A Black Woman Speaks

In my African American Theatre class, we were fortunate enough to read Beah Richard's play, "A Black Woman Speaks." I thought it was powerful on paper, but watching it performed is devastating, and beautiful, and deserves to be shared with the world.



We live in a difficult and wonderful time in history, and I think it's important that activists and artists like Beah Richards are recognized, and their messages listened to.



I am, like Richards was, an artist and activist

I am, like Richards was, a woman. I will stand with all women, and I will fight for human equality.

New Poem: Tulip

Tulip

The tulip glistens

With morning dew

Its soft petals are flush

With rosy hue

It bends its neck

It feels your soft caress

It hears the secret wishes

You confess.

It does not know

What those fingers need

Or if your eyes

Are filled with greed

Or if your mother’s wisdom

Will bear fruit

Or if you’ll pull its stem

And tear its roots.

In you it plants

Hope of sunny days

Of cleansing, fortifying

Water sprays.

Will you give it a life,

A promise, a pledge?

Or have its juices

Stain your scissor edge.

The tulip glistens

With morning dew

It doesn’t know

What you will do


This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author

A Weekend at Hogwarts

So for those of you who aren't familiar with the magical little town of Staunton, Virginia, I am about to learn you a thing.

First off, every second week of September is officially "Queen City Magic and Mayhem" weekend, where the entire downtown area becomes freaking HOGSMEAD FROM HARRY POTTER, along with a few other locations/made-up places based loosely on J.K. Rowling's Potter universe.

This is the town I live in. It's pretty awesome.

Because of the kind of person I am, I knew I would probably enjoy the event the most if I could volunteer at it. Luckily a local fiber shop was turning itself into "Hagrid's Hut" and was in need of some tour guides.

We were encouraged to dress up. I didn't need encouragement tbh

I made a character for myself named Margot (a Beauxbatons alumn). The older gentleman who co-owned the fiber shop kept forgetting my name and eventually began introducing me as "Lady Morgan, Lady of the Lake" so I just went with it (even though Morgan Le Fay and the fairy who gave King Arthur Excalibur which he seemed to be referencing are very different entities... aren't they? Does he know something I don't know? Does he know something he doesn't know? Do any of you know?)

The shop was absolutely beautiful, and the owners had created a "life size" paper dragon which they hand painted with reflective paint and bathed in UV light for an appropriately magical glow. He was a rakish fellow who managed to freak out more than a few small children. My kind of man.

large scaly boi, breathy fire boi, my good green boi

I did manage to steal some time and walk around town, of course. There were a LOT of people who attended (roughly 20,000 in a town whose population is only 24,416 according to Google) and it was kind of overwhelming, but the decorations and cosplays were on point.

There was even a 3D sidewalk chalk artist who made this in the middle of Beverly St.

There was a lot more that I didn't get pictures of but rest assured, it was such a fun and CRAZY weekend. It was like Halloween in September and even with the overwhelming crowds, I loved it and it went by much too quickly. Ya girl has to return to the muggle world now.

New Poem: Ballad of Bilquis

This post is slightly NSFW, even though I wrote it while at work *coughs awkwardly*

Ballad of Bilquis

In a nicotine stained bar room

On the corner next to the shop

With one-room flats rented up top

He waits, overstuffed, in the gloom;

That ragged wolf with eyes that shine,

That through urban prairies will creep

In search of some innocent sheep

To lure his way, to mark her fine

White wool with his sharp yellow teeth

And watch the light dim from her eye

And hear her desperate dying cry,

That wolf is now waiting for me.

And I meet his gaze with blushes

And I bare him my supple chest

He can imagine well the rest;

A Syrinx among the rushes.

And I give him a cherry smile

For the rank words slathered on me

And I will pout and I will tease

For every voracious and vile

Touch from his groping, greedy hands.

On the stairs we hurry up

I promise he may drink my cup

And rape and pillage all my lands

I promise to suck and to kiss

If he would please lie on this bed

And wrap my arms around his head.

He arches back in total bliss

Unaware of my eager blade

Till it buries beneath his skin.

Joyfully the blood may begin

To run, and his sick glimmer fade

But not before he sees his doom,

The face of all those he defiled

Bright with vengeance, flush and wild

The once consumed that now consumes.


This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author

New Poem: "Underage Drinking"

A new poem for class (first draft, just like the last one)

Underage Drinking

At twelve I had my first taste

A bottle of Jack in leather

With hair like honey bourbon

It bit and stung but still I drank it up

I was hot blood, head dizzy,

An alcoholic animal

Fighting blindly

For a taste of forbidden fruit on the tongue.

At fifteen I thought was ready

To hold spiced rum

Warm in my heart

To sing songs to Bacchus and Smirnoff

With lips like liqueur

Spilling over my glass

I gorged on the taste

Of bitters dulled in rich fruit flavors

At four I tripped in the morning mist

Alone, groping for home

Mouth open to find

The last dregs in my cup all drunk up

A churning, fermented ocean

Rising in my belly

The sweet turning sour

And drunken memories wretched up on the floor



This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author

Home at Last

Staunton, Virginia has become such a home to me over the past three years. It's beautiful, and mountainous, and full of creative people. It is also the first place I have established myself independent from anyone else. My sheets are on the bed, my rugs are on the floor, my knives and spoons and forks are in the drawer, etc.
It's funny how mesmerized I get by the idea of my own independence, the physical manifestations of it that I see every day. It's also ironic, because obviously I'm not here living completely independent from everything else! I have such an amazing support group at college which I don't know if I will ever be able to find again. I have friends who will pick me up when my car breaks down (Emily saved my butt that night), or buy me a cup of tea (too many of you to count), or give me granola bars and cookies when I'm running low on breakfast food (thanks Layla!)

But I think that's how life should be: A healthy mix of looking after one another and being looked after.

- Liss