Poetry Project, v. 11.0, days 22-23

OK, so it's time to begin looking at a new part of healing.  Healing the world in which we live.  I know, it's crazy.  How can a poem heal the world?  It's the question we've been asking all month here, and maybe we're closer to the answer, maybe not.  My goal isn't to supply an answer here, only to help supply questions, and maybe, from there, we can make some progress.  Maybe.  That would be awesome.

So, when thinking about the world's problems, we have to consider all of them: economics, cultural suppression, sexism, racism, warlords who keep their nations in poverty - the problems are many, and they are severe.  We are privileged, here, in that we can choose to avoid some of these issues, if we so desire.  That is really the nature of privilege: we can look away from the things we don't wish to see, and look towards something else.  I am privileged, in that I can sit here and write words rather than live in those conditions.  That is really the crux of it: being able to look past our own concerns, to understand and help heal the wounds of this world.  Can we succeed?  I hope so.  But I know if we don't at least try, then we don't have much hope that things can get better.

Day 22: 

elevator

three people,

strangers,

hailing from different lands,

all here for the same thing:
a chance at something better,

something whole,

a job.

one is smarter by far,

one has a better smile,

and one looks like the boss,

he'll get the job,

and all of them know it.

it helps that he's from the same fraternity.

and his career

puts two others on hold.

he didn't make the system.

but we all make systems to benefit our goals,

our loved ones,

and make life better for them,

forget everyone else.

achieve the goal.

who cares what happens to everyone else?

except,

we're supposed to care,

and be better.

Day 23:

I had an experience a couple of years ago, where I got to stand on the top of a mountain, a national observatory.  Looking across the valleys below, knowing how close i was to the border, it made me consider the land, and what the folk crossing the border were willing to do to get to a better life.  It's a truly inhospitable place.  How bad must it be if this was what they were willing to do for a chance at something better?

kitt peak

desolate,

barren,

the land of opportunity for some,

and all i can see is the harshness,

the hardness of the land.

our views are so different.

all i can see is the sand and the stone,

light scrub brush

against the reddish dust.

there is nothing there.

and only a few miles away, 

someone is trying to get here,

to this,

because right now,

this is all their hopes and dreams dare to believe is possible.

We all have hopes and dreams.  When you realize that one person's dreams are another's nightmares, it changes your perspective on things.  I still do not know what it means to have those kinds of dreams.  Mine are different.  But I can only imagine how bad it must be elsewhere to make the barren desert seem like a good thing.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 11.0, Day 21

 Oh yikes, lots to make up.  It seems this happens every year, somehow, and I get caught at the last little bit trying very hard to finish up and get them all done.  It's not easy, this challenge thing.  Most of it - it's that I generally do not write every day anyway, let alone poetry.  And, of course, there's my style of poetry - it rarely rhymes, has meter, etc - mostly free-flowing stuff.  well, it's easy to get behind.  So let's pick up where we left off, the last day of poetry as healing a nation.

This one....this one is a little different.  It's not about the stuff we do, the challenges we face.  This one is about the things we don't do.  It's about the time when we look the other direction, when we don't say what needs to be said.  The pain we cause by NOT doing what we know is right.

the unspoken moment

i watched it happen,

it didn't hurt,

it didn't mean anything,

but the kids down the street

were fighting, pulling hair,

cussing and screaming,

and i did nothing,

because they were not mine,

they had nothing to do with me.

that was the first time.

the second was worse,

and i said the same thing.

Not mine.

someone else's issue and problem.

then they started getting worse,

tagging buildings,

cars, until it no longer felt safe.

i moved away,

to a neighborhood where

i didn't have to worry.

it wasn't my fault.

not my problem.

the lawns were manicured,

the houses, nice,

the streets, safe.

and all was good.

my life was fixed,

and i never wondered what happened

in the lonely city street,

until i heard it on the news, 

recognized the names as some i'd heard shouted,

and i wondered,

what would have happened 

if i said something instead.

How many lives would have been changed?

