What The Fuck?????!!!!!!

wtf2

Was it only yesterday that I put up a blog in essence stating that I would no longer write about how fucked up we all are and even though I did in fact title the blog, “Just Sit On Your Worthless Ass,” those of you that have read much by me know my style of writing? It is not friendly, nor is it conducive to making friends, but I am appalled after reading some of the comments over there. It was most definitely NOT my intent to bring about enmity between fellow bloggers. I was just stating my need to move on because I am tired and fed up with repeating myself and basically with preaching to the choir, which I’ve stated often enough. I have started a new blog with the intent that it should only contain deep and soulful poetry and prose from me and though I do understand that my followers have been extremely faithful even in the face of so many outrageous rants from me, I feel the need to move on due to the fact that I am causing my blood pressure to rise because of how sensitive I am and over the fact that I can do not a damn thing about a damn thing, beyond raving which is accomplishing nothing, constructive.

It was brought to my attention that I am railing against those that do not hear me and upon further reflection, I find this to be quite true and so what is the point? And since it is making me ill, I need to stop. But in no way was I attempting to discourage others from continuing the struggle to right the wrongs, undo the damage, mitigate the consequences of capitalism run amok, cease to care about the plight of others or just give up. That was never my intent when I posted “Just Sit On Your Worthless Ass.” That is just my unique style of writing.

I do understand why a couple of people have stated that they will miss my rants and could I please continue and so I ask, “To what purpose?” What difference are my rants making? I answer, “no difference at all!” And again, believe me when I say that I do sincerely appreciate the encouragement for me to continue on but when I scroll down and check out the blogs that are on my tracker, I am disheartened by what I see. I am really quite tired of reading about how Obama lies all the time when I know this. I am quite tired of reading about the fact that Europeans are still fucking over the Indians. I am quite tired of reading about the fact that Black people are incarcerated in numbers disproportionate to their population count. I am quite fed up past my eyeballs at reading about the misery that America’s military whores are unleashing on the world’s people, daily.

What really finished me off was reading about the thirteen year old boy that got burned up by a drone strike in Yemen. It touched me so deeply that for days, I feared for my sanity. When looking at his picture, the tears would just silently stream down my face and so I cannot look at him. My writing did not keep little Mohammed alive. My writing or ranting as it is so succinctly put, did nothing to stop Mohammed’s father and brother from dying by drone strike.

To those of you who think of me as strong, think again because even I once thought the same thing about myself but I have come to realize that I too, am weak. I am too weak to look at the picture of a little boy who died because the government of the country that I am a citizen of considered him to be a terrorist even though he was not, but he was killed anyway. I am too weak to look at his picture and not cry. I am too weak to be able to continue to rant against what happened to him because I am a failure. I failed to stop his death. I am too weak to continue ranting for no reason because that is what I am doing since I cannot stop Obama from droning the innocent. And so I take the walk of shame and I will become just like all of the other Americans that go about their daily lives in ignorance, cluelessness, apathy and complacency. In fact, because of what I now know, I wish that I had never left their ranks! They are the smart ones since here I sit, sniveling still because I had to look at Mohammed’s picture, AGAIN, in order to link that blog post to this one. Do I seriously need to continue in my attempts to get you to understand that my decision to abort my writing, excuse me, rants has nothing whatsoever to do with any of you? It is because I need to stop since I am only hurting myself and no one else and I must stop because I cannot face seeing another Mohammed. My heart is already broken over little thirteen year-old Mohammed and all that I can do is weep for him and that is helpful how? Exactly!

When So Many Voices Speak

so many voices speak

I cannot hear to write when so many voices speak.
At first I was a champion of the poor and of the weak.
Treading lightly for fear of hurting you, I reined my conscience in,
but now I find that I care not and so my healing must begin.
Tales of olden days gone by that never will stay dead
and when I think that all is lost, there is more that can be said.

Pray, tell me of your fears and I will seek to write them down,
and at night when I fall asleep, I think that I shall drown,
in the deep and murky darkness of tears that I have shed.
They seep inside my soul and consume me with such dread,
from all the voices I have heard as misery does take hold,
and of days of yesteryear and of a sun of burnished gold.

Oh, I hear you and I see you but not as individual souls
and whatever has been written can be found on parchment scrolls.
Your life was never joined with mine, we have seperate identities
and no matter what our faith is, we both fill the world with cruelties.
Wisdom, we will never learn and so our burdens shall remain.
Was man ever sound and whole or was man just born insane?

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

We Set The Bar!

PowerofLove

Black men, your women have to be strong
for all that this world throws at us is wrong.

You say that we are too strong and angry.
We don’t have time to be weak and dainty.

When you of our bodies lie dead in the street
and on us, with our common enemy, you cheat.

You throw yourselves at the wolves that bite,
while we cry for you when you don’t come home at night.

We don’t ask that you praise us for standing by you
and forget what we taught you as though it isn’t true.

We know you inside and out, like no other.
We’re your sister, your aunt and we are your mother.

And we encourage you to spread your wings and fly.
Do you know what it does to us to watch you die?

It doesn’t matter how old you get or how tall you grow,
we will always have your back and this you know.

When you put us down, you diminish who you are
because you came from us and we set the bar.


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

Black men, you make me sick when you throw away an African queen for a pasty faced bitch! Kobe Bryant, Tiger Woods, Michael Jordan, John Legend and the list goes on and on. You no-account bastards have taken up with some shit that, if you had no money, wouldn’t even spit on your Black ass to help put a fire out if you were burning to death right next to them. They would cross the street, clutching their purses upon seeing you. If I was mother to this shit, I would spit and turn my back. They’d never darken my doorstep again. When you lie down with dogs, there is no getting up!

What Will It Take?

When times have gotten tough,
words just aren’t enough.

And when congress spits on you,
what if anything, will you do?

If you’re unemployed and old,
you are lazy, so you’re told.

If you’re hungry and you’re weak,
they say, you’re on a losing streak.

If the best that you can do, doesn’t land you on your feet,
the next step that you take will be out onto the street.

When the ones who represent you are well fed and doing fine,
they’re pissing on your children and you still won’t draw the line.

They always make it seem as though your plight is all your fault.
And you just close your ears and starve and keep taking their assault.

When will you learn that things won’t change if you just wish them all away?
Will you ever figure out that hard times are here to stay?

No, words are not enough and though you hold onto hope,
our future looks too bleak for most of us to cope.

What will it take to stir you up and get you all to see,
that those who make the rules will never care about you and me?

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

As I continue to ask the same questions relative to what is the American populace going to do about the fact that extreme poverty and hard times are the new norm thanks to their congressional ‘representatives’ pissing on them while insisting that it is merely raining, the American electorate is either in a catatonic state or in a comatose state. In the face of overwhelming poverty that is being inflicted upon millions of Americans, there is not a peep, not even a feeble cry from the afflicted, the affected and the impacted.

Yes, I know that America is the pill popping capitol of the world so that would account for the catatonic state of many and since the general consensus is that many are brain dead, then that would also, account for what’s left to be in a comatose state. So, never mind then, carry on!