Archive for romance

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

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the face of certain death (part 3 of 8 from “A Tincture Of Tellurium”

Posted in poetry, relationships with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 8, 2010 by blackstarr

Starkly recognizable,

the face of certain death appeared.

It was toxic, poison,

and, there loomed a hint of evil.

But, she was the quintessential Aphrodite,

in possession of an intrinsic eroticism.

She was the one.

At long last, she had shown herself.

Her eyes were piercing, and, as black as coal,

and, i was prepared to relinquish my very soul.

Her eminence was immeasurable.

Before me, stood the eidolon,

that dream of perfection found.

Her legs seemed to tower to an unimaginable height.

Her breasts were impeccably voluptuous,

and, the splendor that radiated from her face

was heretofore unequaled.

The great Nefertiti would have conceded

her throne of sublime elegance

in the company of such rare beauty.

 

Yet, at the same time, I peered into the face of certain death.

I gazed upon that toxic beauty,

and, was immediately aware of the evil that lived within.

But, to taste of that poison, to be consumed by that evil,

I would have wallowed in that death as if it were but sweet repose.

Though possessed with that new-found mission,

I would live to see the blossom of a new day.

The cup from which I would gladly have sipped,

even in the knowledge of its fatal eventuality,

had escaped my grasp.

As if by some magic,

as if by some mystical power,

in an instant  .  .  .  she vanished.

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

copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

until she reveals her face (part 2 of 8, from “A Tincture Of Tellurium”)

Posted in just for the bull of it, Love, poetry, relationships with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 6, 2010 by blackstarr

I live a sequestered life, for I fathom no reason

to give my precious love to one who is not the one.

She who is the one

has inscribed her being upon the walls of my soul.

Her eminence is forbearing:

imitation

would be an absurdity;

her authenticity

will be unmistakable;

when she appears, I will know.

She will have so rare a beauty that it will astound me.

She will come to me, emanating a trace of evil.

She will administer my fatal injection of ecstasy.

So, I wait, enduring my life in solitude

until she reveals her face to me.

When the night comes,

I close my eyes,

and, I feel her presence.

She is liquid persuasion.

In times of silence,

I perk my ears,

and, she speaks to me,

having the resonant voice of romance.

When i envision my future,

the intricacies of her beauty are fully displayed,

and, my zeal increases, as my ecstasy will not be long delayed.

I live my life sequestered, as if saving it

for some anointed one.

Is no one worthy but she?

Would not love . . . even mere interaction with others

be but dissipation, knowing what the future holds?

I dare not gamble.

surely she is toxic, absorbed in evil,

but, I will patiently endure my life in solitude

until she reveals her face to me.

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

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

a whispered love

Posted in Love, music, poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 24, 2010 by blackstarr

you whisper your love

like stolen kisses.

as with summer drizzles,

so, too,

you sprinkle your love

in whispered drops.

yet, even in the roaring crowds,

i hear

the whisper of your love.

copyright 2007  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Breathing Out by Doveman

photo “SF Rain” from watersecretsblog.com

verb

Posted in music, poetry with tags , , , , , on July 11, 2010 by blackstarr

why can’t i
just look into your eyes?
why must i
give in to my demise?
silence is not deception.
it is reflection, introspection.
let’s just call it soundless conversation, or perhaps . . .

“verb!”, you said.
“l-o-v-e”, i responded.

