A side of the Billie Holiday story most of us have never heard.
Betrayed in the House of Learning
From Victrola’s to Violas. Violins played by the Hurdy Gurdy man the Organ Grinder plays out this years sins. Smell of day old vomit two week old fermented piss stained stairwells. Who sent me to the Himalayas and where’s my Sherpa? Backpack. Ratpack. Get that fucking knapsack outta my face!! Bring it! Time for some new shit! Cause it’s on up in here! You will get owned Old Skool style! A Poor Righteous Teacher is an unknown Ninja Warrior who was pushed over the edge. Or I could get a job at the Soul Sucking Station snatching souls from paradise and depositing them into purgatory. But I’m nobody’s Bitch but my own. B.I.T.CH. = BEING IN TOTAL CONTROL OF HERSELF
Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five – The Message
SCREAMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!! Cause the Black Dog haunts my dreams waking me up in nightly terrors. Nights are like this while demons peel back my skin rubbing hot peppered salts into my oozing bloody wounds.
Kurtis Blow-The Breaks
LL Cool J – Mama Said Knock You Out
Live Life without Fear
Surrounded by Educated Fools who Love the sound of their own Lips and gums flapping. Spreading disrespect, sowing seeds of pain, scattering discord into vulnerable souls, No I’ll never look at you the same way again. Thrown down into the valley. Pounded by boulders. Buried under stones. My bloody battered corpse digs it way out once again ascending the mountain dragging my soul in an oil smeared paper bag. What an ignoble end to a Glorious beginning.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Whoa!.”
See the Below link for the entire story. I work for a museum.
Then a few days ago when I was posted in the Civil War Photography exhibit at my museum, once more an ancestor’s thoughts and emotions came to me. My Great, Great Grandfather William Henry Halstead fought in the Civil War. There was a steady stream of visitors but everyone was quiet, calm, serious, deeply affected by what they were seeing. During the course of the day as I walked through the photographs taking everything in it was like I began to see through the eyes of my Great, Great Grandfather. I could hear the sounds of battle, the screams of pain from injured soldiers, feel his adrenaline as he surged forth with his 29th CT. Colored Regiment brothers. All I can say it was like I was in his head. I had to make an effort to turn off so I could finish my day without freaking out. Even now I feel he is still with me even though I never met him. Maybe this is genetic memory. All the memories of our ancestors stay with us though we are separated by time but not necessarily by eternity………………
Ian Brown – F.E.A.R.
2 Timothy 1:7 New King James Version (NKJV)
7 For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
F.E.A.R ~~ False Evidence Appearing Real
We hide behind that Wall of Silence thinking if I’m just quiet enough I can slip under the radar. They won’t see me. I can hide and everything will be alright not knowing or not caring that Silence = Death.
We’ve become a society of trained apathetic circus clowns who when the powers that be say jump we ask how high. If we shuck and jive continually bowing down to the institution plantation head clowns. If we kiss their ass long enough perhaps we will be permitted the privilege of being allowed to slave another day.
Reduced to a mass of sniveling groveling cowards we’ve sold our birthrights for the few crumbs that drop from the Overseers table. We rant and rave against Ferguson, Staten Island and other atrocities but back away from the injustice in our own backyards. Completely ignoring all the weapons within reach, easily at our disposal. All we have to do is pick them up use them but instead we say it’s not happening to me so I’m safe. Safe for how long? Who guarantees that you’ll magically be released at the age of 62 or now 66? There are no outside saviors.
It’s you that will make a difference. Do you really think that by ignoring the cries of others that evil, harm, & wickedness won’t come your way? You’re living in a glass bubble. And why post scriptures of peace, love and redemption without acknowledging that even Jesus got angry and threw the money-changers out of the Temple. But No we mix idly among thieves, robbers, rapists, stalkers tethered to electronic mind numbing devices entranced by technological marvels ignoring the mud and filth accumulating on our clothes while building empires in the sand. Yes the brainwashing has been completed successfully and the new slave masters smile from on high. Disconnect. Disconnect. Disconnect.
Interesting how some men feel that women should sit down, shut up and be quiet when it comes to abuse, bullying, stalking, threats and/or sexual harassment. If it happens to the woman personally or friends of her, she is cautioned to keep quiet because the attacker is of an alabaster hue and she resides in Ebony. Too late. Pillsbury Dough-boy meet the Nubian Ninja.
When I was a kid I heard some Black people say, “If you’re white you’re alright. If you’re Brown stick around. If you’re Black get back!”
That was then. This is now. Those days and that bullshit thinking is over.
But any attempts to silence me will only cause me to cry out louder, talk more, yell, scream, fight and organize against injustice. Never tell a woman who has survived being battered, abused and harassed to hold her peace. I already bear the scars of war so what’s a few more? Yes there should be an expectation of safety in your home, at your workplace, house of worship and school. Not only will I stand up for myself but also for any woman who needs me and requires my assistance. Who taught me to be such a Sassafras? Edward G. Palmer. I am my Father’s Daughter. I am a Soldier. I am a Righteous Warrior of God. I am unafraid. Who took up the Sword in my defense? My Mother Mable Elizabeth Palmer. I am My Mother’s Daughter. Warrior Queen!
You Gotta Keep the devil Way Down in the Hole.
Blind boys of Alabama, way down in the hole
To All my American, Canadian & European friends you still have the opportunity to buy Cecilia’s poetry book and support her efforts to assist people with Autism in Ghana! Please purchase or donate to her cause today! Thank you and God Bless!
The dream of this launch started with a discussion with one of my mothers Yaa Asabea Asihene. She said sure Ceci, publishing is fine and I will help in any way I can. And she stayed true to her words. Although she was not here, she came a few weeks earlier and saw to some of the preparations. Thank you Sexy, you are a blessing.
These two are the remaining mothers. From left, Mrs. Shirley Agowa Banafoe Doku and Dr. Mrs. Nana Ama Pokuah Arthur. They contributed so much and organised the whole programme. Mrs. Doku, who is more than a real mother, personally baked the pies, prepared the drinks, baked the cakes as Dr. Mrs Arthur prepared the sausages and gizzards and made sure the packaging worked fine. I cannot express my thanksgiving enough because these are very accomplished beings and for them to do the…
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