DOWN HOME BLUES

 

Let me set this post off right. Let me set the mood for you real quick by sharing a poem I wrote that will take you back in time. A time when the lives of those around me became the bricks in my foundation. A time when I was too young to know but too old not to know about certain things. What am I talking about??

DOWN HOME BLUES (poem)

I used to watch the way she crossed her legs

when she sat at the table,

gracefully sliding a Virginia Slim

from its home ever so slightly,

caressing the butt of it with her tongue

as if reassuring them of their love affair.

As the jukebox yelled out the moans of Tyrone

Davis, that is...

The brotha at the table in the left corner

is locked in on how her hips are flowing

on the banks of the Mighty Mississippi

Reminiscing about the games he played

many many times before

Looking back once more

to find his baby not in sight

Giving him no sign that would make

her change her mind about last night.

Her chair seductively begs for her return

But the next words from Tyrone made her pause

As they traveled down the shore

of her swampy backwoods that mourned bones

of dead men who stole 

her and her sister's childhoods.

As they slammed against her like tidal waves,

she didn't bat an eye at the tears she forgave

herself for being weak.

Her icy stare is skilled at making men her target

Causing her to forget the love she had

for that brotha in the left corner

whispering his name... 

"mourner" was the nickname she spoke

when he packed his bags to leave.

He thought she would start to cry

Or sit around his room to grieve

But she applauded and agreed

he should leave and plant himself

in the garden of the Eve he betrayed her with.

As she picked up her side piece

to inhale its sweet love,

its smoke became her orgasm

as she heard her king's voice 

making love to her ears.

As B.B. gave her heart the thrill needed

to heal the scar left by his chains,

she wrapped her lips around her lover's hips

to feel its smoke once more.

Her body shivered from the release of the greatest climax.

She jumped up and screamed...

I'm free, free now baby

I'm free from your spell

And now that it's all over

All I can do is wish you well.

                      -Courtney "Lyric" Morton

Now that I have your attention...

Growing up, I loved being around older ones. I was up under my grandmother a lot. Back then, there was such a thing called a front porch. Remember those? Well, one of her friends from the neighborhood would come by to knock on the screened door for her to come out. They would sit on the porch and just have conversations. The way my grandmother would encourage and uplift that sista was very awe-inspiring. Of course, she talked about God because she was a God-fearing woman but it was deeper than that. She talked about womanhood as she stood firmly in hers. She activated that other sista's womanhood by the words she used. These were more than spoken words. These were words she felt on a consistent basis. These were feelings deep within the pits of her soul. She cried with her. She laughed with her and this was medicine for that older sista. So that she could smile and breathe in a small glimpse into freedom in order to stay on the path that lead to it just for one more day. I was so captivated by that. I wanted to be around them all of the time. It felt warm. It felt like home to me. It felt like a warm hug.

Just like when I drink coffee every morning. It's not just the taste I get from it that soothes me, but it is the feeling of that warmth I feel when I wrap my hands around that mug. It feels like the warm softness of the pound cake my grandmother would make every Sunday before church that had my taste buds crying "Amen"...

just like that sista when digesting each sound from my grandmother's lips.

*******************************

Around the age of 9 or 10 ish, my parent's divorced. My dad moved out and he moved into a bustling, energetic neighborhood. There were kids around my age there, as well as some a little older in their teenage years but what fascinated me most were the older folks. These such ones were my dad's age or a little older. So I was in the midst of it all. Back then, they had house parties, right?! So, we would go and have fun at the house of Ms. Mildred who lived down the street. She would always have fish frys and barbeques every other weekend. I used to visit my dad on weekends and every time I was there, she had the party jumping.

If it wasn't Ms. Mildred that weekend, it was one of my dad's friends who owned a record store/club/ or whatever he wanted it to be at that moment. Everyone would congregate there. They would be cracking jokes about each other, laugh with each other, and tell each others' business. This felt nice and I learned a lot. I didn't think I was learning anything then, but I now realize the treasures I was listening to. I realize they were feeding my soul. They didn't acknowledge this. They didn't even remember I was there. It was like I became a part of the atmosphere. As I listened to these treasures they shared with each other, such as "Ah man, you'll be alright!" or "You straight, man! I got your back."

They helped each other to grow. They walked with each other through life. The same life we are all walking through now. So, all of these words spoken by my grandmother, my dad and his friends, were gathered up and I ate them just like my grandmother's pound cake. It was the best meal I have ever had.

So...

That beautiful woman in my poem was one of those friends from that group, who became my friend. I often wondered if she really knew how old I was. I would ask her because she made me feel like I was her equal. Why? Because I spoke to her as if my grandmother was speaking to her. As if my dad's friends were speaking with her. The encouragement...

The love...

It was an interchange of encouragement though. Through her life's story, I learned things. It was an even exchange. I shared with her what I heard because I hadn't experienced life yet. I was young. But I gave her what I was taught and she gave me her acts of experience. She taught me the movements of her walk. She showed me the joys, pains, and tears she wore as the clothing she dressed herself in each day. She taught me what love was. She taught me what true friendship was...what it was supposed to be.

I often think back to those times. At Ms. Mildred's house they would listen and dance to the blues. Songs about heartache, love, and moving on. Songs about "You're gonna accept me as I am or get out of my face" type songs. These songs taught me wisdom. There's nothing like Down Home Blues baby! There's nothing like the B.B. King or Tyrone Davis' of the world. They gave you all they had in their music. The older ones I grew up around gave me all that they had as well. When they felt like they couldn't give me anymore, they gave me music because they wanted me to keep going.

That beautiful woman I spoke of earlier is no longer on this earth. I still feel her. Although I can't speak to her, her words still remain. We are still having our special conversations about everything and nothing at the same time. That nothing means everything to me now. That's what the blues mean to me. It's her. It's them. It's me. That's down home to me. It's a part of my blues. It's a part of my melody...my lyrics. That is what I miss the most and I will always carry them with me forever. So tell me...

What does your blues sound like?!

                     From my heart to yours,

                   Courtney "Lyric" Morton