War, The Birth Of Death!

I was born old with the sounds of war
roaring through my head
and of scenes depicting
the fact that I am dead.

I am as old as war,
never to know peace
only sorrow, pain
and a cease fire that will not cease.

Brought forth in death
by man’s insatiable desire
to kill for profit and for pain
and war is my sire.

Though I may not have lines
or wrinkles on my forehead
nevertheless, I am old,
too old to live and so I die, instead.

War, the birth of death;
 for youth is drained and tired
but must fight to die;
as war’s bitter taste is acquired.

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

And so it goes, our children are born but why? They are born, dead for their bodies are mere pawns in wars, moved here and there on the chessboard of war, driven to war by war hawks and warmongers whose children grow rich and fat off the sacrifices of our children who are bred for their wars. We willingly give our children to be adopted by the warmongers and then we host parades praising them for taking our children and making them dead and/or old beyond their years. The voices in their heads, never leaving them even if they leave the battlefield and if they come back to us, it is in name only, for they are already dead since war is the birth of death.

An Ice Cream Truck

Just before the sun went down,
I heard the jingle from an ice cream truck.
Here, it is business as usual,
but in Afghanistan, a bomb just struck.

Tomorrow, the ice cream truck
will make its way down my tree-lined street.
But over in bomb-struck Syria,
little children have no bread to eat.

The next day, the ice cream truck
will once again offer cold, creamy treats
while we wait to hear from Donald Trump
about North Korea via his stupid tweets.

Another day, another ice cream truck;
an absurdity in a world at war.
 It would seem to be quite laughable,
but I just cry til I can’t no more.

I’d send you an ice cream truck,
if I thought it would do you any good,
but when you’re fleeing a war torn land
there’s only debris where homes once stood.

One day, that ice cream truck
will drive down my street no more.
We’ll have killed those across the sea
and on our own, we will then wage war.

That day will surely come,
since war is all we know.
And though we killed you first,
where you went, we too shall go.

So to those who lust for war,
and who gloat over all we’ve killed,
the treats in an ice cream truck
are not as cold as your heart so chilled.

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

At around 8:00pm, the ice cream truck jingles its way down my street and I look out down the street and the children are gathering in front of it with their money in hand which they exchange for cold, creamy treats. I cannot help but think of the children in Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and Yemen who have been killed by bombs dropped on them by our government via the U.S. military. I cannot wrap my head around the fact that soldiers, who have children, can send missiles to foreign lands knowing that there is no way to hit only fixed targets since we all know that ‘collateral damage’ is inevitable in military operations and that they are killing children while expecting only ‘ice cream truck’ experiences for their own. Their children are never to be ‘collateral damage’, otherwise known as the unintended casualties of war. I am sure that the ‘unintended casualties’ of war are most glad to know that they were mortally wounded, accidental like by America’s soldiers who want only ice cream truck encounters for their children. I am sure that those who were blown to bits died knowing that they were just in the way; in the wrong place at the wrong time. There will be no ice cream truck rolling down the street offering them cold, creamy treats; just body bags for those who are more than just bits and pieces.

But here in America, the ice cream trucks are still rolling down our streets, inviting our children to come and pick their favorite cold treat and go happily back to their yards to play while those in Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and Yemen are praying that the bombing will stop, wishing that they still had homes to go to, trying to remember what it felt like to play and certainly are not hearing the jingle of an ice cream truck as it makes its way down a tree-lined street on a quiet evening inviting them to partake of its cold delights.

I am going to keep this one civil even though I am seething and ready to spontaneously combust over the fact that all is quiet here and there is only the echo of the jingle from an ice cream truck and I cannot know or appreciate the hell that those in foreign lands are being put through thanks to those who are hell bent on making it a fact that this world will never know peace. Oh, the absurdity of an ice cream truck!

Bomb This Hellhole To Bits!

Not one American was gassed
And so America bombed Syria because..
 Well, these things just should not be done.
After all, there are international laws.

