Tag Archive | movie


I could not remember if I posted “H” for the A-Z Challenge.

I took a peek at my blog and sure enough, no “H” post.

But, right in front of me, on my page, the word “Home.”

Thank you, blog muse!

I love the movie “Michael.”

It’s about an angel, a fallen angel.


An angel falls from heaven down to earth (or maybe it was a vacation away from the celestial clouds).

Anyway, the angel comes to earth and is on his way to being outed by a tabloid journalist.

The search for news turns into a rescue mission for Michael, to get him to Chicago before he “dies.”

It also turns out to be a rescue mission for the journalist and others who are thrown together for the journey and have a few issues of their own.

When the reporter and others connect with Michael, they are little perplexed by this angel’s idiosyncrasies and are pulled in the consequences of his earthly shenanigans.

From my perspective, it is a funny, fun filled, compassionate cinematic treatise.

What does “Michael” have to do with my blog topic “Home?”

A song on the soundtrack is a song sung by Bonnie Raitt. Every time I hear it, I am called back to small town Texas where I spent my youth.

It’s really a lovely love song, but the chorus feels like home to me.

The song makes me want to go back home to those days of barefoot youth on a hot summer day.

Yeah, every time I hear it, it feels like home to me.






I usually have at least one opinion about Black History Month, mostly based on my personal history and experience. I always made it a point to discuss this February phenomenon when I was a talk show host on RMG radio.

While going through some old papers, I discovered a poem I created from the thoughts I scribbled in a dark theater as I watched Tyler Perry’s movie adaptation of Ntozake Shange’s play, “for colored girls who have considered suicide /  when the rainbow is enuf.”

I remember the uproar that surrounded Ms. Shange’s work when it first came out. The movie, from my perspective, brought the same intensity to the movie screen. This poem was my attempt to capture my raw visceral response, the emotions raised as I watched the story line unfold.

This is one of my Black History moments.


I do not know

what to expect

I walk into the theater

sit down



for what?

I know of the play


Ms. Ntozake Shange

its playwright

I remember the turmoil

that swirled around her

around the work

of her hands

and heart

back then

my generation’s un-uttered angst

written in plain view in black and white

I do not know

what to expect

when I go in

and take my seat

when I leave

I wonder

what do I do with


make of

these emotions

put on blast?

the movie unwraps itself

and the stories

of the women

begin to wrap around each other

I hurriedly write

snatches of lines

thoughts that rush me

I write

in darkness

out of the darkness

illuminated only by revelation

this community called woman

must pay attention

to each other’s


“A deliberate coquette”

the line startles me

though it is strangely beautifully lyrical

a deliberate coquette

in street language

“I choose to be a whore!”

what pain can drive

a soul to self-inflicted despair

Promiscuity on Purpose


what am I do to

with that woman who has yet

to identify her

deliberate coquettish-ness


as she recoils at the thought

“another anonymous lay?”

“Raped by Invitation”

an oxymoron spoken

by a wounded soul who wraps

herself in a shroud


silent despair

rather than reveal her wounds


she laughed and smiled and sat down and dined and dared

to invite a stranger-friend

into her sanctuary

because she trusted the message


he violated



My fellow theater voyeurs


in the wrong places

I think

mostly women

they laugh


inexplicable scenes





bitter tears

too often

greeted with




how many women laugh


in the dark

because of unspoken connections

to the object

of that laughter?

The desperate girl child

seeks the back alley abortion


the naive excitement

of a back seat sexual encounter

vanquished by desperation

unwanted life planted in her

that which her broken


possessed mother


“that growing inside you is sin”

so many stories tangled together

even as we women believe

we walk a solitary path


if we would just look up

we would discover

we are surrounded

by sisters

whose stories

mirror our own

“how are we still alive?”




hiding our scars

lest someone ask

“how did that happen?”

separate lives

connect through pain

connections forged

in the conflagration of life

connections that link us

to the next heart

that beats in sync

to the inequity

called LIFE

it is the pain

that makes us one

in the healing.