Copyright ©2016 E Maria Shelton Speller. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Tag Archives: metaphor
One Single Act of Love
I sold a rock opus to the best Black rock band on the planet. A band that lost its capacity to dream. Formulaic guarantees skewed their imagination for platinum discs. The male coward covered their lifework, literally. My story reminded them of what ‘rushing’ felt like, how complete, how deep blushing could be obvious. And they bought it, and produced it. And it was good — it was better than good. It was thought provoking and it was an African-American affirmation of our realities and our fantasies — no matter how unrealistic.
Suddenly, they were very significant and the world truly believed, that rock music is black music and black music is everything. Power is aesthetic. Aesthetics is politics and being black is philosophical and our philosophy is phenomenology and being black, is being real.
No Hip Hop could say as much as this rock opus did, ever — no matter how many stories they sampled. So, this black rock band were crowned kings and were exulted, and revered; incandescent icons, the envy of friends, the consumption of man, the image of immortality — like the stained-glass heaven you summon before you close. And they loved me. I was the wick in their candlestick and without me, there was no burning flame. I was the source of their energy. I, was the unstained virgin encamped.
Sooner than anyone imagined, there was nothing more important, than our collaboration. The media was our medium. They stopped referring to me as a writer, and started calling me, a Love Supreme…..
Copyright 2016 by E Maria Shelton Speller. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
ONE ACT PLAY — SPRINGBOARD’S CURTIN* CALL
CAST RETURNS TO THE STAGE — DANCE CLOSE
If you can, imagine Seven Whole Days on repeat… and you were raised in the city of Boston — where Playhouse in the Park is the only alternative to hot house parties, in Orchard Park or Ruggles Street — and dancing room is a premium for a chilly Bostonian, with a New England attitude.
When four seasons and rapid transit affords you the opportunity to go anywhere at any time, wearing everything a Bostonian can — properly — weather be damned… then you know how much space love demands. In an apartment when body heat is canned and cool, you learn to slow dance in the place you pick with just the space between grace and pressure. Boston, is the only city in America that knows how to have sex on legs. If you think it’s a mere grind — you can’t dance in a vacuum. The only thing a man can do, if he’s not a Bostonian, is let the lady lead when she is a Bostonian, and hope — its a long song.
Copyright 2004, and 2015 by E Maria Shelton Speller (Explode: Epic Poetry ~ Excerpt from (Behind Pushkin’s Coffee House)), and the One Act Play — Springboard! All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
*This is not a curtain.
Queen!
Flagrancy
Draped over flesh folding,
Overlapping, lapping, titties like water
Coursing over plantations
landing on designer gods
She’s the Queen of make believe
dross, lace, and fancies
the strumpet of style and envy
supply and demand
framing references
of fragmentation and icons
the whore of big business
luxury and privilege
Capital Supreme
She gives it to you every time
the same kiss same trade
whispering buy me
while you sit splayed still
eating her conditions
wanting more between
feasts
An electric whore transfixed on fiction
screaming paeans of promises
in fleeting imagery faster than you can think
Candle eyes revealing
nothing and something equally
commercial bitch
coca cola coochie
The queen of white hot dreams and fantasies
Dreaming the business of culture
for recycled cyclical people
in suspended disbelief
Chronos’ eating children again
consuming – regurgitating
the piss Ellison smelled in the hallway
the blood he saw at the top of the stairs
of the worn unfresh and rotted
postmodern prostitute
circumscribing your will to dream
someone you
White voodoo yahoo
looping tricks for
fifteen pimps
Coliseum dreamers
in concert muffle
the scream
Hegemony is a bore!
Capitalism is a whore!
Patriarchy is a sham!
Subjugation is complete!
You can’t dream for me…
Children of the light!
dreaming in strophe
what she dreams
what she thinks
what she wants you to need
what she wants you to buy
when to laugh
cry
what to eat and how often
who to love
hate
how to suffer
on her terms
Dreamers of the light!
dancing for the gods
in collective nothingness
tweaked to think vapid
celebrated center-folds
of flagrancy at your expense
dare to dream
alone in dark energy
Turn off the lights
of the Queen of white hot fantasies
in unsuspended disbelief
Let’s make believe!
The Sirens’ in the room
and you applaud
on your knees
Give props to the Queen
of postmodern dreams
of white white-white hot trips
on Lilly fields designed
for you to dance
for the gods
pimping their dreams of her… and them
on wide screen… for you
~dance
Kill your TV!
Copyright 2004, 2015 by E Maria Shelton Speller. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.