What applies to America is unique.
There are none so exceptional as we
who were not gassed by no terrorists we trained,
but we still bombed a foreign country.

Some things just make no sense at all.
America refused Syria’s refugees
who were escaping a war torn land
brought on by our own tragedies.

Now let’s turn this all around.
Did America not gas the Iraqis?
And it was okay when we gassed the Vietnamese
and then say, “We are better than the Nazis.”

Tell that to the dead Vietnamese.
 Or have you forgotten all about Napalm?
Our selective amnesia is telling
when we can forget about a Napalm bomb.

White phosphorous, the Iraqis will never forget.
How can they when we are still there?
We bombed them over a big ass lie
since those WMDs are where?

Hiroshima and Nagasaki were cities
bombed by the US of A.
How many people did we kill?
And we still think that was okay!

We are all American dogs
who drool and piss and shit
on a planet of people at will
and we all deserve a direct hit!

So China, Iran and North Korea,
Russia and even Bangladesh
bomb this hellhole to bits!
Maybe this world can then start, afresh!

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

Unfortunately, I shall not get my wish that Russia, Iran, North Korea and China will blow this hellhole to kingdom come, but I can still keep hope alive.

So, Donald Trump has initiated what amounts to déjà vu because didn’t we go over this already about Assad using sarin gas during Obama’s reign? And what happened? It was found that the Assad government did not gas their own people, the rebels that America’s CIA trained did that, but even so, Russia stepped in and helped to broker a deal that relieved the Assad government of any chemical weapons it may have had and yet, here we are again. Donald Trump is just so disturbed at the thought of little children getting gassed that he just could not contain himself and so sent 59 missiles to do what? Kill more innocent little children? Because that is what happened, isn’t it? Civilians were killed by those U.S. missiles and so where is the outrage from Trump about that?

That no good bastard is not even outraged that the U. S. Department of Justice issued a scathing report on Baltimore’s police force due to the fact of rampant and systemic excessive use of force and police brutality against a majority Black city. In fact, Attorney General, Jeff Sessions stated that, “the consent decree would keep the KKKops from doing their job of continuing to brutalize, racial profile and fuck up Black folks on a regular basis just ’cause they should!”

And here we have all these pasty-faced motherfuckers just declaring how horrid it is for Assad to gas his own people when these same pasty-faced assholes would rather see me dead just because my skin tone is dark. Don’t that fucking beat all? Talk about this shithole drowning in hypocrisy, America is the very definition of hypocrisy from one end of this cesspool of corruption to the other. And here we sit, biting our nails and hoping there’s to be no draft. My post titled, “The Draft Is Being Reinstituted On January 1st, 2016! is the number one post because you scared ass pieces of whiny assed exceptionally brain dead cretins are shaking in your cowboy boots and wife beaters over the possibility of you having to get up off your fat ass and get it handed to you by the Russians and the Chinese. You don’t have to worry about being drafted because you’re fucking useless, what with a needle stuck in your damn arm loaded with heroin and who knows what the hell else. Your fat ass can’t even fit in the cockpit of a fighter jet because you’re too damn lazy to even get up off the couch and turn the channel on the TV. The only thing you’re good for is nothing! Ain’t no use for you whatsoever. So quite actually, if a bomb was to land squarely in your fucking living room, it’d be doing you a favor by sending you to meet your fairytale maker sitting up in the sky waiting to receive your worthless ass, or so says your slimy piece of shit reverend; the snake oil selling bastard! Yeah, a bomb would quite actually be good for you because it’d put you out of your sorry ass misery. I wish they would send a bomb up the ass of every single piece of American filth and think I don’t mean that, you sorry ass filthy fuckers!

I Remember……

I remember a time when we liked someone,
we told them so to their face.
Nowadays, we ‘like’ someone on Facebook
since we will never, ever go over to their place.

