A Torn And Bloodied Flag!

 

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The eyes of men behold

A torn and bloodied flag

They lied unto themselves

That it was more than just a rag.

 

You satisfy its thirst for blood

Not theirs per se, but yours

And gladly will you die

In endless, senseless wars.

 

Unfurl that hated symbol

Of the oppressed and of the dead

Pledge allegiance to your slavery

Upon your blood, that flag is fed.

 

Salute the stars and stripes

But know what it is you do.

Those stars are bombs and drones

And the stripes are a slave’s tattoo.

 

Its tattered tales of glory

Are shredded by the truth

And as its seams are ripped apart

You feed to it, your youth.

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland

©2015 Shelby I. Courtland

Keep feeding a symbol that stands for stolen lands and lashed backs and for the spilled blood of all the other innocent human beings that have been murdered, all over a lie! The lie IS America! This country was never about freedom and democracy and justice. Look at its history. When has freedom, democracy and justice ever reigned in this hell hole? It never has. You are fed patriotic bullshit. You are made to stand and salute a tattered and bloodied symbol that symbolizes everything that his country stands for; rape, genocide, torture, war crimes, hypocrisy, enslavement and all things vile, obscene and barbaric. There has never been one shred of decency that IS or WAS or WILL ever be America. Salute that blood stained and tattered shit of a flag, if you will, but count me the hell out! I spit on it!

 

 

 

Malcolm X, How We Need You!

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Malcolm X, how we need you.
The movement now is dead,
and the slaves are in the pen.
Black power has all but fled.

What’s left are Uncle Toms,
and coons that play the fool.
They bow down before ole Massa,
and for his scraps, they all but drool.

There is none throughout this land
that can spit your fire and truth.
And the sad fact of the matter is,
we refuse to protect our youth.

With a half and half in the White House,
the movement is tagged and bagged.
And with bootlicking in the halls of justice,
the Black man’s voice is bound and gagged.

They all stand idly by,
and watch their numbers dwindle.
There is no man among these men,
that could a movement, kindle.

They look around and wait,
for a savior to light the way.
And when they’re shot or sent to jail,
they just stare in mute dismay.

Oh Malcolm X, we know you’re gone,
and we will never see your like.
Today, our men tremble in fear,
while the militants are out on strike.

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

“Any time Uncle Sam, with all his machinery for warfare, is held to a draw by some rice eaters, he’s lost the battle. He had to sign a truce. America’s not supposed to sign a truce. She’s supposed to be bad. But she’s not bad any more. She’s bad as long as she can use her hydrogen bomb, but she can’t use hers for fear Russia might use hers. Russia can’t use hers, for fear that Sam might use his. So, both of them are weapon-less. They can’t use the weapon because each [country’s] weapon nullifies the other’s. So the only place where action can take place is on the ground. And the white man can’t win another war fighting on the ground. Those days are over. The black man knows it, the brown man knows it, the red man knows it, and the yellow man knows it. So they engage him in guerrilla warfare. That’s not his style. You’ve got to have heart to be a guerrilla warrior, and he hasn’t got any heart.”

“It takes heart to be a guerrilla warrior because you’re on your own. In conventional warfare you have tanks and a whole lot of other people with you to back you up—planes over your head and all that kind of stuff. But a guerrilla is on his own. All you have is a rifle, some sneakers and a bowl of rice, and that’s all you need—and a lot of heart.”

– Malcolm X

And ‘heart’ is exactly what we are losing even though we know that America ain’t about shit when it comes to hand-to-hand combat and that is why drones were invented because whites can’t fight up close and personal and win. And even with using drones, ISIS is still kicking ass and will continue to do so while Black bodies pile up at the morgue in America and Black women will continue to moan and wail over the demise of their sons and daughters. We don’t have what it takes and now, we never will. We should be fucking shit up over here but all we do is raise our hands in the air and march down the goddamn street begging some white motherfucker to give us the same goddamn rights that are afforded to the whites by the Constitution. So, do you still think that the Constitution and the Bill of Rights pertain to you, Black man and Black woman? And since they don’t apply to you, they sure as hell don’t apply to your children. But go ahead! Sign up to go and fuck with ISIS or fuck up the Iraqi people some more and continue to disturb the goddamn peace in Afghanistan and if they send your ass to Libya, you’re in for it ’cause it’s off the goddamn chain, thanks to the good ole red, white and blue and bully NATO.

You are marching because some white motherfucker shot and killed your son or daughter because the whites are afraid of you. That is why they don’t bother to get up close and personal, they just shoot you from 300 yards away. That is why police departments all across this shithole have requested and received militarized weaponry from warzones because they want to launch a grenade all up your ass from miles away. Next, they’re going to be drone striking your ass because that’s what the whites are doing to every other Black and Brown body all across this planet. Malcolm X warned you in ways too numerous to count and when he died, all of his fire and spirit and truth and action died and was buried with him and now, we just quote him and protest and march against the next murder of one of our own by racist ass cops. That’ll show ’em!

Oh Bloom Of Youth….!

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Oh bloom of youth, where are you,
when in a mirror, I do see,
stooped shoulders and a wrinkled face?
Is that image really me?

It was not so long ago,
when my body was young and strong,
and now, I walk so slowly,
one leg, I drag along.

The pains, they lay me low.
And this old heart of mine is weak.
It was only yesterday,
when we danced, cheek to cheek.

Though my body creaks and groans,
and tells me to slow down,
Mabel, come with me,
let’s take a drive around the town.

Sit close to me, my darling,
just as you’ve done through all these years.
And when I turn and look at you,
you’re lost in a haze of tears.

You’ve changed so much my love.
I know every line and wrinkle.
They adorn your beautiful face,
but you’re still my little Twinkle.

We’ve been together for fifty years,
and not many will be that lucky.
The young stare at us with pity,
not knowing that youth ends so abruptly.

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

This one is for all of the ageless wonders out there, who stuck in there with each other, through thick and through thin. You didn’t head over to divorce court which basically means, “trade her/him in for something else.” Of course, I do realize that there are other reasons why the divorce statistics are so staggering, but this society that we emulate hasn’t helped. “Throw out the old and in comes the new!,” is today’s mantra.

Well here’s to the ones that bucked the trend. I ain’t among you, more’s the pity. But nevertheless, keep the flames of passion and love burning bright and hold on tight to one another!

I See My Beauty!

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I was once so young,
but time has a way,
of turning today,
into yesterday.

So many years gone.
Where did they go?
When the clock ticks,
it is an enemy of mine.

Look at these grooves,
in my youthful face,
the purity of my flesh,
sunken and hollow,
the brittleness of
once strong bones.

The gray in my hair,
so vital and thick.
Brown spots cling
to delicate hands.
Thickened ankles
beneath veined legs.
Stooped shoulders
bear the weight of years.

Time has caught up with me
and I cannot outrun its pace.
But I am still beautiful,
though time has marked me.
I know that I am still here,
for I can feel and touch.
And though you don’t see
the beauty I used to be,
I am still beautiful,
and time will never change,
the way I feel about me.

I see my beauty,
in these age spots,
and in my hollowed cheeks.
Beauty is my thickened ankles,
and my wrinkled skin.

I am not in the first blush of youth
as time is a thief,
of the young and of the old,
and I am thankful to be alive.
For time will never stop
and this I know.

But I shall not weep
for what is lost.
So long as I live,
I know that beauty is life
and life is beautiful.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland

Embrace your beauty regardless if you are 9 or 99. As long as you are alive, you are beautiful for life is beautiful and in these trying times with so many losing their lives, do you have any idea how blessed you are to be alive at all? Love yourselves and love life for it is too short to worry about the trivialities of age spots, wrinkles and gray hair.