Archive for black women

The Strength Of Mother Africa (Soliloquy for female)

Posted in Love, poetry, prose, relationships, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 28, 2013 by blackstarr

 

            This is a play about a Black woman, a mother, a lover.  She finds that for whatever reason, she is about to lose her man, her family, her life.  If we should assess our situations, and find ourselves not unlike this Black woman, it may be well worth our time to give the answers that she gives.

(She turns to the right, as if looking up a set of stairs.)

            “No – you’re not getting anything else to drink tonight.  Now, close your eyes and go to sleep.  Good – I love you, too”.

(She turns to the front of the stage and pauses.  She takes a deep breath as if getting herself together.  She wipes her eyes with a tissue that is in her hand, and then turns left to face the man who is seated at the nearby table.)

            “I can’t begin to tell you how I feel.  Just what the hell is it that you want?  Am I a disappointment to you?  Do I nag too much?  I try my best to be the woman that makes you happy, but with all my efforts, the best you can do is stay in the streets.  Well, this is for you”.

(She balls up the wet tissue and throws it at the man)

            “Those are the last of my tears.  I refuse to cry another drop.  Don’t think for one minute that my tears are a sign of weakness.  Those tears are the emotions that come from my heart.  I am not weak, I am strong.  I am the pride of Mother Africa, and the most extreme conditions only serve to make me stronger.  So, if you think that I am going to fall apart, if you think that I’ll just roll over and die . . . think again.  I am the woman who loves you.  I need you, and you need me.  You have two children up those stairs who think the world of you, and you still can’t be happy.

You might as well start smiling, because this is where you belong, and this is where you’ll stay.  Is there another woman out there that you think can make a better home for you?  I never thought that you’d cheat on me, and, right now, I still don’t think it can happen.  But, on the outside chance that there is another woman, be advised that you belong to me.  You tell that wench that I will bring her mad drama!

That’s always the first thing that comes to mind.  I suppose that the streets and you so-called friends can try to take you, as well.  Have you forgotten who I am?  I am the woman who has been at your side through it all.  When Mister Charlie said he didn’t need you anymore, it was this Black woman who went out and got a job.  It wasn’t because I was hungry – it was because you are my man.  Who cries in your place when your macho standards hold your tears inside?  Who hurts with you when prejudice tries to make you believe that you’re less than a man?  Tonight, I remind you . . . in case you’ve forgotten.”

(She raises her hand in a “Don’t speak!” manner, and then runs her fingers across her lips.)

            “These are lips to die for.  These are the lips that kiss away the pain when you think life’s not worth living.  They speak the words that make your heart sing, words like ‘I love you’.  When passion comes to play, these lips glide across your body, and send you into ecstasy.”

(She smacks her hip with her right hand.)

            These hips are strong.  They bore babies for you, and they still rotate like the earth on its axis.”

(She cups her breasts with both hands.)

            “These are the breast that fed Mother’s Milk to your children.  I know that they hang a bit more than they used to, but, even now, when your hands caress them, it’s you who breaks out in a cold sweat.  It’s your moans that echo into the night.”

(She sweeps her arm the length of her body.)

            “Black man . . . tell me you don’t want some of this, and you can walk out that door and never look back.  I won’t lift a finger to stop you.  But, the, again, I won’t have to, because you know you can’t walk out on this.”

(She walks over to the chair where the man is seated, and lifts one foot onto the chair beside him.)

            “I get older with each new day, but I keep myself desirable for you and only you.  Touch this skin and tell me that you are leaving me.  I defy you.”

(She returns her foot to the floor and kneels beside him.  She grabs his hand and holds it to her heart.)

            “Touch my heart and tell me that you can’t feel the love that waits for you, and I will set you free.  My heart beats only because there is you.  You can’t find a woman who loves you more . . . because she doesn’t exist.”

(She rises and walks back to center stage.)

            “Yes – my body is worn and I have seen a few years, but I am no where near finished.  I don’t have to beg you to stay.  If you leave, there will be another to take your place, and willingly.  But, that’s not going to happen.  Understand that I am not begging you – I’m just trying to make it plain.  You belong to me.  If there is no other woman, then you tell the streets that they can’t have you either.  Do the streets keep you warm at night?  Do they feed you when you’re hungry?  Do they love you when that need comes over your body?  No?  I thought not.  Well, they can’t have you.  I refuse to let you go.  You’re a good man.  If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have to leave.  I’d walk out the door my damn self.  But, you’re a good man, with a good mind, and a good heart.  This body, this mind, this heart . . . they draw their strength from Mother Africa.  Nations have conquered every part of her, and she has managed to survive.  She has managed to thrive.  As she is strong . . . so . . . am . . . I, and I will not be defeated.”

(She begins picking up clothes from the backs of chairs.)

            “I’m done.  My ranting is over.  I’ve already bolted the front door.  Don’t think that puts you on lockdown.  I’d be the last woman to try and kill your spirit and freedom which lies within you.  You have a key.  You have both the ability and the right to walk out that door, just like you’ve been doing, lately.  But, hear me, Black man:  I’m going upstairs, and if you know like I know, tonight, and every night hereafter, you’ll be right behind me, to warm my feet and caress my body and to make me understand that . . .

(She touches her finger to his forehead.)

You have not . . . lost . . . your mind!”

(She turns towards the imaginary stairs and walks off the stage.  Fade to black.)

*

copyright 1997 blackstarr

*

freerealm@gmail.com

“when” (excerpt from Black Woman)

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

Day 1 (all that bull)

Posted in blog marathon 2008, just for the bull of it, social commentary with tags , , , , , on July 10, 2008 by blackstarr

Most of us, at some point in our lives, have obsessed about dying.  I ended my obsession long ago.  I already know that I will go one of two ways:  if old age doesn’t get me, a Black woman will be the death of me.  I got an e-mail yesterday from some ole sweet thang saying “Freedom, I love ya, but, the “lower-case” bullsh*t has got to stop!  Now!  I can’t tell where one sentence ends and another begins.  Cease and desist!” What the . . . ?  Freedom does what Freedom wants to do!  I got my own style.  But, alas, here I am with the capitals and such.  Old age or a Black woman.  One or the other – that’s how I’m going out.

I just joined NaBloPoMo the other day.  For the uninitiated, that’s an acronym for National Blog Posting Month.  It’s a site dedicated to helping bloggers get into the habit of posting on a regular basis.  The idea is to make a post each and every day for one month – without skipping a day.  The only problem with it is that I am not too fond of the topics that they list.  Each month has a specific topic that each blogger is to post about for that given month.  Looking at the previous topics and the current one as well, it ain’t gonna happen!  Freedom don’t roll like that.  Freedom writes about whatever is on his mind at the time.  Therefore, in an effort to kickstart this blog, I will attempt to make a post every day, right here, from today until August 9th, 2008.  Yes – this post counts as day one.  You didn’t really think that I would let all of these good words go to waste, now did you?  So as not to infringe, I have decided to call it “Blog marathon”.

Don’t send me no more e-mails tellin’ me what to do!  That goes especially for you Black women out there.  You know that I can’t resist your demands.  If you should come across a topic that you think would start a good discussion, by all means feel free to let me know.  That doesn’t mean that I will necessarily take you up on your suggestion, but, at least, I will give it some consideration.  Why?  Because you know Freedom don’t take orders from nobody!  Well . . . nobody but a Black woman.  Peace.

copyright  ©  2008  freedom

freerealm@gmail.com