I remember when children played outside
until the street lights came on.
Nowadays, the streets are empty
because our children have a smartphone.

I remember when you met the one you love
while squeezing fruit in a grocery store.
Nowadays, you sign up for a dating site
and wait to get a compatibility score.

I remember when there was no obesity epidemic
because healthy meals were cooked at home.
Nowadays, mom and dad are working late
and so the kids have come down with ‘McDonalds and Burger King syndrome’.

I remember when bicycles and hula hoops were all the rage
and children swam, played kickball and jumped rope.
Nowadays, our children are sexting and texting
and are missing or failing in school and on dope.

I remember when I did not have to be nostalgic for the good ole days
because the good ole days were the days I grew up in.
Nowadays, I look around and I cry and I don’t know who for,
for me or for those whose life is about to begin?

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

I cry for me! I take a look around and I can only shake my head and sigh over how far we have come the wrong way. Technology will be the death of us and we refuse to see it. This is why I don’t blog much anymore. I am out trying to ‘live’ as opposed to being caught up in this ‘virtual’ reality. For decades, I managed to live without smartphones, laptops, PCs, Wi-Fi hotspots, microwave ovens, Wii, HDTVs and the like and I was all the better for it. I lived simply and did not covet everything I saw and again, I was all the better for it. Our values, morals, decency and principles flew out the window, decades ago when we hardened our hearts and turned to spewing hate at each other through these devices that we think we can’t live without. I bet most of you cannot even turn your laptop or your smartphone off for 24 hours. You just can’t do it. What does that say for you? Not much, I’m afraid. Do you know how much of your life you’ve given over to these devices? You say, “I’m going to take a road trip and get away from it all!” And yet, what do you do, you film the whole thing as it’s happening and either live stream it or post the whole thing on Facebook and ask for ‘likes’. You’re the only one who needs to ‘like’ it. Can’t let go of these devices even when you claim you are stepping away from it all. How sad is that?

For those of you who were alive before the internet was ‘born’ and before smartphones became all the rage, did you feel that you were missing something? Did you take trips and do you have mementos of those trips? Sure you do and you waited until you got back, took the film to the store and had it developed and now it is in a family album. My mother has family albums full of pictures of all the things we did. And we managed to get pictures of ourselves without the need of a ‘selfie’ stick. Imagine that! We are all a bunch of sad ass wimps because we are nothing like the people who have mostly passed on. They were the lucky ones because they never had to see this foolishness; this utter stupidity that we relish and spread. And we have the nerve to think that we are more advanced when we have done nothing more than embrace our own demise. Tell me. How healthy are you? You can’t be all that healthy when all you do is sit somewhere facing a computer at work and at home and en route. No one was causing an accident because they were busy texting. Did you hear of the horrible bus/truck crash in Texas? The driver of the truck is reported to have been texting while driving and caused the death of thirteen innocent people coming from a church retreat. Like I said, so-called ‘technology’ will be the death of us and so it was for those thirteen innocent people killed on a Texas road. I was a victim of a texting driver and I am still suffering tremendously and all she got was a $150 fine for failure to drive with due care. What will this 20-year old get for killing thirteen innocent people? A bigger fine? He says he’s sorry. Yep! That’ll bring those folks back to life and give them back to their loved ones. For the love of!!!!!

Witness: Driver in crash admitted texting before collision that killed 13

HOUSTON (AP) — The driver of a pickup truck that collided with a church minibus in rural Texas, killing 13 people, apologized after the crash and acknowledged he had been texting while driving, a witness said Friday.

Jody Kuchler told The Associated Press he was driving behind the truck and had seen it moving erratically prior to the Wednesday collision on a two-lane road about 75 miles west of San Antonio, near the town of Concan. Kuchler said the truck had crossed the center line several times while he followed it.

“He said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was texting.’ I said, ‘Son, do you know what you just did?’ He said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’” Kuchler recalled.

