Women Weathering the Storms

Posted on July 24, 2016

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Zeba Blay – writer

Black Women did not ask to be the single parent head of the house but they can be if they must. We must realize that they were not made from the dirt as man was but from his rib, not from his ass. Mature Black women have realized that they will be that they must be. It is not their fault most of the time that Man won’t set the bar high enough to conquer the opticals that confronts him; even if it is he himself. Not that all need assistance in living this life, the challenge is to be that special someone that will be an encourging worrior that will blaze a trail or prove that we can overcome as a people the bonds that bind us. It takes most often worrior patiance to wait for that someone that is ment to be our “saving help” (http://www.womeninthescriptures.com/2010/11/real-meaning-of-term-help-meet.html). This concept is not as negative as so many men and women treat it but then there was Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman by Michele Wallace , “Originally published in 1978, Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman caused a storm of controversy. Michele Wallace blasted the masculine biases of the black politics that emerged from the sixties. She described how women remained marginalized by the patriarchal culture of Black Power, demonstrating the ways in which a genuine female subjectivity was blocked by the traditional myths of black womanhood“. (Ebook ISBN: 9781781688236, Read on any device, June 2015 $9.99). It was never the Black Woman’s only job to produce babies. If you check our cultural history, there was a time and a place when and where the Woman would build the family house and helped to bring in the crop but when we men were nowhere to be found, she did and still does it all without us. She desives more respect than we give her.

It does appear that We Black Men and Women fail to reason that we were created to be one in pairs and able to reproduce propetuating the Black race. Not just procreate but teach and train our offspring to imitate and imulate our best attributes. But this accomplishent will earns them distain from Women that feel that they can not do as well or better and Men that view them as only another country to concur or doubt that they themselves are worthy of their assistance. After all is said or feared, I end this article with a tribute to the two women who’s pictures began this prose: Serena Williams and Zeba Blay for their multiple accomplishments. Two women that I would be honored to have stand, fight or play by my side any day:

I am a Black Man

I was born of a dirt-brown woman; I cry tears of blood,
My veins run wet with sweat. I am a Black Man-

I was raised in the shows of despair Nurtured by the sting of the scourge Though my muscles ache by
day And my phallus throbs by night,
My mind continues to reel and rock As my freedom I try to plot
I am a Black Man-

I cut my teeth on lead-based paint And skinned my knee on racial hate, I am a Black Man;
Torn from my native soil
Used like pools of unnatural oil Refined, confined, derided by men. I am a Black Man
And I feel so all alone!

I was a slave-
An infinite entity in durance vile,
In search of freedom I thought I had found. I’ve looked around to find few of my Fellow conned
victims present, why?
The way out was not so hard to find—
And to my dismay, my Black Woman is not here. So she to, is unable to break the chains
That bind her!
Indeed, I feel so all alone;
Now that I’m free, how free, am I When she is not.

I am a Black Man.
Though I have overcome my fate
Where oh Mother of Africa is my Amazonian mate? Strong and serene to fight by my side;
Both refusing to die.
We must overcome our hate by perpetuating its fate. We complete each other.
So come Black Woman Let us lead the way
We are the essence of the whole Black Race Destined to be, are we-

Though my muscles bulge an my spirit soars, I am incomplete without my Black Mate
For that I am not, she is
The tender creature I’ve forgotten how to be And in my war torn mind
She is my comforting peace. Though we grow weary of the test We strive on for the battle rages on.
Oh! Brown skinned beauty Reminder of my native pride
Of which to will they try to deny… But it shall never die
For I am a Black Man; With my Black Woman

WE ARE THE BLACK MAN

By
Sammie Carter
Copyright 8\15\70

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