 911 to the one,

aloofness became undone.

it finally hit home,

four shots straight to the dome:

two fatal shots, in nyc,

in pa, a flesh wound meant for dc,

in dc, one lay critical . . .

nothin’ personal . . .

strictly political.

on 911 to the one

we thought the lasers were locked on stun.

we got sucker-punched, erbody out to lunch.

we dropped to our knees and began to choke,

and our opponent disappeared

in a cloud of fire and smoke.

on 911 to the one there came a loaded gun,

with hollow tips, that brought us to our knees.

we screamed “oh my!!”,

released a sigh, wondered why,

and then we all began to cry.

on 911 to the one,

not a cloud, yet no sun.

we wallowed in the shadow of the enemies’ gun.

first came sorrow,

then our thoughts about tomorrow.

in less than twenty-four,

they had a name, so they claim,

and yet, they hesitated just the same.


on 911 to the two

will there be a me and you?

will they be caught with their knickers down,

to never even hear the sound?

will they continue to assume

that no real danger looms,

that we’re all simply sayers of doom?

perhaps it’s not too wise

to criticize those with watchful eyes,

whose jets no longer leave the skies,

while battleships dot our oceansides.

perhaps they’re locked and loaded,

mimicking C4: waiting to be exploded.

but on 911 to the one

we faced a loaded gun.

terror paid a visit to our home

with four shots straight to the dome.

we fell victim to a loaded gun

on 911 to the one.

copyright   2001  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Bulletproof by Raheem Devaughn

photos from across the web

got malt? (excerpt from “the village”)

Posted in humor, poetry, political commentary, politics, satire and sarcasm, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 8, 2010 by joelle blackstarr

at twelve clocks,

off to the mailbox.

no one saw him fall.

at work.

on company time.

but, the company’s dime

is making him ghetto rich

for a couple or three days

out of every month.

**********

off to the store with the red and yellow sign.

five chicken wings – that’s what’s up.

salt, pepper, ketchup?

two loosies, and a fifty cent hug.

he hollers at shorty,

who doesn’t even shrug,

pays him no mind

(why she so unkind?).

never needed you.

it’s all good.

there’s more fish in the sea,

(to himself) said he.

malt liquor chaser

for a two o’clock blunt.

**********

no hustle and bustle,

just the hustle.

getting by, getting high,

getting paid off a slip-and-fall case.

living that fast pace,

always up in your face.

ever poor,

never rich, an’

always bitchin’,

wouldn’t dare be caught snitchin’.

and he never lets it all inside his head.

man-child: ghetto born and bred.

**********

copyright  2008  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

**********

Images used in this post are from various sites across the web.  If any photos belong to you and you have an objection, e-mail me ad I will have them removed

a renaissance for the new millennium

Posted in poetry, political commentary, politics, Quotables, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 4, 2010 by joelle blackstarr

here is
a renaissance
for a new millennium;
now is a time for literary finesse.
ours is a time
for new paths to be blazed,
the time for palpable ideas
to be raised.

we contemplate the
future that lies
with our next generation,
we question the choices
of our past,
we criticize the errors
that have brought us to
this place of turmoil.
a renaissance,
a new millennium,
a consciousness of grand proportion.

we press pen to paper
and social awareness is revived.
we debate
the topics to which
blind eyes had once been turned.
we answer the questions
of ages gone by,
and set the tone for those who
sit in silence, teeming with anticipation.
our renaissance.
our millennium.
our consciousness of grand proportion.

sharpen the blade
of intellectuality
and let its acuteness
and accuracy
run us through
until truth’s blood
flows freely from our minds.
then, let the wounds of incivility
be healed by the power of commonalities.

now is the time of literary finesse.
there are new paths to be blazed,
and fathomable ideas that need to be raised.
a renaissance.
a new millennium.
a consciousness of grand proportion.
i dare say
“a renaissance
for the new millennium . . .
a consciousness of grand proportion”.

copyright 2008 blackstarr
freerealm@gmail.com

Brand New Day by Tim Myers (ft. Lindsey Ray)