He’s sorry? We’re ALL sorry and getting sorrier by the minute!

And ‘They’ Say, “Beauty Is More Than Skin Deep!”

For The Beautiful Dark Ones!

Do not hate your beautiful dark skin tone,
for it is all the rage at the white man’s beach.
You see, he has to risk skin cancer and wrinkles
to get what some of you want to bleach.

You can go outside, be it winter or summer
and never think in a million years of getting burned.
But you see, the white man must hide from the sun
and this lesson is one he has never, ever learned.

In the waiting rooms of Dermatology, there they sit,
with moles that have turned on skin that’s fried.
And never will they let go of tanning beds and beaches,
not until skin cancer is the cause of why they died.

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

The woman in the above picture would like some of you to know that “The sun is not your friend!” And I think we all know to whom she is speaking when referring to the sun not being your friend. She most definitely was not talking to me since the sun has always been my friend. It’s where I get my Vitamin D; the healthy way. Now, let’s find out why she wants some of you to know that the sun is not your friend.

‘The sun is not your friend’: Woman’s painful tan warning goes viral

A 45-year-old mom hopes sharing photos of her painful treatment for precancerous lesions will serve as a warning to others.

Margaret Murphy frets that the world is seeing her at her worst, but that’s exactly the point of her warning about the dangers of tanning.

Murphy spent more than a decade living on Crete and tanning herself to “look good,” she writes on her Facebook page. She also spent summers “doing sunbeds” to get a tan in the less-sunny Irish climate. Sunscreen was not a priority.

Oh damn! I’ve never been in a ‘tanning bed’. My beautiful tan is natural. It never fades and I don’t turn pale in the winter and in the summer, my permanent tan automatically deepens while I am out for my daily constitutional and not only that, but I can go anywhere and I am tanned. And it’s free! Can ya believe it? I pay nothing for a gorgeous, year-long tan that stays with me, year after year after year.

But I must say that when I pass by a Dermatology clinic, I have yet to see a Black person sitting all up in there wondering about that suspicious mole on their face. I just cannot comprehend how people who hate us for the color of our skin, will go to such lengths to get our skin tone even when it means, death. Oh well, let the woman in the above picture be a lesson for you to learn; those of you who need to learn it, that is.

The most natural way to get vitamin D is by exposing your bare skin to sunlight (ultraviolet B rays). This can happen very quickly, particularly in the summer. You don’t need to tan or burn your skin to get vitamin D. You only need to expose your skin for around half the time it takes for your skin to turn pink and begin to burn.

No worries here, I don’t belong in the ‘pink’ skin club. And for some of you, consider this post, a Public Service Announcement. Aren’t I ever the helpful one?

Break Fee!

break the chains

For something in me was just never satisfied.
I would sit on the porch and stare at the mountains,
convinced that there was something, something calling to me,
beseeching me to “Come, come and drink from overflowing fountains!”

There is another world out there beyond the tall green mountain trees.
No telling what destiny will find for you to do if only you will wander,
wander away from the safety of boredom and the mundane,
and fling yourself into timelessness that only youth can squander.

And so I fled, I fled from the stagnation and strangulation of my nine to five;
and I lived, I lived as only the truly free can live, free from the bonds of society,
free to make my own rules and for this I was punished, held accountable.
 For those who wield the whip will never let the slave break free from his chains of slavery!

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

Each day, we are reminded in many different ways that life is just too short. We hear of a loved one who is seriously ill. We hear of horrors occurring daily to others in our neighborhoods and around the world and yet, each day, we go to the daily grind so that we can afford to go ‘home’ and what….’live’? Ask yourself this question, “What does it mean to ‘live’? I don’t mean to suck in air and release it. Are you doing what you truly love or are you doing what you NEED to do just to survive? Are you just going to work so that you can keep up the payments on that house and car and maybe, at the end of the week, you can sit down and have a beer and consider yourself lucky? Is this all you want out  of, dare I say, ‘life’? Is this all there is to ‘life’? Working to make someone more money while you give that same person the money that you ‘earn’ so that you can keep a roof over your head and sit in hours of traffic and think and dream about what it would be like if you could do just what the hell you want? We are all stifled and oppressed by what we have allowed. We have allowed others to tell us how to ‘live’ and if our doctor ever gives us the ‘bad’ news that it’s almost over for us, the only reason we kick up a fuss is because it is expected of us and because we fear the unknown.

