Archive for the wordsmith’s alley

young, white suburbanite (from “The Village”)

Posted in poetry, political commentary, social commentary, The Village with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 26, 2012 by 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

*

(photos were obtained from across the internet.  if they belong to you and you wish them to be taken down, i will gladly comply)

Who do YOU know?

Posted in social commentary, WTG (Walking The Dog) with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 1, 2011 by blackstarr

Big ups to my daughter for helping to plunge me back into the world of blogging.  Although I haven’t blogged lately, I always have something on my mind that needs to be said.  I have to thank my daughter because of a conversation that we recently shared.  I was trying to relay my extreme disappointment and total disgust at the idea that The NAACP has nominated Tyler Perry for 19 Image Awards.  That’s not just one, not just a few, but 19.  Many.  Plural.  In my humble opinion, that is just downright preposterous.

To my dismay, my daughter surprised me with the answer “Why is that so annoying?  Many people find his plays and works to be a blessing to their lives.  They feel that it has helped them to ‘make it through'”.  What??  Are you kidding me?  Tyler Perry says that.  Mainstream media says that.  I say that most artists who toots their owns horns cannot be taken very seriously.  We all know how the media has a knack for presenting information in a more than distorted slant.  So, I posed a question to her:  Who do YOU know that feels that way?  We danced around that idea for a minute or two, and by the end of the conversation, that question had never been answered.

As true as I am to my own ideals, I like to think that I am not so closed-minded that I cannot fathom that there are those out there who simply adore Mr. Perry.  I don’t deny that.  However, the numbers that I have seen, which are few and far between, have always come from sources that I, for one, can’t believe.  I admit that I don’t have a ton of friends, but, I do have many.  I say with authority that none of them – I repeat – none of them – have anything favorable to say about Tyler Perry’s work.  Not one of them has said that his art has changed their lives.  Perhaps it’s just too true that “birds of a feather” really do stick together.  Along with them, I have seen his work and was dismayed, disgusted, and disappointed.  Herein lies the problem – I paid the price of satisfying my curiosity and no matter what I thought of the movie, DVD, or play, the money was spent and nothing on God’s green earth can get it back (not to mention the wasted moments that I will never regain).  In other words, curiosity caused me to support something that I didn’t like.  It’s the blue pill/red pill dilemma all over again, except that there is no blue pill to take back the horror that the red pill has exposed.

I liken the situation to a movie that I saw  years ago entitled “Mission To Mars”.  It was met with much anticipation.  I knew when the movie was being filmed.  I watched every commercial with bated breath.  I could barely wait for the movie to hit the theaters and was in line the day that the movie debuted.  I am an avid sci-fi nut(case), but it was one of the worst movies that I had ever seen.  EVER seen.  The movie, however, grossed over ninety (90) million dollars.  Basically, even though the film was pitiful, once the money has been paid, it’s all over.  This is, in my opinion, no different than what Perry defenders offer up – “But, he’s made millions!”.  Sure he has.  Can it be that, like on so many other occasions, people have satisfied their curiosity, only to find that it wasn’t worth the peek?  I say “It can happen”.

I’m not so sure that my thirst for an answer will ever be quenched.  Can so many people really like him like that?  Do so many people believe that his “art” has been such a blessing to their lives?  I doubt that those questions will ever be answered for me because those who hold the answers are those in whom I have absolutely no trust.  I wish that I could hear it from the masses.  More likely than not, however, when the votes are all in and the answer is a resounding “yes”, I will probably say “Consider the source”.

I will leave you with one last thought:  Meet The Browns.  Every time that commercial comes on, I get just a little bit nauseous.  That is buffoonery and coonery at it’s very best.  It saddens me so because too many Mantan Morelands, and Stepin Fetchits did what they had to do to get us recognized as artists, and we moved on to a day when African-Americans were seen in a better light.  This generation has embraced this new coonery with open arms.  I’m a baby-boomer in the finest sense of the term.  In the 60’s and 70’s I was about as radical as one could be.  I took every opportunity to take part in any demonstration that was for the betterment of mankind.  We, the baby-boomers, fought long and hard to get the “n” word and the “b” word removed from our conversations.  We ventured out into unknown, uncertain, off-the-beaten-path movies to dispel the notion that the only thing that African-Americans can do is jig.  As  The Field Negro says “The jigging must stop”.  This generations seems to be taking a step back saying “Oh, it’s not that bad”.  “To each his own” is an honorary credo, but there has to be limits.  Seriously, though – Meet The Browns???!!!  What kind of nonsense has Tyler Perry spawned?

The Tyler Perrys of the entertainment world will never cease to be.  Their knack for charming the masses is ever-present.  I can barely fathom the idea that the masses are so drawn to them in such a manner.  I choose to believe that it is merely a case of  ‘pay me first, then see if it’s worth it’.  Yeah – I said that I am not so ‘closed-minded’, but truth be told, like an ostrich with its head deeply buried beneath the ground, I will go down fighting believing that this man’s art is worthless.

So, I ask “Who do YOU know”?  Peace.

copyright 2011 blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!!!

Posted in Love, social commentary, The Holidays with tags , , , , , on December 31, 2010 by blackstarr

 

copyright  2011  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Photo from Premier-Marquees.co.uk

Cant C Me

Posted in music, Old School Flava, poetry, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 28, 2010 by blackstarr

There probably has not been a more loyal fan of Tupac Shakur than yours truly.  First, though, a few “despites” –

despite the fact that I hate the “N” word and the “B” word, and

despite the fact that I am not an advocate of either profanity or violence, and

despite the fact that I am anti-drug abuse, I have always been in awe of Tupac and his musical genius.

Perhaps the one song that makes him stand out from the crowd more than any other song is “Can’t C Me”., from the CD “All Eyez On Me”.  The entire song is the epitome of his musical genius, but, let’s forget the entire song – the opening verse is the ultimate in word manipulation and lyrical sculpting.  In the event that you aren’t familiar with the song, you can click >HERE<  for the lyrics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although there are probably many depths to his genius, I believe that his greatest assets were threefold – lyrics, music, and the ability to spit words out as easily as you and I breathe air.  He had a peculiar penchant for re-using lyrics from previously recorded songs.  Other artists have done this before him, but the way in which he did it and the meaning that his re-used lyrics brought to the songs took on a life of its own.

I cited this song from his collection because it is my favorite rap song ever, but, his repertoire was seemingly endless when it came to great lyrics, music, and spitting.  A few that come to mind which, in my humble opinion, that come close to the greatness of “Can’t C Me” are “Hit “Em Up”, “Death Around The Corner” and he even did a few love songs that were worth mentioning, which included “Can You Get Away?”.

There you have it – my short and sweet tribute to Tupac.  You owe it to yourself to check out this song .  You can find it on Youtube, of course.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get it to load here.  In the event that you want to save time, here’s a link to the song from Playlist.com:  Can’t C Me.  Perhaps you’ll be as impressed I have been all these years.

Afeni, wherever you are, thank you.  Peace.

 

copyright  2010  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

Photos from The Huffington Post, and The Judiciary Report.

wordle 10.01.10

Posted in humor, poetry, political commentary, politics, racial discrimination, satire and sarcasm, social commentary, Wordles with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2010 by blackstarr

Wordle: got malt? (2)

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copyright  2010  blackstarr

Poison (part 1 of 8, from “A Tincture Of Tellurium”)

Posted in Dreamscape, Love, poetry, prose, relationships, satire and sarcasm, social commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 17, 2010 by blackstarr

Tellurium . . . she was its human portrayal.

born in the year of fifty two,

passivity consummately overdue.

When she revealed herself to me, this sensuous Aphrodite

was a delightful one-hundred-twenty-eight pounds,

sister to the four winds, free-spirited, untamable.

Tell them that she is as exotic as neon, but, is, in no way, as innocuous.

Her beauty will be astonishing, a rare sight, to be sure.

But, let them be warned that she is

at the same time . . . toxiferous . . . noxious,

a tincture of tellurium.

Her voice was euphonic, yet, like a Grecian siren,

it was full-scale seduction,

and, imminent destruction.

She came to me as the eidolon,

that dream of perfection found, which never comes to be.

And, in the end, she became

. . . my injection,

. . . my addiction,

my reason for self-annihilation.

She was liquid xenon, flowing and unresponsive,

and, nearly as unattainable, her free heart unrestrainable.

My actions brought no reactions.

My words of affection were

. . . weightless molecules,

. . . soundless thoughts,

lost to the wind.

She was a secret code, an indecipherable mystery.

Here was the essence of the arcane,

perched upon a cryptographic plane.

Her eyes pulled me in, and,

her touch replenished.

Her kiss drained me of life itself.

She remained . . . ensconced, . . . unsolved,

even cloaked in a veil of non-divulgence.

Tellurium . . . but a faint trace is certain obliteration.

for to grasp the exotic, to taste of the erotic,

obliteration would have been a welcome relief.

So I grasped, I tasted, and, hastened my own undoing.

She was . . . astonishing . . . a rarity, she was a tincture of tellurium.

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

copyright  1997  blackstarr

freerealm@gmail.com

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photos from across the web

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 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