Images in this post are from various locations on the web.  If any belong to you and you have an objection, please e-mail me and I will remove them.

young white sburbanite (excerpt from “the village”)

Posted in humor, music, poetry, politics, prose, racial discrimination, satire and sarcasm, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 27, 2010 by joelle blackstarr

on any given friday night,

a young white suburbanite,

cruises in his beamer,

into the city, bose blastin’ fiddy.

he sports the latest, greatest, hippest, dopest, phattest rags

that his daddy’s silver spoon could buy,

but that silver spoon is the very reason why.

he protests the riches that they don’t deserve,

lashes out at his very own private federal reserve.


he’s looking for some black flava,

or some brown suga’,

or some white powder,

music getting louder.

young white suburbanite,

in the middle of the night,

loses himself in another man’s culture.

not understanding the subtleties of cp time,

he hits the club way too soon,

stands around with beer in hand,

realizes that the night was not so well-planned.

but he’s fly and hip and dope and –

and thinks he’s ahead of his time,

but the reality is that he simply

got there way ahead of time.

the music swirls within his head,

and the sistas think it’s so dred

that he’s holding his own,

while out of his element.

but to his detriment,

the beer pulls him to the dancefloor.

now, whitebread ain’t so fly no more.

and we think “ooh, that’s gotta hurt!”

beer has him moving to the beats,

the sight has us fallin’ out our seats.

“yo – young white suburbanite!

some fly sista would like ta get witcha”,

but homeboy’s homeboy has had

one too many rollin’ rocks.

young white suburbanite

struggles with all his might

to get his homeboy standing upright.

now, homeboy’s homeboy wants to fight.

young white suburbanite

came to the city,

blastin’ fiddy,

lookin’ for some black flava,

or some brown suga’,

or some white powder.

whitebread

got that gangsta beat going ‘round in his head.

cruisin’ in his jet-black beamer.

he’s just trying to understand

why we always catch it from the man.

tries to understand what that’s like,

he beats a path to every open mike,

struggles to get a feel for what it’s like.

a fruitless pursuit and he can’t see why

he can never feel the pain like you and i.

he innocently protests and lets out a sigh –

“it wasn’t me and i refuse to carry that lie”.

it’s neither out of compassion,

nor because it’s popular fashion,

but, instead, because the guilt of the fathers

prey upon the innocence of the sons.

**********

on any given friday night,

deep within the urban blight,

from dusk until daylight.

lookin’ for some

black flava,

brown suga’,

white powder.

out of the gloomy mist and into the light,

comes an urban legend . . . a young white suburbanite.

copyright  2008  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Lose Yourself by Eminem

Images: silver spoon (metalmuseum.org), Rolling Rock beer (hoppsy.com), Flava (myrunkspace.com), Bey caricature (pinoypix.com), Philadelphia skyline (wordfromtheweb.com)

“when” (excerpt from Black Woman)

Posted in Love, poetry, relationships, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 20, 2010 by joelle blackstarr

When I hold a BLACK WOMAN in my arms,
the world is mine.
There is nothing more that I could want for.

When I hear a BLACK WOMAN tell me that
she loves me, my life becomes complete.

When I look a BLACK WOMAN in her eyes,
it is my glimpse into paradise.

That is when I
feel her warmth,
when I
hear her magic,
when I
see her majesty:
BLACK WOMAN.

When I feel the softness
of her skin caressing my own,
a feeling of exuberance overtakes me.
The ebony skin of a BLACK WOMAN
is more radiant than a diamond.
Her skin is richer than fresh cream.
A BLACK WOMAN
has a softness like that of windblown clouds.

When a BLACK WOMAN speaks,
and her words drift into my ears,
I am no longer a void, no longer alone.
When the words that she speaks
express her love for me, I find a completeness,
and total satisfaction.

Her words are not just phrases,
nor sentences, nor mere thoughts,
but, their sound is
music,
their sound is
poetry.