Life is to be lived, not merely gotten through. Think about it. Are you living life or are you just waiting until your number is up? And when it is, will you smile and say, “At least I lived,” or will you say, “Damn, in a few more years, I promised myself that I was going to live!” Think about it. Live your life, don’t just go through the motions!

Cold And Homeless!

homelessness

Alone I sit, so deeply in thought,
but not thinking of the things that I never bought.
I have no money, nor a place to lay my head.
I did have a roof and a nice, warm bed.
But it was all taken away when I lost my job,
And the guy before me, his name was Bob.
He got axed first and I thought that they were done
but they were just getting started, putting us out one by one.

They said if I worked hard, I could have the American dream
and now all I want to do is throw my head back and scream.
I want to scream for all the kids who were told to go to school;
amass a fortune in loans and don’t be a drop-out fool.
 But I did all that; went to school and paid my dues,
only to see it all gone as I sit here drinking booze.

I see you looking down on me as though it’s my own fault,
and into my wounds, you go and pour the salt.
 You don’t understand, they ain’t finished with us yet.
I had a pension and a savings and it’s gone just like that.
I tried working at McDonalds but they’ve automated things.
We’re as helpless as a bird that can’t fly with broken wings.
They don’t need us anymore, we’re a drain on the bottom line,
and that’s why I’m cold and homeless and sipping on cheap wine.

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

When I first started blogging, I blogged extensively on homelessness. It is an issue that pulled me in and yet, I’ve not written about the plight of the homeless in quite sometime. It is not because I don’t think of them because I do. We are in the process of seeking funding to rehab more homes for the homeless because we know that homeless shelters are not the answer. The sad fact is that big developers buy up properties for pennies on the dollar since these become nothing more than investments to them where they can make the most profit. They care not for those who are homeless through no fault of their own. It is people like us; everyday people who are out in the trenches doing what we can; working with what we have. I have often said, “Why is it that those who have the money are most often those who lack empathy?” But be that as it may, we are not going to stop trying to house people who need a home. I joined an organization that I thought was all about helping the homeless into housing, but they mostly talk.

Talking never gets anything done and so I am thinking of branching off on my own. I have a few ideas that are bouncing around in my head because I am determined to start my own organization because here, just like everywhere, there is much need. I pass by a homeless tent city many days and it is located right on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Blvd and yet, we take a day to honor a man who stood for the poor and downtrodden and yet we can know that there are people living in tents on a street named after him and think nothing of it. This is just mindboggling, to say the least. But this just makes me more determined than ever to DO something as opposed to just talking about it. I can but try because things are going to get much worse and we cannot afford to wait because people are dying for lack of a home. Think about that. Who will be next? The job outlook for the future is dim. Robots are replacing humans. Kiosks are replacing humans and these things are not just happening in fast food restaurants, but also on assembly lines. Our vehicles will soon be made solely by machines and so will many other things leaving humans where? Out on the streets, that’s where. And if you think your job cannot be done by a robot or by a kiosk, keep thinking that. Meanwhile, I shall be trying to figure out how to house you when you get your pink slip. We shall soon BE the homeless! The writing is on the wall.

Valentine The Homeless (A Re-post)

valentine the homeless

 

This would be as good a day as any to take that money that you intend to spend on your ‘valentine’ and spend it on helping out a homeless person and before you start in about how the homeless would just spend it on alcohol or drugs, take a minute and think about what you intend to spend it on. A nice bottle of wine, perchance? Or how about a little pick-me-up pill called Viagra or Cialis? Are they not drugs? You see, when we want to feel all self-righteous about what we do as opposed to what someone else does, then we fail to realize that we are doing exactly what we are castigating others for doing. Most of us have a vice and some of us have more than one. I freely admit to mine. It is champagne and I am going to practice what I preach and ‘valentine’ a homeless person. And it doesn’t matter if you have no ‘valentine’ to celebrate Valentine’s Day with.

The point is that there are people who are living on the mean streets of every shitty city in America and they will not get a box of chocolates, nor will they get a bouquet of hothouse flowers. They will not get skimpy, libido enhancing lingerie. Hell! What would they do with that anyway? If you cannot bring yourself to give the homeless, cash, then why not ‘valentine’ them a gift card? There are gift cards for Starbucks, Ruby Tuesdays, Applebee’s, AMC theaters and a host of other stores and restaurants. Or how about gifting the homeless with a brand new blanket or handing them a cup of coffee or some new socks. No, it will not solve the problem of homelessness, but it will most likely make a difference in their lives to know that someone thought about them for a change. And if you told your ‘valentine’ what you did with the money that you would have spent on him/her, chances are, you’ll both be on cloud nine on Valentines night.

So, this year, why not do things a little differently? ‘Valentine’ a homeless person, it will certainly help them and it wouldn’t hurt you.

Valentine the homeless and make this their day.
Who needs lingerie when you’ve seen it anyway?
Please use your heart and give your lust a rest.
Help the unfortunates; those who aren’t blessed.
That box of chocolates will just make her fat.
And if you give him boxers, he’ll really hate that.
Since you love one another, you don’t need a gift.
But those who are homeless, could sure use the lift.
In the spirit of the day, think of those out in the cold.
I said, “Love one another!” if I may be so bold!

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

Since you’re hell bent on making corporations happy, at least try and make it count for something.
—————————————————————————————————————–
This post is getting a lot of attention and I thought that since it was well-received when I originally posted it, this would be the perfect time to re-post it and hopefully shine an awareness on the serious issue of homelessness as we celebrate Valentine’s Day in one of the coldest months of the year. Please take time out of your busy schedule to notice those who are less fortunate and at least offer them a hot cup of cocoa on a cold winter’s day. It will be most appreciated. Believe me, I know. I have been homeless.

February Is Slave History Month

slave-history-month-one

Yea though I stand humbly draped in chains,
I am allowed to celebrate slave history gains.
And since I shall die while serving my white master,
make a note that I worshipped at your feet, sweet Alabaster.

Make no mistake, I am grateful for no freedom
since oppression is what I’m used to as I head to God’s kingdom.
There, I will be judged by their god of outrageous lies
and found stunningly unfit by the lord of these flies.
So, please stand with me now as we thank our dear captors
for our place in history; all twenty-eight chapters.

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

As we are all aware by now, we are in the midst of celebrating Slave History Month and so without further ado, let the celebrations begin.

Those of us who had no choice but to be here since we did not immigrate but are here nevertheless thanks to our ancestors having been forcibly dragged here, take this opportunity to thank those who are the spawn of what dragged us here for giving us this month to celebrate that fact. It is quite apparent that those who wish us to thank them for this opportunity to stand before them in chains to this very day, are awaiting demonstrations of gratitude from us. We have not humbled ourselves in their kitchens, slave quarters, bathrooms, bedrooms and fields quite to their satisfaction for why else have they given us this month in which to thank them for their generosity; their thoughtfulness in dragging our ancestors from Africa to America? How can we let them know just how truly delighted we are to have twenty-eight chapters…I mean, twenty-eight days in which to celebrate our slave history?

And if you think you are not still a slave, why, Donald Trump just disabused you of that notion by in essence, speaking of Frederick Douglass as though he were still alive today.

