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Excuses

Excuses

A Poem by TTBoy

Excuses steal

 excuses lie

Excuses stick daggers in your eye

Excuses curses

 excuses scream

Excuses shatter a young girl’s dream

Excuses cheat

 excuses grow old

Excuses become the greatest story ever told

Excuses believe

 excuses deny

Excuses make a grown man cry

Excuses are

 Excuses  are not

Excuses are used when they forgot

Excuses me

 excuses you

Excuses are why they can’t do

Excuses love

 excuses hate

Excuses can even put food on a plate

© 2010 TTBoy

A most convenient time for “Racism”

Amazing, how a congressional opponent can outright lie about his involvement in the posting of a racial slur used to hurt not only his opponent, but the President of the United States!

Wichita, Kansas’ 4th Congressional District – GOP, Mike Pompeo – apparently apologized to his Democratic opponent, Raj Goyle, for a member of Pompeo’s staff accidentally posting a link on Twitter and Facebook defaming muslims and referring to President Obama as an “evil muslim communist USURPER.” 

Mike Pompeo said later, “I am convinced there was no malice in his actions..” referring to the staffer who shrunk the link in order for it to fit on the Twitter and Facebook page.  Of course, Raj Goyle would accept the apology.  That’s just something one does to save face.  However, this had to have been intentional.  Just the mere fact of the link needing to be shrunk for it to fit on Twitter and Facebook proves that.  In an effort to appear disapproving of the staffer’s behavior, candidate Pompeo stated that he, “spent a great deal of time visiting with the staff person who inadvertently posted the link.”  What?!  I wonder what the outcome was.  Once something like this has been posted for all the world to see, it’s a done deal.  And to use the term or word, “turban” when referring to your muslim opponent is pathetic.  But, that is what republicans are doing these days.  Or, I should have said, everyday.  Just look at what former Vice President Dan Quayle’s son said just a couple of days ago.  Ben Quayle, another congressional candidate, has called President Obama, “Worst President in history,” in an ad that he has presented to Arizona voters.  The candidate also incites violence by wanting to “knock the hell” out of Washington.  By stating all of this, does Quayle not realize that Obama inherited  “a weakened country?” 

Again, it is frustrating that fire should not be fought with fire.  But how long will this continue to happen?  Just look at Bobby Jindal, Governor of Louisiana.  It seems that Jindal could not sleep at night for wanting to express his disgust for the way President Obama was handling the BP Oil catastrophe.  Yet, another Republican wanting to be heard. 

People of America, you can’t just say that you don’t see a problem or just not choose to talk about it.  If you don’t talk about it, nothing gets done.  We know it’s going on, but we are choosing to believe that it’ll all be over soon.  Really?  Will it be? 

It makes me wonder what the tone of the world would be had McCain and Palin won.  With foreclosures and jobless rates aiding in the destruction of America, what could they have done any better than what the Republicans are allowing President Obama to do?  No one wants to admit that what caused our country to become morally and financially bankrupt is the Iraqi, and now, Afghanistan war.  How can someone be the worst at something when there was already no hope to begin with?  Will this President ever get a break?  Or, is President Obama’s presidency likened to Bush’s win over Al Gore?  This seems like a good time for a convenient truth.   Did the BP Oil spill have to happen at this time? 

I just wish that the President can have a few days of relaxation, in peace.  Remember, he didn’t cause any of this stuff that is going on today.  And I can’t see how he’s adding to it getting any worse.  But there is at least one group out there that wants not only the American public to believe different, they want the world to believe it.  And, they want everyone to think this most likely because of the color of his skin.

And that’s a shame!

And then he spoke:

“On the day the Ghetto Died

Malcolm X bowed his head

While Martin Luther King stood and cried

On the day the Ghetto Died

some say and sang a hymn

Others just sat and lied

Lied about what the white man did for them

On the day the Ghetto Died

Little babies ran through streets

While their mothers bowed their heads and cried

to see their children with shoes on their feets

On the day the Ghetto Died

The Bible was opened even wider

to thank the Lord for a bond to be tied

And to pray for it to be tighter

In front of the steeple

I sat and felt a drop of rain

I looked up despite the people

And saw Jesus rejoicing over his pain

The pain must have been great

For it came down like a herd of angry men

but then it stopped

And I saw the sky smile again

‘Twas the Day the Ghetto Died

All the great heroes rose from the dead

to spread the knowledge they once had to hide

to the souls whose hearts now bled

They walked in hundreds of thousands

Wearing potato sacks

and chains and ropes

I can say this – for I was there

and in unison they sang the most beautiful hymn

It was one I never got to write

Because I could only listen in solemnity

It was a song that made me frown

–   one that gave me back my dignity

The tone sounded like it came

From the chain gang

But I couldn’t be sure if it was of

rejoice or pain

I walked around my beautiful home and cried

I looked and saw that I had everything money could buy

Then realized how little I had

but my ancestors had much pride”

     There was silence.  It was as if the moon was in sync with the sun.  There was no clamor; there were no racial slurs dispersed from all the “I ams” in the audience.  Until Gisele stood, and with a head full of shower water, she clapped as if she had just received a new set of palms and couldn’t wait to try them out.  Gisele Fortune was her name.  And this is her story as well as his.

     She wore black.  A black dress, black shoes, black stockings, black earrings.  The only thing black she couldn’t wear was the color of her skin.  But, to him, everything and everybody was as dark as he was as he stood behind the podium and accepted their so-called love and appreciation.  Nothing changed.  Nothing except somebody had finally noticed him, no matter how simple he was.

     He found himself back in his early school days.  It was a small southern school located in Talladega, Floriday.  He never did have confidence in his speec, at least, so he felt.  Mr. Belvin, the Art Teacher at his school, saw him mumbling to himself one day while sitting in class.  Since he had put everyone to work, Mr. Belvin slyly manuevered his way over to him.  Belvin knew if he wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t catch him.  Then, he caught him.  Belvin snatched the paper out of his hand and read it.  He began to cry, but by the time he really did, Belvin had finished reading and was staring at him in amazement.  Luckily, the bell rang for the students to pass on.  While the class was preparing to leave, Belvin asked him to stay.  Reluctantly, he agreed.  Belvin, once the class was clear, told him how good the writing was and how he should pursue his writing if he was serious about it.  He had never had someone to tell him his writing was good.  His mother would get upset whenever she read anything and demand that he didn’t write anything like that again.  He never thought his writing was any good anyway.  He had heard how political and outspoken Belvin was about equal rights, racism, politics, the works, but still he wasn’t sure he could trust Belvin.  Belvin was the type to take words from your mouth and use them as his own.  He would use anybody to get noticed, and once he was, he would destroy any credibility left in them.  After many praisings, he gave in and offered to show Belvin other works.  Belvin told him he would help in any way he could.

     When he left the Art Room, Gisele was leaning on one of the hall lockers as if she was waiting for someone.  Her pale, even-toned skin blended in well with the hallway.  Her hair made her stand out like a sore thumb.  Well, although surprised, he greeted Gisele with sincerity.  She knew he had been writing.  Often, she would overhear him mumbling to himself and would even look over his shoulder to read some.

     Now, even though the schoolwas integrated, it was still segregated.  In their case, it was the idle rich mingling with the positively destitute.  The two had lunch after the next two classes and Gisele wasn’t at all ashamed to be seen with him.  Gisele’s girlfriends would pass by the table and would often give a little suck of the teeth.  But Gisele didn’t care.

     For two years, now in their junior year, the cafeteria romance would continue without Gisele ever offering to have him meet her parents.  Fulfillment was his spending lunch with her.  There were rumors that Belvin was going to give a major speech on the conditions and goings-on of the school.  People were beginning to assemble into the auditorium after lunch.  Everybody except them.  He thought he may not have heard the announcement, until he saw who was attending the function majorly.  None of his friends were assembling.  They were just as surprised as he was.  Belvin had been his friend now, his confidant, for two years.  Belvin had finally got him on the list for a poetry reading contest.  The contest was in two days and a lot of practice had gone into the reading.  Both Belvin and Gisele saw to it that he read his poetry with all the feeling that went into writing it.  There was what some would consider confusion in the auditorium.  Although he knew he wasn’t allowed in, Gisele took him by the hand and pulled him in.  They sat in the very back.  Why start any more calamity by making a bright entrance?  Suddenly, the lights flickered.  The ambiance was so well distorted until if there was hatred, you couldn’t tell.  Then, Belvin took to the stage and flowed with assureness to the podium.  The shit hit the fan!  His eyes lit up as if he had seen an angel.  From the back to the very front row of the auditorium, boos and hisses were thrown at the speaker.  Belvin calmed the chants with an introduction of the new school administrator, Father Skolnick.  The Father was greeted with a standing ovation as he stepped in front of Belvin.  Once Father Skolnick delivered his acceptance speech, he asked the audience to give a warm round of applause to Mr. Belvin.  The hisses dropped considerably.  Then, Belvin spoke:

“instant compassion

without screams

sees

from below

            The Crazy Horse

the hoofs trample

on the hoofs that

made it

            The Crazy Horse

sorry is this

lone hoof

who holds one clump

of civilizations

in its hoofs

The Crazy Horse

is not crazy

only mad

four civilizations moving

spreading apart

the weakest part of

time

The Mad Horse is so

for the four hoofs that

won’t unite and let

the Crazy Horse stand tall

only hung”

     There was indeed a God.  Spoken with perfection, he knew he had met his savior.  There was silence.  Then, someone shouted from the audience, “Who the fuck do you think you are, asshole?  We don’t wanna hear that shit!  Go home!”  Just as Father Skolnick stood to stop the commotion, a gunshot that could have been heard down in Apopka rang through the auditorium.  But there weren’t any, “Oh my God’s!” or “He’s been shot!”  Not even from Father Skolnick.

     It took all of forty minutes to clear Belvin’s body from the stage.  All those snickering faces looking down at him as they carried him out on the stretcher turned into sheer laughing hyenas.  There was even some doubt to Gisele’s sincere expression to him of her sorrow.  He was surrounded.  Like a hair on a white plain, he was noticed.  Out of fear and disgust, he ran.  He ran as though he was being chased.  He had no thought of life.  But Gisele ran alongside of him anyway.

  *          *          *           *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

     When the audience took their seats, after what seemed to be a well-rehearsed standing ovation, he wiped the tears from his face and also the doubts he had about Gisele.  Confidently, he spoke again:

“The Community marked

August 28 on their calendars

Never did like

The year

More Tiring for

John K

More Trying for

John K

Perfect for

K. KK

The community marked

August 28 on their calendars

He said

he would return

His convertible said He had

August 28 burned right

Through the calendar

The sheets burned the face of

K. KK

Never did like

The Year

More Tiring for

John K

More Trying for

John K

Now He’s waving again

Perfect for

K. KK

The Heatwave

Shed clothes

Not

K. KK

John K

had no need for them

Perfect for

K. KK

Along with the Heatwave

went the Convertible

went John K

When K.  KK

took off the sheet

The community saw John K again

He said He

would return

But John K

would never wear that tie

that suit

The calendar

Burned

And Burned

And Burned

And exploded like gun

Powder

Again

But He’ll return

He has to

He’ll return

His convertible is humming

The community is waiting”

     When he finished, there was silence.  The sheets from the platform were drawn, but before they could come together, a bullet blew the microphone off the podium and blew a hole in him.  The crowd shouted, shrieked.  Gisele rushed to the stage, and with tears in her eyes, she lifted his head.  Looking out into the audience, he thought he recognized a few faces.  But, the crowd’s silence faded into snickering and applauding.  He said his last prayer and rested his eyes. 

     The event they had once experienced, they now lived.  For a second or two, one could have sworn she mentioned Belvin’s name.  But, who knows?  Afterall, Miss Fortune experienced segregation with him and, worst of all, she never did invite him into her home.  If no one else bid their farewell, it was Miss Fortune to kiss him on the lips to say, “I love you.”

© 2010 TTBoy

I hope history never repeats itself

I hope history never repeats itself

A Poem by TTBoy

I got a great education in the ’80s

With the likes of Bronski Beat and Dead or Alive

it was a great time to be alive

Madonna made everyone take a Holiday

and cross the Borderline

and it was such a great time to be alive

I had gorgeous teachers

I mean, professors

who wanted to take me on a Magic Carpet Ride

that would then have me doing the Electric Slide

I tried a few of the dances

but they weren’t for me

I got nailed by one on a Manic Monday

I can’t believe I can still hear The Bangles

even to this day

Like I said,

I got a great education in the ’80s

And by the time I heard Prince

sing about the Sign ‘O The Times

so many of those I had grown close to

had succumbed to that “big disease with a little name”

that had an incubation period of seven years

or so they said

And I hid

remembering the joy of Smalltown Boy and

Brand New Lover while Robert Smith got Close to Me

and became my Cure

Shame

I can’t even locate any of my educators on Facebook

If they pulled out when I did

they should still be around

The groups I relished back then

are now in history

I hope that the bathroom stalls aren’t just

painted over

Today

it takes people longer to fade into obscurity

The education I got

is priceless

But I do take a Holiday

every chance I get

© 2010 TTBoy

Hello world!

Hello, everyone! 

     I am TTBoy and very new to this scene.  Although I am not the famed porn star, I am a writer who has writer some explicit pieces in Writerscafe.org.  Please feel free to check me out there!

     You can also reach me on Twitter (TTBoy28)