My heart, and,
even my soul,
can feel the piercing stare
of a BLACK WOMAN.
When her eyes meet mine,
I am
mystified,
hypnotized,
mesmerized.
The eyes of a BLACK WOMAN
peer into mine,
and, they are filled
with love,
yet, they can be clairvoyant:
crystal balls . . . knowing, reading.

When I hold a BLACK WOMAN in my arms,
I feel the warmth of her embrace,
and,
when I hear a BLACK WOMAN speak my name,
I hear the magic in her voice,
and,
when I see the beauty of a BLACK WOMAN,
there is majesty in her face.
I have but to speak the words:
BLACK WOMAN.

copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Black Magic Woman by Santana

photos from la2day.com and wallpapersgalaxy.com

wasted membranes

Posted in humor, just for the bull of it, music, poetry, relationships, satire and sarcasm, social commentary on March 18, 2010 by joelle blackstarr

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.

copyright  ©  2008  blackstarr

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

freerealm@gmail.com

“Busy Child” by The Crystal Method

Drunken Stupor

Posted in humor, just for the bull of it, poetry, social commentary with tags , , , on February 27, 2010 by joelle blackstarr

i’ve fallen!


i stumble home as the sun comes up,

drunk as cooder brown,

puke still dribbling down

my chin.

the key won’t fit, and out comes a “sh*t!”

car key, door key,

why me?

now who the h*ell has

moved my couch?!

ouch!  that hurt!

as i hit the floor,

i’m laughing loud and hardy,

as i recall

“i’ve fallen and i can’t get up!”

laughter overtakes me and i say it again.

but i get up just the same,

can’t even remember my name,

and this sure ain’t no pretty picture.

never again, oh, never again,

i promise the porcelain god.

i swear, I swear – never again!

just, please, make it stop!

i sit there, gathering my composure,

stinking of gin,

wondering when

i’ve felt like this before.

right:  last weekend,

me and a no-count friend.

oops!  here comes that ‘tini, again.

that one was apple.

wasn’t there a cherry one down there?

that’s the one that needs to come up for air.

one shoe off, lying on the bed,

one too many drinks in my head;

room still spinning,

and i’m still grinning at something that

wasn’t nearly that funny.

so, how much money did i spend this time?

i swear – if you make it stop,

i’ll never do this again.

please, oh please . . . make it stop!

copyright  2008 © blackstarr (aka freedom)

freerealm@gmail.com

“Mama Told Me Not To Come” by Three Dog Night

I Go To Sleep

Posted in humor, satire and sarcasm, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 23, 2009 by joelle blackstarr

The events of the last few days have been quite surreal, particularly on the night that my mother was in the hospital, depending on life support to keep her going. My sister and I were there already and the doctor said that it would be best if we took mom off of support as it is probably causing her more pain than doing any good. We insisted that she be kept going at least until my brother gets to the hospital. He arrived, he kissed mom on the cheek, and my mom’s life, as we knew it, was over. It was like a scene out of a movie: the parent refuses to die until all of their children are assembled before them. Waaay too surreal. Well, if you know even just a little bit about me, you know that I don’t do “touchy-feely” and, yes – that was touchy-feely. I had my reasons, which will come to light. For now, amidst our tragedy . . . comic relief.

I know that in some way or another, we will all find ourselves either depending on life support or already past that point, awaiting that ride across the River Styx. Before my time gets here, I plan to grab fifteen minutes of fame, along with about an hour more thrown in for good measure. Now, before my fellow Christians crucify me, it goes without saying that all things that I hope for are proceeded with the phrase “God willing”, for I can only accomplish the things that God allows for me. On the other hand, I’ve never been politically correct either – I just try to tell it like it is – without the wordplay.

So, if – or more appropriately – when I have obtained that fame (with the extra hour), I should be filthy rich. I hope that you’re paying attention because there will be a test later in life. All of this obligates each of you and gives you yet one more responsibility. “How so?”, I hear you asking. Well, believe it or not, I love you tweeple, you people, you Field Negroes (as opposed to the House Negroes), and as such, you will probably be in my will. In fact, you WILL be in my will. That’s where your obligation comes in. There is a headline that you should be looking for at some point in the future. If a particular situation should come to pass, it will probably read something like this:

“Famed writer and director blackstarr lies on life support as friends and family argue back and forth about pulling the plug or keeping him going!”

Drop whatever you’re doing and hop a “red-eye” to Philly if you have to! Don’t you let them pull any plugs !!! Don’t listen to what some foolish doctor has to say!!! KEEP ME GOING FOR AS LONG AS THERE IS MONEY IN MY ACCOUNT!!!! I hear you thinking already: Dude, that is expensive as H*ll. Remember that by that time, I will be filthy rich. Leave me in whatever room they put me in and have the specialist flown in everyday to check on me. You see, the more they move me, the more the chance of a cord coming loose or some dingbat nurse plugging in things the wrong way. And why should you care? I told you – you’re in the will. As long as my wishes are carried out, you all will be taken care of.

Here’s the second headline for which you should be on the lookout:

“Funeral services for blackstarr will be held . . .”

Again – stop whatever you’re doing and get back to Philly, making sure that there is no funeral, no memorial, no repast, nor anything remotely resembling any of the above. The beautiful and dazzling woman could not have put it better: “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina!”. I reiterate her words over and over. Don’t cry for me. I am but a starving artist at the moment, yet even at this point in my life, I can say that I have lived a wonderful life. At that point in my life, you KNOW that I will have had a great time. So please . . . shed no tears for me.

I like fire. I like the flames that it produces. I like the colors that it creates. I was born on February 1st and, as a result, nearly every party that I’ve thrown in my adult life has ended up in near disaster. I remember one year it snowed so badly that three people showed up: my girlfriend, the bartender, and me! So, more than anything else, I like the warmth that emanates from that fire. When I die, cremate me! Let my a$$ burn until there is nothing left but ashes! When it’s all over, take a trip to the west coast and scatter my ashes in the Pacific Ocean so that I can watch the sun set everyday. No tears for the kid!

It’s important that you carry out my wishes and for good reason. Remember first that, by that time, you’ve got big bucks coming your way. More importantly, I don’t care if I have 500 million dollars in the bank – If there is a memorial, a burial, a funeral, any of those things that I mentioned before or anything close, all of my money will go to charity. Just so that we are clear, let me say that one more time: all of my money will go to charity! I HATE that “touchy-feely” stuff! I can’t control it in anyone else’s life, but I should certainly be able to control it in my own. Did you know that some lady left her fortune to all of her cats? Did you know that a man in England left his money to the care of a tree in the wilderness? You can do that, you know.

Later in life, there will be a test. By then, this blog may have long been deleted, or may be inaccessible, or any number of untimely circumstances may prevent you from re-reading this. So, if you don’t know how, learn: copy, paste, save to file. That way, you will have notes to look back on when the test comes, and it will be “open-book”. Don’t be caught with the dumb-look on your face wondering “What do I do now?” Copy, paste, save to file.

Just make sure that you shed no tears for me. To that end, make certain that there are no services held – key word: cremation. But if that plug is keeping me alive, do everything in your power to keep it plugged in. Ya never know! Peace.

freerealm@gmail.com

© 2009 freedom
“I Go To Sleep” by Sia

Death Of An Angel

Posted in relationships, social commentary with tags on December 22, 2009 by joelle blackstarr

My wonderful, loveable mom passed last night.  No matter how much you prepare, death comes as a shock.  She wasn’t in the best of health but she got around easily and rarely ever complained about anything.  Just a few short hours before, she was wrapping up the last of her Christmas presents, laughing and passing on one of her many tales of days gone by.  We stood there in the hospital, my sister, my brother, and me, in total disbelief that our rock, our greatest love had made her way into heaven.  I miss you already, but, you’re safe now, in the hands of the Lord.  Ehrlean Baxter, I love you now and ever.  Peace.

freerealm@gmail.com freedom 2009

Wordle 002

Posted in social commentary on November 22, 2009 by joelle blackstarr

Wordle: i am the wordsmith

from the poem “i am the wordsmith by blackstarr © 2008

freerealm@gmail.com