Trump had this to say about Frederick Douglass. “Frederick Douglass is an example of someone who’s done an amazing job and is being recognized more and more, I noticed.”

Frederick Douglass, on behalf of Donald Trump, we wish to take this opportunity to thank you for your continued excellence in getting your point across as it pertains to “What to the slave is your fourth of July celebrations?‘ as you tour America today. Apparently, you did not die in 1895 since Trump is noticing that you are being recognized more and more wherever you go even though most of us are aware that you were born into slavery. It is good to know that you are still with us and even though you are still a slave, they have given you leeway to go on tour to promote your abolitionist views.

I hear tell that Harriet Tubman is being brought back to life in the form of her picture on the twenty dollar bill. What in the world is President Jackson saying about this? And I know he will not keep quiet about it. But then, we shall surely wait for Donald Trump to get around to enlightening us on that score. So many slaves still here with us today to celebrate Slave History Month and so let us thank them for their continued sacrifices on our behalf. For theirs has been an excruciatingly long and arduous struggle and we also have many Civil Rights icons that we want to thank as well; Rosa Parks, Fannie Lou Hamer, Bayard Rustin, Ralph Abernathy, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Ella Baker, Medgar Evers and so many, many more.

But today, as we celebrate Slave History Month, our celebrations are being upended thanks to The Donald’s Muslim ban and the cries for us to stand in solidarity with the Muslim community that never stood in solidarity with us; in fact, went out of its way to make sure that the ‘whites’ knew that we could not count on Muslim solidarity in our time of need. What group has ever stood in solidarity with us? Most certainly not the Muslims. And just so you know this to be true, here is a little excerpt that I took from a blog that I was reading earlier.

In the Fight Against Islamophobia, Solidarity with other Marginalized Groups is Key

when I sit around listening to aunties at parties giving pointers to each other on the best times to go to yoga classes so as to avoid black people. (Honestly, it’s a charitable interpretation of their language to even say they refer to black folks as people; most of the time they casually use the term kala, which literally means just “black” in Hindi/Urdu.)

Isn’t that nice? Black people are not even referred to as people, only as the ‘color’, Black, literally by the Muslims. You are less than a color to these Muslims. At least the ‘whites’ gave you the dubious distinction of being three-fifths human, but the Muslims don’t even give you that much. And so, you are going to stand somewhere in solidarity with some shits that don’t even see you as ‘human’? What does that say for them? Send their ass packing Donald Trump; each and every damn one of them. Send them packing!

And yes, we must be avoided at all times but because the Muslims are afraid for their very lives now, it has now been deemed appropriate to wake up and recognize that the ‘whites’ are now coming for them, so let’s get with the program that it would be to their benefit to get with ‘the color Black’ at yoga class because those  ‘Black colors’ have been marginalized since forever. The Muslim marginalization has just begun and they want to recognize the fact of ‘the ongoing color Black’ marginalization just NOW! Too goddamn late! Don’t let the door hit you on your ass on the way out of yoga class or on the way out of this country! Send them packing, Donald Trump! Send them packing! And if that isn’t bad enough, read this:

I knew my marginalization wasn’t unique every time I heard my classmates cycle through a seemingly endless repertoire of racist jokes on the schoolbus, about everything from the emo-Muslim who lets out angst by crashing planes to the Mexicans coming out of holes in their backyards to the eternal crowd favorite, “What do you call 3 black men on the moon? Three black men on the moon. What do you call 3 million? Problem solved!”
Just as horrifying as these jokes was the expectation that I would laugh at them too — since, hey, I’m not Mexican or black, so what business do I have being offended?

To take offense for the sake of people different from you is to begin to become invested in a politics deeper than your own individual hurt.