(i thought that my verb was heart-filled,
thought that it meant
‘me-you,  you-me slash we’.
but,
could it be that she
could see that we
two were too new,
and knew that ‘we slash me-you’
was just a hypothetical?
)

my verb was something quite un-designed,
and, as yet, totally undefined.
my verb was unspoiled by over-zealous thought,
in its finest state of raw innocence.

but, . . . it was my verb.
i had been looking into your eyes,
holding soundless conversation,
reflection without deception.
you said verb,
i said l-o-v-e,
and deception was the interpretation.

copyright  2000  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

“Tossed Salads and Scrambled Eggs” from “It’s Just Jazzy”

sculpture “introspection” by Matthew Cummings

photo “beach chairs” by Paul Walsh

i get miffed. . . number three

Posted in relationships with tags , , , , on June 2, 2008 by blackstarr

i get miffed by Black women who constantly put brothers down.

i understand that so many Black men have brought children into this world and have no inclination or desire to be the man that they claim to be by helping to raise those children. i understand that so many black men have left that task to the mother, a hardship that no one should be forced to bear.

i understand that there are Black men who have contracted diseases, never bothering to inform their mates that a problem exists.

i get it that some Black women are faced with the choice of either not loving at all, or loving a Black man who neither works, looks for work, nor has any idea as to what the word means.

i understand all of these concepts and i even understand why a Black woman can feel the way that she does.

what i have a hard time comprehending is that so many Black women take every opportunity that comes their way to put a Black man down. It sometimes seems that they even go out of their way to achieve that goal. what i have a hard time comprehending is why some Black women close their hearts to every other Black man because some previous Black man has let them down. i don’t get the concept that when a Black woman succeeds, her glory has to come at the expense or slander of a Black man in the process. many times a woman will rightfully boast that she has accomplished a particular goal, but, ruins that accomplishment with the unnecessary revelation that there was no man in the picture to help her accomplish that goal. just as many times, when a man tries to assist, he is confronted with “I don’t need a man to get where I need to be”. while that is true, no one offered forth that notion or said that a woman cannot make it without the help of a man. so, yes – i get miffed by Black women who constantly put brothers down.

i spent the better part of my weekend pc time perusing blogs that are written by females, mostly Black females, and the great majority of them focus on the slander of a Black man. they emphasized the vast number of men who produce children and walk away. they harbor ill-will towards all Black men because some Black man in their past took the time to break their heart. these particular women seem to concentrate their efforts upon the convoluted idea that Black men don’t want to hold down a job. although the majority of those blogs discussed a variety of topics (all in the name of degrading a Black man), most were of a romantic nature, crying their hearts out about the man who hardened their hearts and ruined it for every other man on the horizon. in short, they never miss an opportunity to put a brother down.

generalizations tend to kill the interaction of males and females of all persuasions. i suppose that a lot of it has to do with upbringing, but, as we grow older, i would think that we grow wiser as well, and gain enough knowledge to understand that each of us is as individual as a snowflake. whether the subject is sperm-donors, laziness, unfaithfulness or any of the other subjects that put us at odds, why can’t these particular women see that what one man does should have no bearing on the next man who steps up to the plate?

i have been in several relationships which were dissolved because the women with whom i was involved had no inkling as to what it meant to be in a relationship. i have shed the tears that only a broken heart knows. through all of the good times turned bad, i’ve had the good sense to know that each heartache was one that was individual and that each heartache was one that was caused by one individual. i have wisdom enough to realize that not every woman falls into the category into which i’ve placed the previous woman who has caused me that pain. it has been my experience that a lot of women cannot seem to separate the old from the new, are not able to fathom that this new Black man giving her the eye is not the same one who winked at her with the right eye and at another woman with the left eye. i guess that i’m trying to say that i’ve grown rather weary of being blamed for what someone else has perpetrated. i have a lot to offer and as such, i am offended each and every time a Black woman tries to group all of us into the same category – worthless. what saddens me most is that i have lived my life catering to the needs, desires, and aspirations of Black women, my queens, for as far back as i can remember.

go ahead – put a brother down. that’s ok. if he’s done wrong, it’s probably what he deserves. if your heart has been broken, go right ahead and put that brother down. if he became a sperm donor and nothing more, feel free to put that brother down with every high-fallutin’ term that you can muster. but, i beg of you – put THAT brother down, and THAT brother only. for a change, give us good guys a running chance.

freedom says I am not the one.

copyright © 2008 freedom

freerealm@gmail.com

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