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!”

Through Red And Angry Eyes!

 

When I first started blogging,
I was gentle as a lamb.
But today, my rants and ravings
couldn’t compete in a poetry slam.

Oh I come out smoking hot,
full of rage and indignation
at a society of clueless cretins
who compound my own frustration.

When I said my pen was drained,
just a few short years ago,
I should have thrown in the towel,
but what kept me going was my ego.

I was such an attention seeker
who was so pleased with what I wrote,
I quite forgot to temper my anger
and on my own bile, I almost choke.

I’ve written many a poem
and what I once thought of as prose,
but now I foam at the mouth
and no poem, can I compose.

Through red and angry eyes,
I view the world with a vengeful gaze.
I no longer believe in humanity
or think there is hope for better days.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2018 Shelby I. Courtland

I remember when I first started blogging, I was inspired and had not yet been tainted by all of the things that have now made me rage and lash out at the world. I am filled with such a white hot blazing anger that some times, I quite fear that I shall go mad. I used to pen poems about the homeless and oh how sincere I was. That is why I titled this blog, “Bringing Social Issues To The Forefront,” because I wanted to highlight the societal ills that affected so many people. I wanted to try and shed a spotlight on those who are forgotten, overlooked and ignored. I wanted to shed a light on human suffering, but by doing so, I suffered for it. Those of us who are truly caring, apparently, can only take but so much before it starts tearing away at our very soul. I am becoming something I once abhorred; a cold, callous, hateful and vengeful person who has lost her way.

I cannot find in me the poetry that once used to flow so freely from my mind to my fingers. And that is why I don’t post poems anymore. I just don’t have them in me; not the ones that I look back on and read and I can tell that I put deep feeling into them; they are me. What I write now is what I have turned into.

There have been so many people that I have fallen out with who I used to hold in high esteem, but because of what I allowed in, I’ve cussed people out, called them out and have hurt people and that was never who I was, but that is who I am now. We are letting the evil that is in the very air we breathe into our bodies and that evil is building in strength and we are hating each other because we have allowed others to feed us their hate, their callousness, their disregard for human life, their greed, their selfishness and their depravity and we have, some of us that is, swallowed it down and brought it back up. We are consumed with hatred for each other like I’ve never seen before and I am quite guilty of this. Most days I am livid from the time I wake up until the time I close my eyes in sleep and I carry this around with me every single day. I do not like what I have become and if I continue to feed the flames of hatefulness that has consumed so many, I can no longer take the high road. I must admit that I am just like them.

And lastly, I did not even heed the words of my own poem, “Yield Not To Temptation!”

I’ll Take My Tears To Bed!

tears

I’ll take my tears to bed  

and shed them on my pillow.

The morning sun will blaze;

an orb of brilliant yellow.

 

Will its shine be bright enough

to dry my tears of pain?

Or shall I rise and weep

for the innocent that was slain?

 

No morning sun can cleanse

the muddy hearts of men

nor kill the pain of grief

brought on by an act of sin.

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland

©2015 Shelby I. Courtland

 

 

 

Love Is Not A Game

broken%20heart

 

My feelings were untouched until you came and broke the seal.

How can I forgive you when I had no time to heal?

You took from me my all and then led my heart astray.

I believed your many lies until the day you went away.

 

I have loved and I have lost so many times before.

I could never play another just to even up the score.

The pain is never less when each new love is gone.

As love is not a game and a heart is not a pawn.

 

Heart strands are torn apart as if entwined by fragile rope.

I look towards the heavens for just one glimpse of hope.

The nights, they are the longest with none to fill the void.

No light shines through the clouds, my trust has been destroyed.

 

Who knows if I will love again with a heart in mortal fear.

As I place the broken ruins upon its sacrificial bier.

Forgiveness was not mine to give; I tossed no love aside.

Who will comfort you at night; you with your everlasting pride?

 

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland

© 2013 Shelby I. Courtland

 

 

 

 

Life And Love Everlasting

bw-senior-wheelchair-woman

Trapped in a useless body without the strength to feed myself.

Sitting alone, frowning as muddled thoughts flutter through an ancient brain.

There is no one to visit me as I have nothing to offer youth.

A burden, that I am and don’t I know it when once I loved and was loved.

To look at me now, no one could countenance the carefree spirit I used to be.

The years, they take a toll, pressing upon me how quickly time does fly.

Treated with indifference, rough hands sponge me; not concerned if I should die.

Without comfort, no cheer to lift my spirits on each new dreary day.

I am at the mercy of a disinterested staff; who fails to understand that their day is yet to come.

Would that I could but leap from this wasted body and dance and twirl to my heart’s delight.

In my salad days, a veritable virago was I and as bubbly as the finest French champagne.

I sung to my heart’s content, met many a dashing fellow; stayed true to only one.

When my time has come, will I see him? Will he hold out his hand to me?
As I stand on the final threshold, teetering on the brink and afraid to cross over,
will I see my darling love or does life just simply end?

That tune I hear; it was our song. We often danced the night away.

Is that you, my Angel? So it is true! There is love; eternal, everlasting.

Together again, hand in hand; I am on the dance floor with you.

The years have dropped away as I look deep into your eyes.

That smile I knew so well is stretched across your handsome face.

Kiss me, my love and hold me. We are together once again.

Oh yes, there is love; true love, eternal and everlasting.

Arm in arm, we step unhesitatingly into a brilliant and heavenly light.

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland
© 2013 Shelby I. Courtland

Those of you who have loved ones who are residing in nursing homes, please take the time to visit them. They are lonely and many of them are ill treated by the staff. Not only that, but they have most likely had the love of their life pass on and are even that much more lonely. I know that we are all busy in this helter-skelter world, but a few hours a week would help a lonely soul to get through another day when the only people they see on a daily basis view them as just a paycheck and not as a human being. Those lonely souls have feelings and scattered memories of days long gone. Love our seniors. They loved and cared for us and those whose memories have faded altogether would still appreciate a loving hug.