The Day Before My Birthday!

birthday

The day before my birthday
is a melancholy one.
I sit here contemplating
what I should do for fun.

Would a trip to New York
be just the thing for me?
 Or should I relax in the tub
and go on a shopping spree?

As I reflect on my life,
I wonder what would I miss
if I never saw another day?
 Would I still live like this?

Did I ever touch one single heart
or let someone know I cared?
Was I always just too shallow
since love, I never shared?

What a loveless life I’ve lived.
With no thought for those I hurt.
I just pack and move elsewhere
like some twenty year old flirt.

It’s always been about me.
I’ve never lived for another.
This aimless life, I choose
when faced with love, I burn rubber.

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

I don’t know where this came from, I really don’t except for the fact that I always get a little maudlin around my birthday because of the fact that I’m on the ‘wrong’ side of 25 and each year causes me to reflect a little bit deeper and this year, I’ve gone even deeper.

I remember when I was a child, I could not wait for my birthday because we were treated like a princess for the day; a big birthday party with so many friends over and lots and lots of gifts and all my favorite foods including my favorite cake. And now, it’s like, WOAH! What the hell??!! It’s like before I can blink twice, it’s my birthday again and all the gifts and hoopla still don’t make up for the fact that I’m getting older and older and feeling it. Oh well. I’ll get over it. I just wondered if anyone else over 25 experiences anything similar or do you just take it all in stride. I hope not too many are like me who cannot dwell in the present, but must forever look back on the past and compare it to today, most unfavorably.

Not All Of Us Have Sold Out!

 

black sellouts and the slave patrol

I cry my brothers and sisters

For those who will never see tomorrow.

Copious tears I shed for my people;

blood red tears, they reflect my sorrow.

 

The sheen of the darkest flesh

will never stand the test of time.

Its glow fades with each day

When the mournful tune of death’s bell will chime.

 

Must I look upon stark evil;

The depraved that have no soul?

And those who look like me

Walk hand in hand with the slave patrol.

 

Not all of us have sold out

nor have we taken Massa’s bone.

We stand proud and shake our head

because selling out, we don’t condone!

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland

©2015 Shelby I. Courtland

I wrote this poem for the piece of shit that posted a picture of the filth that killed Freddie Gray and titled it, “This is racism?! You goddamn right, it is racism! Black people have been separated and pitted against each other since having been dragged the fuck over here, so don’t even fucking act like you don’t know that the house slaves were pitted against the field slaves and this continues to this day.

Some Black folks have the nerve to think that if they act like whites and do the same dirty shit that whites do, that that is somehow going to make them more acceptable to the whites, they will do whatever it takes to attempt to fit in. They are called sell-outs! I don’t give a goddamn about those white motherfuckers sitting there facing the mug shot camera, they’re a given. Black motherfuckers who are sell-outs are just as guilty as the slave patrols they ride around with and who do filthy shit to try and impress whitey white ass. Newsfuckingflash! Not a goddamn thing you sell-out motherfuckers can do can impress whitey white ass cause he knows he will always take the Nobel Prize for Fucking A Black Person’s Ass up. The Nobel Prize committee is giving out awards in new categories. These no-account coon head prize winners have been considered to have made advancements for Massa! Obama’s got his for being Massa’s Top Male Coon Head Sell-out! Baltimore Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake received her Nobel Prize for being Massa’s Top Female Coon Head Sell-out! Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, both received Nobel Prizes for being Massa’s Willing and Obliging Bootlickers and their prize is busily collecting dust on shelves propped up by Massa’s table scraps thrown to their sell-out ass! Fuck all y’all filthy sell-out motherfuckers!

And to the son-of-a-bitch that said I’m ‘mad, angry and filled with hate’, you goddamn right! I am SO glad that I leave you in no doubt, motherfucker!

 

 

 

 

What About We Don’t Forget?

heartless

 

 

 

 

Forget about the Alamo.

What about the Arapaho?

 

Forget about the Civil War.

What about the need for more?

 

Forget about the stars and stripes.

What about the stripe that bites?

 

Forget about the three-fifths rule.

What about the vote, you fool?

 

Forget about the constitution.

What about our destitution?

 

Forget about our tainted food.

What about our lust for crude?

 

Forget about the brave and free.

What about the bombs you see?

 

Forget about how bad you lie.

What about your reasons why?

 

Forget about the maimed and dead.

What about the ones who’ve fled?

 

Forget about the call for peace.

What about corrupt police?

 

Forget about the military.

What about a sanctuary?

 

Forget about the middle class.

What about the corporate ass?

 

Forget about incarceration.

What about an education?

 

Forget about the nation’s debt.

What about the homeless vet?

 

Forget about the golden arches.

What about the protest marches?

 

Forget about atrocities.

What about democracies?

 

Forget about a Ponzi scheme.

What about al-Qaeda’s team?

 

Forget about a missile launch.

What about the wounds we staunch?

 

Forget about a global threat.

What about a child’s neglect?

 

Forget about the global bank.

What about our earnings shrank?

 

Forget about the wars we’ve fought.

What about the truth is taught?

 

Forget about what’s yours is mine.

What about we draw the line?

 

Forget about the poor who struggle.

What about the arms we smuggle?

 

Forget about the isolated.

What about we stop the hatred?

 

Forget about what we regret.

What about we don’t forget?

 

 

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland

©2013 Shelby I. Courtland

 

 

 

 

America, Poetically Speaking

no negroesAmerica-indian perspective
We want to build a nation on this here land.
No, that was not a question, it was a demand!

What’s that you say? You refuse to comply?
If that’s your answer, then you must die!

Kill the buffalo, destroy their food,
that’ll teach em. Now they’re screwed.

Damn! Not enough laborers, what do we do?
We’ll cross the ocean and enslave a few.

England, we don’t want taxation without representation.
We’re now Americans and this is our nation.

Lincoln, you can’t dictate to us.
We’re keeping our slaves, now enough of your fuss.

The Civil War is over and the slaves are free.
Yeah, let them think that, they’ll soon see.

You don’t like Jim Crow?
Then head back to Africa, or it’s to prison you go!

“What about the Statue of Liberty,?” you say?
To hell with that, only certain people get to stay!

No, the Indians didn’t demand green cards
and now many of them are in graveyards.

You think you’re going to get ahead?
Not if your skin is black, brown or red.

Capitalism is the name of our game.
We take what we want and we have no shame.

You have no health insurance? That’s your affair.
You think we’re concerned? You think we care?

We’re millionaires, billionaires, we don’t give a damn!
You’ve worked your eight hours, here’s 3 dollars, now scram!

Don’t think your vote will make a difference.
Politicians in office are just for appearance.

We’re a select group and we rule this planet.
Our will is strong and forged in granite.

Bow down to us and if you do not,
we’ll crush you with everything we’ve got!

Never forget, we’re the world’s police.
But do you really think what we want is world peace?

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland