A Letter To My Mother On Her 77th Birthday! Happy Birthday Mother

 

Happy Birthday Mother!

Yes, you brought me into this world;
a squalling little Black baby girl.
You belittled everything I ever did
and you beat me for nothing when I was a kid.

You want me to honor, love and respect you
when what I did was from you, take my cue.
I have never known what love is and I never will.
Not one tear for love will my eyes ever spill.

I’ve been called cold, callous and cruel,
but never have I been called, “love’s favorite fool.”
I know that this should be all about your day,
and it is in its own strange and morbid way.

There is just something that needs saying
because in this town where you live, I’m not staying.
I have come running every time you’ve ever called
and listened to each admonishment on my character, you’ve drawled.

That stops here and now because I don’t need you anymore.
I never really did but I’ve just got to settle the score.
When you talked about me to your acquaintances, that hurt.
But knowing what you are mother, I’m an expert.

I’ve watched you down through the years
send people packing with words sharper than shears.
I’ve listened to you drone on about how great you are
when you are too evil and wicked for hell by far.

You’ve got foul names for everyone you ever meet.
The language you use, the derogatory names, you bleat
to anyone who will come within your reach.
You sit on your ass and search for an invective to screech.

Then you have the nerve to wonder why you sit home alone
and that to this very day, there’s nothing for you to atone.
But your day is coming mother. It may not be here yet,
but then again, you may already be paying your debt.

Your favorite one of us died from drugs years ago
and the man you couldn’t leave hated your ass from the get-go.
Even his friends said he died to get away from you
and this I can believe because I’d do the same thing too.

So sit in your big falling down house and think,
think of all the reasons why you should take to drink.
Believe that you are good and that all others are at fault
And you’ll still deny your evilness when they lower you in that vault.

And lower you they will mother, for we must all go that route.
But don’t you think for one second that your ‘goodness’, I will tout.
You are evil personified and though I may drop dead first,
at least I’ll have the pleasure of knowing that your ass is accursed.

You will lie beside a man who hated you to the end.
Your youngest died years ago and she was a dope fiend.
And yet you blame us for problems we never placed at your door
even though you share the blame because we are what you bore!

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2019 Shelby I. Courtland

I am going to attempt to find the words to convey just what emotions you evoke in me mother; hate, disgust, loathing and yes…pity, for you are so despicable, nasty and hateful that no one wants to come around you and I actually pity you. I spent so many years trying to gain affection from you that was never yours to give because you hate yourself. You loathe yourself for why else would you stay with a man who, when you were pregnant with me, your first baby, threw you a quarter when you told him you were hungry and he said, upon throwing you a quarter, “Here, I wouldn’t want to see a dog hungry.” And yet you thought so little of yourself that not only did you continue to lie with that slug, you brought two more children into this world to be condemned to live with two people who hated each other. We learned to hate as well.

I used to think that the house we lived in was haunted because all of a sudden, everyone inside it would go the fuck off and get to cussing each other out for no apparent reason. I watched on so many occasions, that sperm donor we were supposed to call, “Dad,” come in and beat your ass! Every weekend it was, wasn’t it mother? And what did you do? Why you went to the police station, pressed charges and three days later, your husband…our father was back inside the house. And it was going to be just a matter of time before it happened again and again and again. And yet, you expected us to grow into healthy, mentally strong adults when we had no guidance whatsoever from the likes of you and our sperm donor dad. I sit somewhere posting poems for a sister who you showered with whatever your brand of ‘affection’ can be called simply because she was lighter than myself and my other sister. I remember you making us go to bed when the sun was still out in the summer just because dad hadn’t come home from work and you knew where he was. Like that was our fault. You would get us up in the middle of the night and take us to illegal ‘nip’ joints that sold bootleg liquor just because you saw dad’s car parked there. Small children we were and in our nightclothes and yet you told us to “Go in and find your daddy!” You knew what would happen when we did because any attention from him was better than no attention from him. You were mentally ill then and you still are. We just didn’t know it. We longed for you to leave. We’d have been better off if you had. But no, you had to continue to tell anyone who would listen just how put upon you were, just how long suffering you were. Oh, the pity parties you threw. How I hate you! And though so many of your ‘acquaintances’ have dropped dead, there you still sit, in your misery and hatefulness and spitefulness, you manipulative control freak. The saying is, “You can’t kill the devil!” And ‘they’ must be right because you’re still sitting above ground. The devil doesn’t even want your foul ass and no wonder!

Well mother, I could continue in this vein, but you know what you’ve done. I needn’t display ALL of what you think are your dirty little secrets. But newsflash mother! No one has ever bought that bullshit! No one! So save it! That is why no one comes around you anymore because they don’t want to hear you laud yourself to all and sundry when everyone knows what a miserable piece of shit you really are. Deal with what you are and come to terms with it. The rest of us have. And so with that having been said, “Go to hell mother!” oh and, “Happy Birthday!”