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 11.0, Day 19-20

     Why this theme?  I am certain that if there were enough people paying attention to this project this year, they are probably asking this question.  Why try this?  Poetry is supposed to be about greener pastures, hope and beauty and all those other things.  It's not supposed to be about unfairness, racism, the lack of human kindness, and all those other things.  If I am trying to write about healing, why write about the problems we face, rather than the good things to celebrate?

The answer is simple: people in pain don't have much to celebrate.  I'm not talking about me, personally.  I'm talking about the facade that we, as humans, are really great at putting up to avoid talking about things that are not comfortable to talk about.  We are really good at at.  So good, in fact, that we have entire industries devoted to escapism.  That's fine - I like escapism, too.  It's fun.  BUT, that doesn't mean that there aren't a lot of folks suffering - our friends and neighbors, our fellow countrymen.  We help heal the country by facing our problems - REALLY facing them - and having MEANINGFUL discussion about those problems.  Not facebook arguments, not spewing what your favorite media source told you - really encountering our problems.  Facing them head-on.  

     That is why I chose this theme. 

Day 19:

being right

my church says this,

my news says that,

and if everyone just does it that way, 

we will be fine.

everything is fine

if it's my way,

my thinking,

the way i live my life.

because it works for me, it must work for everyone,

and that's all that matters,

it means i'm right,

again,

and that is all that matters,

not you,

your values,

your needs,

your health,

your family,

your job,

or our community.

just as long as i am right.

We all know people like this.  At times, I know I have been this person - and I wager we have all been this person from time to time.  It's called being human - it's ok.  Well, it's ok as long as we recognize it when it happens, and take some corrective measures.  It's when we refuse to recognize it that it causes problems, and keeps the issues we currently face in this country from healing.

Day 20:

OK.  It's 4/20.  Many folks will get a chuckle out of this, because of the association with hemp.  Well.....let's look into that....after all, there's a great deal of research that says it can heal a lot of things.....

propaganda

war on this,

that,

people,

medicines,

convincing a generation  to buy into

thinking.

a legal brainwash of millions

so that a few people can make money,

and those whos lives

could be improved - 

hung in the balance.

and they kept at it - 

telling a next generation it was a

gateway to bad things.

it's one thing when it's applied to a medicine,

a drug -

but when it's to people,

brown, black, yellow, red -

it gets worse,

systemic,

and we start hearing phrases like 

"they're like this..."

and the propaganda machine grins 

at its own success.

Well, that's all for today, my friends.  Tomorrow marks the last day get to deal with healing a nation....we move on to the world from there!!!  Wow - this is getting a bit difficult, isn't it?  Yeah, this stuff gets harder to hear, and harder to write about, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't do the hard work, right??  As always,

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 11.0 days 17-18

 I was hoping to get back and write another entry yesterday, get back on track so-to-speak, but alas, that did not happen.  So, here we are again, looking at ways to heal one's country with words.  It got me thinking of when we've seen this happen - or, at least, as close as it can come in human history - and really, there are only a few that stand out in recent memory.  Among them, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, and Mahatma Ghandi - men who proved the power of purposefully healing with words, rather than through force.  We need to follow their example, stay away from violence, and use words to heal.

Day 17:

just a street corner

they say it like it doesn't matter,

on the 11 o'clock news,

on this corner in this neighborhood,

a scene unfolded,

a man was shot,

killed,

but they don't know anything,

until tomorrow,

when it will be too late.

my brother,

my friend,

my nephew,

my father,

my son,

will already be gone.

they look for someone to blame,

anyone,

as long as they fit a description,

they don't care 

about the story,

the reason why,

they don't wanna know

unless it sells a paper or creates another viewer.

but it's still just a street corner

to them.

to me, it's where my life went from rough

to hell.

Day 18:

a quarter mile of hazelwood

a quarter mile.

all that exists of my street from my house to the main road,

there's sort-of new construction across from me,

but even that is starting to show its 25 years.

nothing else is new.

there are vacant lots where houses once stood,

memories now only witnessed by

the vacant concrete steps left in the wall -

steps leading to nowhere.

condemned buildings can be found,

between the houses where a few old people

still try to hang on.

this is their life - they know nothing else.

i met the brother of the man across the street -

they grew up here,

and he could name the families that lived in each house,

names that hold nothing for me,

not even a scratch in concrete to prove they were here.

the city came and took down one house, about a year ago,

we haven't seen them since.

sometimes they might show up to sweep the street in the summer,

in the winter we're lucky if we ever see a plow.

the firemen like it here - 

it's narrow and tight,

and they practice seeing if they can make the tight turns here.

but the people here - they're good folk.

and they have stories that should be told.

I realize that maybe that last one belongs in the neighborhood week, but I think it's bigger than that.  Every city, everywhere, has a street like mine.  Maybe we know where that street is, and maybe we don't.  but I wonder if we owe it to ourselves to find that street, if we don't know where it is.  And if we DO know, do we know who lives there?  Do we make the effort?  Or do we shut out those stories?  

Thanks for reading,

Me

Poetry Project, V. 11.0, days 15-16

 Oh boy - looks like a couple more days of two-fers.  Well, at least there is a bonus in that it's a new week, so we get to look at a new theme!!  Healing one's country.  Even harder then a neighborhood - there are a lot more concerns, and it takes something different, especially from poetry.  For poetry to work on a national level, it has to capture the imagination of a lot of people simultaneously.  Take a look at some of our past inaugurations, featuring the likes of Maya Angelou and Amanda Gorman.  They were on a big stage, able to access lots of people.  Poetry's biggest stage has been music, so maybe there is something to that.  Can music heal a nation??  I think it could.  And if music can, then poetry can't be that far behind.  So let's get started on this week's journey, yes??

Amanda Gorman wrote (and spoke) about this hill we climb.  I don't want to do that, because well, that would be stealing her thunder, and that's not ok.  But her words are inspiring and uplifting - and that's a good thing, a needed thing.  We need that, as a country.  We also need people to be brave enough to talk about the good parts of this country....and the bad parts, too.  To call it like it is.  

Day 15:

The System

you can't change the system

from the outside,

only from within,

but once you're in,

it takes a hold of you,

sets you on a path,

takes over,

becomes the goal,

a self-feeding machine,

man-made,

self-destructive to the very people it was intended to help,

until the goal no longer matches the image,

it exists to feed itself.

good teachers,

good cops,

good people in office,

trying hard to make the changes, but it's too big for them,

it's already trying to swallow their drive,

their passion,

their energy,

and when the system is done with them,

it spits them out the other side,

gnarled and twisted,

hopes faded and dreams gone,

a life that feels wasted and barren.

it goes on and on for years,

generations,

part of the system,

part of the problem.

Day 16:

and then, silence

a sunny Tuesday morning 

in the city,

the spark,

waiting for fuel to light,

a 20-year flame kept strong

even though most of us have forgotten why.

riding the anger until it subsides,

and we get caught in a new cycle of being,

and then, silence.

we forget why, move on,

get back to our lives, 

looking past a brief unity,

not seeing that in the silence lies a truth

that we don't want to look at.

We only care when it matters to us,

personally,

and we shout in anger at the momentary things,

but not the normal things,

the things that hurt us every day,

that shred our lives.

the things that live in the silence.

Well, that's it for now.  I will try and log on later to get to today's actual poem, but for now, this will have to do.  As always,

Thanks for reading,

Me.

Poetry Project, V. 11.0, days 13-14

 Easy come, easy go.....yup, that is how it's been this week.  Oy.  I really don't know if that means I suck at this challenge of mine, or if things are just that odd right now, but there it is.  OK, so today represents the last two days' worth of writing about healing neighborhoods.

Frankly, it seems like we have a long way to go.  This week, there's been an (allegedly) accidental shooting in Minnesota, and a few others around this country.  I just don't understand it.  No....actually, I do understand it.  All too well.  

Day 13:

Lessons from home

a small town, a good town,

a town unknown,

where everybody's business was seldom their own,

and everyone knew 

who'd done what to whom,

and nobody talked about it outside their own living room.

everyone was the same

and they talked like they prayed,

all day,

and the placed blame

on a crowd of mysterious "they"

in this sleepy little town with no name.

i left there- i couldn't stay,

i just had to get away,

and see the big places full of "they"

and understand the reasons why everyone was afraid,

or if it was just their way.

and i found reasons,

and seasons,

and people believing

different things without receiving

simple credit for being,

living and breathing.

and now i know

why my small home

tried so hard to watch the way kids grow

into adults who worry about if they go

elsewhere,

and learn about the things small towns don't want you to know.

I don't often dabble in a more lyric style, but that one sort of came to me, and well, this is about experimentation, after all, so there we go.  Admittedly, this week has been about the struggle to understand neighbors, and their differences from one another.  That is an important step in healing, for sure, but it's not the only step.  I touched on it the other day: it's about more than accepting, it's about making a choice to actively participate and welcome others into your life, and let them know that those differences do not matter in the grander scope of things: what matters is our humanity.  So that is what is inspiring this last day of looking at neighborhoods.  And I will take a moment here.  I LOVE my neighborhood.  I love the fact that it is very diverse.  even though I may not appreciate my neighbor playing his music too loud for my tastes, I still love the fact that I live in an area where, despite difference, everyone mostly gets along ok.  I am lucky.

Day 14:

Pressure Test

they shut the water off today,

the whole street -

repairs were needed,

and everyone came out of their houses.

the house across the way,

where Boomer lives,

and the house next door with Granny,

the house down the street where White Cadillac lives -

everyone's nickname comes from their car-

the kids are outside, 

the adults too

white, black, poor, those with schooling and those without -

we all live here.

we all feel it when tragedy strikes a house,

and i have seen strangers be kind

and loving towards one another,

and witnessed the shock of those who

never thought anyone cared about them,

just from neighbors treating each other well. 

and we may not know each others' names,

but if you live here,

you're a part of it,

if you want to be.

and as long as you try to be nice,

you'll be greeted with smiles

and help if you need it.

and when they shut off the water to do work,

everyone steps outside

and greets one another

like friends - and neighbors.

That's a true story.  If this last year has taught us nothing else, it taught us that this neighborhood is pretty great.  It has its problems, too, but it is pretty great.

Thanks for reading,

Me.

Poetry Project, V. 11.0, Day 12

 WOOOO!  I did it!  I logged on on the actual day I'm supposed to!  Hey, I take the little victories, you know?

So, in furthering this week of looking at healing neighborhoods with words, we've taken a look at some biases and the way we encounter one another.  That's great, but those aren't really "actions" per se.  They are passive elements of living in a neighborhood.  We can choose to ignore them.  Actions are a bit different - they require us purposefully doing something to initiate a response.  That kind of action is what inspires today's words.  Healing is change, and in order to change, we have to take action - purposeful and intentional action.

Random Kindness

reaching out is never easy,

when everyone is a stranger,

and there's no idea if you will be greeted 

as friend or foe.

the divisions run deep, here,

on a street people forget about,

in a part of the city no one knows how to find.

but there are opportunities,

if you look,

if you search for them,

if you try.

it's a wave,

a way of being,

always polite and friendly,

greeting with a smile, 

asking after the neighbors,

taking notice of them.

some care,

some don't,

some cannot fathom why you would try,

but eventually,

they start to smile and wave back.

then - one day -

you catch a moment of need,

and that's the tough part:

deciding to take action,

to deliberately put yourself out there to encounter another,

and let them know they are worth your time.

Certainly not the greatest piece, by far, but healing is a kind of tough topic, and dealing with it the way I've chosen to....well, it takes some time.  But more to the point, healing cannot happen if we do not try.  I think it was Dr. Seuss who said, "Unless someone like you cares an awful lot, nothing is going to get better - it's not."  We have to care and we have to try.

Thanks for reading,

Me.