WOW! Hey slaves in America, you taking note of this? This newly marginalized Muslim here has been listening to these racist comments all her life but has chosen this time to dig up some hurt for you because now Muslims like herself are being targeted. So, this indeed is the case of “I did not speak up when first they came for the Blacks in my yoga class, I did not speak up when they told racist jokes about Black men, but now, I want these same ‘marginalized’ people to get with the program that we should now gather in a group hug and recognize that we need each other since I am now one of the ‘marginalized’.” Nope, not going to happen! If you were never in my corner…AND, you were NOT!!!, you are never going to be in my corner simply because the focus is not just solely on our ass anymore, but now they have dumped their collective hatred onto your ass! And even your various college degrees are not enough to save you from their hysterical hatred for Muslims from select countries who hold green cards or an H-1b visa. You see the one difference between us is I don’t hold a green card nor a visa because I was born here. Can you say the same? No, I didn’t think so because if you could, you wouldn’t be so put out about this Muslim ban, would you? They cannot put your sorry ass out of this country fast enough to suit me! Send them packing Donald Trump! Send them packing!

So, let us celebrate Slave History Month, my fellow slaves because we are on our own. There is no need for you to feel pressured to march through the streets with those who are afraid of some immigration ban because their fight is not your fight since your fight, they never bothered with or even thought about since it did not seem as though the ‘whites’ would ever pick a fight with them. No, celebrate your Slave History Month for what it is worth and tell those who would stand in solidarity with you now that karma is a bitch! Send them packing Donald Trump! Send them packing!

A Black Rose In Bloom!

black-roses-in-bloom-one

Too dark, but yet, always seen
at each and every crime scene.
Whether you stand for peace or not,
whatever you do, it is all for naught.

You can be Dr. King with a dream
or Malcolm X with a Black power scream.
But either way, you’ll end up dead;
no life in you; just a tombstone at your head.

You can be a doctor walking home from work
and be shot because in that neighborhood, you should not lurk.
You go to school because you want an education,
but they peg you instead for incarceration.

They gave you a month to celebrate achievements
for all the assassinations, funerals and bereavements.
You are sent to their doctors to receive a cure
and told you’ve got bad blood; it just ain’t pure.

They say, “Vaccinate your children against this disease,”
while they fill you with lead paint; those who are your enemies.
Never look to the ones with no melanin in their skin
and expect to come out on top, or to win.

Their desire is not that you should ever thrive
but for all they do to you, you still manage to survive.
So, fear not that Trump will be the harbinger of your doom
for he too is powerless to stop a Black rose in bloom!

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

I wrote this because as we all know, we just finished ‘celebrating’ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day and for all that has been going down, I don’t even know why. For surely he could never have perceived in his wildest ‘dreams’ that we would be where we are now, but then again, he most likely would not be surprised since it is widely known that he was about to change his stance from one of peaceful to aggressive because peaceful just wasn’t getting it done. And us Black folk had better go about things all peaceful like, if we are to go about at all. Otherwise, it’s a coffin for us.

And yet, they set aside a day in remembrance of a man they killed because he finally figured out what most of us know and that is that the white man is not going to give up his ‘white privilege’ that he has decreed unto himself; not without a fight. Malcolm X knew this and that is why he was called a ‘radical’ and assassinated. We need more like him but all we have is the likes of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton who are nothing more than sell-out dogs begging for the white man’s table scraps. They do not represent us. They are only out for themselves.

So, as we approach Black History Month that the whites have so graciously given to us to celebrate all their achievements of shooting, lynching or sickening us and our loved ones, we must remember to thank them for their generosity in giving us the month of February to be used as one short month of bereavement over the fact of mass incarceration, assassinations, lynching, gentrification, income inequality, low educational attainment, a school-to-prison pipeline,  mass homelessness, indifferent health care, eugenics experimentation and we must also thank them for allowing us to continue to play subservient roles that entail cleaning, cooking and other domestic type duties that we crawled into boats to come over here alongside all the other ‘immigrants’ to do. With friends like these, we don’t need enemies and yet, despite all of this, the Black rose still blooms! May it forever bloom in spite of and despite ‘them’!