‘Trophy Wife’

 

How long will my looks hold up?
And when will he stop considering me, his ‘Trophy Wife’?
Today, I was told that I didn’t look a day over 35.
Tomorrow, I’m making an appointment to go back under the knife.

My personal trainer helps me keep fit.
I nibble on a piece of lettuce at every meal.
What I wouldn’t give to eat a bowl of ice cream,
and for just a slice of chocolate cake, I’d kill.

If only he would stop eyeing those younger girls,
and love me for all that I’ve given to him;
two sons and a daughter and my devotion,
but those younger girls, what I wouldn’t give to be them.

Tonight, I must make another great impression.
His boss is coming over to seal a deal
and he has laid out for me to wear,
a little black dress and shoes with a stiletto heel.

Sometimes, I think he’d prefer it if I broke my neck,
as I teeter across the carpet serving up hors d’oeuvres.
I bet his secretary is all set to take my place
if my boyish figure begins to form curves.

I wonder if the other ‘Trophy Wives’ are like me,
always doubting their ability to hold on to their man
and if they too, long for the forbidden slice of chocolate cake,
or have they no problem keeping up this pretense of love as long as they can?

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2017 Shelby I. Courtland

I Am Searching For Something I Will Never Find

watching

I am searching for something I will never find;
a love so pure and ethereal of some kind.
Lost in a dream world of fantasy and books;
tired of love based on money and looks.

Earthy passion has no place for me.
Too scared I’ll get up with an STD.
Only lust and sex are intertwined
and to believe any different is asinine.

The times we live in are scary as hell.
And then you find yourself alone as well.
The man you think of as only yours
is out driving around in search of whores.

But you say you love him and you need a man.
You need wisdom because he has a plan.
He will use you and he may speak of love
while knowing full well what he’s guilty of.

When he is in your bed, he is thinking of her.
You see, he is a pro and you’re just an amateur.
And you turn to him and you look into his eyes,
not even seeing the telltale signs of lies.

Oh yes, the times we live in are scary indeed.
He is your addiction, on which you feed.
And he is one more reason to lose all trust.
You see, men will be men and they’re all ruled by lust.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2016 Shelby I. Courtland

Ladies, be careful out there. Because this is real, as real as it gets. Men are ruled by lust, lust for power, money and sex. Anything else is secondary and that means, you. Just take a look around. What do you see? Who are called, ‘the powerbrokers’? How many times have you heard of ‘The Boy’s Club’? Oh, it’s exclusive, alright and it ‘excludes’ you. You are to only be seen at the proper time and under the proper circumstances. Men tell you what to look like as in how many cosmetic surgery procedures you must undergo to achieve ‘the look’ as established by men. Men tell you what to wear, how to style your hair, even down to the stiletto heels you must wear because men have decided that you must suffer deformities in order to look sexy and you do it. You do everything men tell you to do and quite frankly, I wonder is it really for love or for something else? Search within yourself, you’ll find the answers. And many of you, already know them. Be honest with yourself and about what men want and what they are.

I Want A White Lover!

interracial

I want a white lover
so we can mix our blood
and destroy my people
like Noah’s flood.

I want a white lover.
I don’t care about me
or the fact that our children
won’t know their history.

I want a white lover
in my bed tonight.
I’m hungry for his love
and it feels so right.

I want a white lover;
a Black man won’t do.
I need a white man
to prove my worth; my value.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2016 Shelby I. Courtland

Now, I believe that my readers are smart enough to read between the lines and to know the true meaning of this poem. This poem was written because as I stated earlier in another poem of mine, I have been sitting back quietly watching the shit hit the fan. I noticed how all hell broke loose when Beyoncé Knowles put on a Super Bowl Half-time show that depicted certain images that stand for Black power, The Black Panthers and Black Lives Matter and that white folks by the scores took offense. To those who took offense, fuck you! And to the Black motherfuckers that are looking in the face of your white mate and the children you produced with him/her, fuck you too.

I will admit that I went out on a date with a ‘white’ man and it was the mistake of my life and that shit will never happen again. Much more to the point is that I could never lie down with a white man and produce a half and half. Not going to happen. I refuse to contribute to the dilution of the Afrikan blood that is running through my veins. The white motherfuckers are hell bent on getting that done. It is shoved down our throats, daily; in print, on the big screen and on the little screen. This is exactly why I refuse to purchase a TV. I will not have that constant ‘in our face’ shit that whites who control the media feed us. I will not be subliminally messaged that interracial dating and marriage is ‘hip’; a la mode.

The main focus seems to be to pair Black women with white men and yet in the not so distant past, Black men were lynched for merely looking at a white woman. But no Black man had better lynch a white man for looking at a Black woman and quite frankly, it does not seem that Black women are having a problem with white men not just looking at them, but also fucking them eight ways to Sunday. The same can be said for the white women that lust all up and down on some Black men. So, what is this? Payback for the fact that the white shits that control the media can’t stop white women from lusting after and craving Black men and so they now focus on Black women lusting after white men? Those see-through skinned shits are the devil’s own spawn and the reason why Black women, children and men are shot dead, daily on the mean streets of every shitty city in this shithole called, AmeriKKKa! I will not condone the destruction of the Negro race by dead white filth.

So, come on up in here with some shit and I promise to wipe the cyber floor with your ass! I fucking dare you to post some shit about let’s all come together and sing, “Kumbaya!” The white motherfuckers have stole everything from us and to continue to get this done is to mix our blood with theirs, thereby diluting us out of history. We are not even in the goddamn history books, as it is. Or if so, by way of lies, lies and damn lies of Black people having immigrated to AmeriKKKa to work good paying jobs alongside the Irish and other immigrants or the lie that happy slaves baked birthday cakes for presidents. The lies just never stop and the genocide of the Black populace never stops.

You say, you should be able to love who you want. Okay, that’s fair. But answer this. What thing can love? Because only a thing could continuously commit genocide against humans; Indians and Negros. And so, that thing, Black folks, that you think loves you, cannot. How many white children have been poisoned like the Black children in Flint, MI were poisoned? How many whites live on Reservations? How many white KKKops have filled Black bodies with hundreds of bullets? The numbers are astounding. How many racist white judges have sentenced innocent Black people to death row? The numbers are astounding. How many racist white women have screamed “Rape” when caught with a Black man and got out of any ‘trouble’ by doing so and an innocent Black man was lynched or imprisoned? That shit can’t love you because it’s not human! But you’ll have to wait until it calls you or your children “Nigger!” before you figure it out! Hope that its not holding an assault weapon when it does! You’ll certainly know your worth; your value, then! You can’t marry your way into ‘white privilege’, you’ve got to be born with ‘white privilege’ and Black-assed as you are, you’ll never qualify!

What Happened To Us Along The Way?

black1

Somewhere along the way we got lost.
We strayed from the path of our forefathers.
And as women, we seem to be no longer aware
that we owe a legacy of love to our daughters.

We never flinched when our sisters were called ‘Hos’.
And we never thought anything of this disrespect.
Our men were not taken to task for their misogyny.
Now, of their daughters, we see only the neglect.

What happened to us along the way?
When did we become so jaded and so lost?
And have we ever stopped to wonder why?
Why we are now being made to pay the cost?

You live in a world of people who hate your guts.
And you give to them the respect you deny your mother.
Never do you stop to think that if the tables were turned,
would a white man ever stand up and be counted as your brother?

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2016 Shelby I. Courtland

This one speaks to all Black people because we have seriously lost our way when we as Black  women, answer to being called a “Ho!” And Black men, you should be ashamed of yourselves in calling Black women, ‘Hos’.  These women gave birth to you and the least you could do is show them the respect they deserve and what about your sons and your daughters? How are you setting an example for your sons when they hear you disrespect their mother and by doing so, you also disrespect your own daughter because if you can call the mother of your children out of their name, then you won’t mind when someone else does likewise to your own daughter. These issues need to be addressed because we need some unity in the Black community especially with all that is going down every single day. If we cannot depend on each other, who can we depend on?

We’d best wake the hell up because at the end of the day, who the hell else is caring about the Black family?

You’re My Man And You Are Black!

together

That voice of yours, so deep,
the walk you have is so you.
You’re my man and you are Black
and I give to you, your due.

That skin of yours, so dark.
Those lips of yours, so perfect.
You’re my man and you are Black
and I give to you, my respect.

Those eyes of yours, so brown.
Those teeth of yours, so white.
You’re my man and you are Black
and you look good enough to bite.

That back of yours, so muscular,
those shoulders of yours, so strong.
You’re my man and you are Black
and together, we can’t go wrong!

Don’t think this is all about sex,
Look in my eyes and know the truth.
You’re my man and you are Black
and together, we must raise our youth.

The heat from your body
must never grow cold to my touch.
You’re my man and you are Black
and you must know, I love you so much!

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2015 Shelby I. Courtland

I send this one out to ALL my strong Black brothers! I want you to know that I love you ALL! There are none in this world like you and though they try and emasculate you, not all of you will buy into the bullshit and for those of you that stay true to who you are, this one’s for you. I love you!

Woman In Black!

woman in black

Beneath a Caribbean moon
I will take that which is mine.
With a dark determination
I fill his cup with wine.

I gaze at him hypnotically.
Our eyes lock as he sips
 I chose him just for me.
My poison is on his lips.

His lashes flutter, his eyes close
I have drugged my handsome knight.
In his dreams, he’s in dark places.
He’s my captive for tonight.

His dreams take him to Diamond Bay
where there’s a woman dressed in black.
She lures him to the ruins
 of an ancient, haunted shack.

There he doth behold
a nymph encased in ice.
The fire deep in his veins
takes them to paradise.

Her reflection in his eyes
tells of a different story.
Who has bewitched whom
in this enchanted purgatory?

The woman that I was
no longer exists in here.
As the huntress becomes the hunted
through my heart, he drives a spear.

Kiss me, my dear love
and I will kill no more.
Death has claimed its victory.
From my wound, the blood does pour.

In weakness, I am breathless.
Come close and kiss me quick.
As darkness lures me in
into his throat, my knife I stick.

In death, two lovers lie,
one was immortal, one was not.
This unearthly bond was broken
when one foiled an evil plot.

The moral of the story
is that no matter your desire
when there’s no meeting of the hearts
the results can be quite dire.

 

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland

©2015 Shelby I. Courtland

On Halloween, My Wife Will Die!

halloween

If the dead should come back to life,
would they please just take my wife?
I have a mistress that I want to marry,
but they are both so mercenary.

I want a newer, younger model,
one that walks but doesn’t waddle.
Why’d she have to get so old?
She’s gotten too big for me to hold.

I once loved her that is true,
but she’s turned into a shrew.
This sweet young thing is mine,
and hot damn, she’s looking fine!

What is a man to do,
when he’s sick and tired of you?
My wife will take me to the cleaners.
They’re all such goddamn schemers!

Why can’t they just accept it’s over?
Oh how I despise, hate and loathe her.
This would be the perfect time,
with Halloween, I could hide my crime.
Who would know that it was I?
All I’d need is an alibi.

And once the deed is done,
I’d know where to hide the gun.
No one will ever guess,
that it’s me in this wig and dress.

They’ll think my wife is going out.
In this padding, I’m just as stout.
Murder is a nasty business,
but when it’s over, I’ll wed my mistress.

On Halloween, my wife will die.
Among the dead, there she will lie.
They’ll take her hand and that’s for sure,
and be her guide on a graveyard tour.

Yes, I’m merciless and a little cold,
and just maybe, you think I’m bold
But I want what I desire.
You settle for ice, while I take fire.

You think in hell is where I’ll burn.
Well then I guess I’ll take my turn.
I’ll check in and never check out,
and present my card at the devil’s rout*.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2014 Shelby I. Courtland

Disclaimer!!! Uh..this one is not meant to encourage anyone to do away with their spouse on Halloween. I have a twisted, warped sense of humor these days and it may not be in the best of taste, but what the hell! What is these days? Since we’re all such sinful creatures and hell bent on fucking each other up and over, I simply got into the ‘spirit’ of things.

And ladies, this applies to you too! If your spouse has a paunch and is balding, that is no reason to ‘do’ him in for a younger ‘model’. None of us are perfect, some of us are just ‘airbrushed’. But if he has to take his teeth out and put them on the nightstand, well…uh…that’s unfortunate, but it happens. Like I said, we’re not perfect.

Try to get some enjoyment out of Halloween. I know that it will be difficult but try to get a treat and not a trick. And guys, get your mind out of the gutter. I don’t mean that kind of ‘trick’.
*A fashionable gathering.

That’s Not Love!

telephone

If he calls you out of nowhere,
he’s been having an affair.

Tell him to go to hell.
Drop his lies into a well.
Love cannot wait to call
and will never make you crawl.

A man who takes forever,
in order to get together,
is not in love with you
and does not have a clue.

Love must be earned
and if it is not returned,
don’t sit around and mope,
believe, there’s always hope.

He’s stringing you along
and so you must be strong.
Don’t listen to his shit!
He expects you’ll throw a fit.

Hold your head high,
over him, do not cry.
He isn’t worth your tears.
Don’t give in to your fears.

Remember, it’s his loss.
You’re not a ball to toss.
You’re a lady with a heart,
so play it very smart.
One more page of life’s been turned,
and another lesson learned.


Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2014 Shelby I. Courtland

Don’t Play The Fool!

internet dating

If it is on the internet, then we know it must be true.
He says he has no paunch and that his eyes are actually blue.

A size four she says she is, but that was in high school.
Quit believing what you see and don’t you play the fool.

If it sounds too good to you, you should know you’re being had.
It’s safe to say that chances are that he is quite the cad.

I know that I sound jaded and maybe you are right.
But I like to keep it real and save you from a fright.

There’s a whole sea of fish out there whose odor just ain’t nice.
So, save yourself some heartbreak by taking my advice.

Be wary of the oily ones for they are mostly players.
The right one will come along, the answer to your prayers.


Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2014 Shelby I. Courtland