Poetry in Motion (Johnny Tillotson)

Sadly, today is the last day of National Poetry Month.  Joyfully, I was able to post almost every day (although there were a few blips along the way).  I urge you to explore more, discover more, enjoy more poetry... whether it's haiku, free verse, sonnets, cinquains, villanelles, sestinas.  Find what you like, and then read more of it. Don't make it a lesson, appreciate it as a pleasure.  Feel free to share one of your favorite poems in the comment section below and, if you wish, give the backstory of how you it came on your radar and why it "speaks" to you... 💓

It is indeed Feel Good Friday.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor (all poetry-related) to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 

~ Poetry & the Creative Mind 2021:  Celebrating 25 years of National Poetry Month:  We are thrilled to welcome an incredible lineup of readers, including Meryl Streep, Elizabeth Alexander, Lauren Ambrose, John Darnielle, Terrance Hayes, Regina King, Delroy Lindo, Samin Nosrat, Sandra Oh, Jason Reynolds, Sarah Sze, and more. [Watched and listened to this phenomenal program last night, alternately weeping and smiling!]

~ This Is Why You Should Write Poetry, no matter what kind of writer you are:  Poetry is a shortcut from heart to heart.  “The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That’s what poetry does.” — Allen Ginsberg

~ Our modern obsession with poetry is only growing:  Outlining the popularity of the Instagram poet:  Given the recent mainstream popularity of poets like Rupi Kaur, it’s no secret that there’s been a poetry revival over the last few years. Poems are no longer only read by aspiring writers, English majors, and souls who find refuge in words. They’re being circulated to the masses.

~ Do You Have a Favorite Poem?:  Her name was Charlotte, and she was part of my mom’s book club. When I complimented her straw hat one afternoon, she invited me over for “tea and a poem.” My mom, of course, made me go. At first, I dreaded it. All my friends were selling Girl Scout cookies, and I was hanging out with Chaaaaarlotte. (573 comments, most of them offering up exquisite poems, many of them new to me... ❤)

~ When the Doctor Prescribes Poetry:  “This crisis affects more or less everyone, and poetry can help us process difficult feelings like loss, sadness, anger, lack of hope.”

SONG:  Poetry in Motion by Johnny Tillotson

BOOK:  Poetry Rx: How 50 Inspiring Poems Can Heal and Bring Joy To Your Life by Norman E. Rosenthal

POEM:  Mugged by Poetry by Dorianne Laux

—for Tony Hoagland who sent me a handmade chapbook made from old postcards called OMIGOD POETRY with a whale breaching off the coast of New Jersey and seven of his favorite poems by various authors typed up, taped on, and tied together with a broken shoelace. 

Reading a good one makes me love the one who wrote it,

as well as the animal or element or planet or person

the poet wrote the poem for. I end up like I always do,

flat on my back like a drunk in the grass, loving the world.

Like right now, I'm reading a poem called "Summer"

by John Ashbery whose poems I never much cared for,

and suddenly, in the dead of winter, "There is that sound

like the wind/Forgetting in the branches that means

something/Nobody can translate..." I fall in love

with that line, can actually hear it (not the line

but the wind) and it's summer again and I forget

I don't like John Ashbery poems. So I light a cigarette

and read another by Zbigniew Herbert, a poet

I've always admired but haven't read enough of, called

"To Marcus Aurelius" that begins "Good night Marcus

put out the light/and shut the book For overhead/is raised

a gold alarm of stars..." First of all I suddenly love

anyone with the name Zbigniew. Second of all I love

anyone who speaks in all sincerity to the dead

and by doing so brings that personage back to life,

plunging a hand through the past to flip off the light.

The astral physics of it just floors me. Third of all

is that "gold alarm of stars..." By now I'm a goner,

and even though I have to get up tomorrow at 6 am

I forge ahead and read "God's Justice" by Anne Carson,

another whose poems I'm not overly fond of

but don't actively disdain. I keep reading one line

over and over, hovering above it like a bird on a wire

spying on the dragonfly with "turquoise dots all down its back

like Lauren Bacall". Like Lauren Bacall!! Well hell,

I could do this all night. I could be in love like this

for the rest of my life, with everything in the expanding

universe and whatever else might be beyond it

that we can't grind a lens big enough to see. I light up

another smoke, maybe the one that will kill me,

and go outside to listen to the moon scalding the iced trees.

What, I ask you, will become of me?

QUOTE(S):  "All my life I have tried to save some part of my time for the inspiration which the poets give." ~ Newton D. Baker

"Then let us ask poetry to portray us as we are, our times, our ways of life. Who but our poets can give these supreme word-pictures to our descendants? How shall these children of our children visualize our era if our poets are silent? Through the cold, factual lines of historians? The limited dimensions of painters, sculptors and musicians? The poet is all and more than these." ~ Marie Bullock

Everything I Need (Melissa Ferrick)

It seems as if I have turned a corner with my attitude as well as my awareness.  Life feels easier than it has in quite a while.  I am eating super-healthy; my relationships are, for the most part, honest and reciprocal; I am taking the time to self-nurture, on many levels.  I was speaking to my daughter Sarah by phone the other day and, when I was filling her in on my day (Goodreads review, blog post upload, starting a new book), she said:  "Mom, you are living your best life!".  "Yes, I am", I replied... 💖

It's been a good week:  celebrated a friend's birthday Monday; Tuesday Zoom with Nancy and Judi, then picked up Colin from preschool; Sarah and Colin came for a pool visit yesterday, as well as lunch with Eric; Pool Day with Nance today, and an online poetry event this evening.  My soul overfloweth... 😍

Lest this all be misconstrued as *perfect*, I do need to exercise more as well as tackle additional items on my To Do List.  I will make it happen!

NR:  Scratched: A Memoir of Perfectionism by Elizabeth Tallent

SONG:  Everything I Need by Melissa Ferrick (thanks and love to AmyW for introducing me to this song a bazillion years ago, when she sent me a mix CD on which it was included... 💓)

BOOK:  Recipes for a Sacred Life: True Stories and a Few Miracles by Rivvy Neshama

POEM:  Happiness (Reconsidered) by Judith Viorst

Happiness

Is a clean bill of health from the doctor,

And the kids shouldn't move back home for

more than a year,

And not being audited, overdrawn, in Wilkes-Barre,

in a lawsuit or in traction.

Happiness

Is falling asleep without Valium,

And having two breasts to put in my brassiere,

And not (yet) needing to get my blood pressure lowered,

my eyelids raised or a second opinion.

And on Saturday nights

When my husband and I have rented

Something with Fred Astaire for the VCR,

And we're sitting around in our robes discussing,

The state of the world, back exercises, our Keoghs,

And whether to fix the transmission or buy a new car,

And we're eating a pint of rum-raisin ice cream

on the grounds that

Tomorrow we're starting a diet of fish, fruit and grain,

And my dad's in Miami dating a very nice widow,

And no one we love is in serious trouble or pain,

And our bringing-up-baby days are far behind us,

But our senior-citizen days have not begun,

It's not what I called happiness

When I was twenty-one,

But it's turning out to be

What happiness is.

QUOTE:  "Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now.  Live it, feel it, cling to it.  I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted." ~ Sylvia Plath

Alive (Dala)

Quite simply, yoga changed my life.  In February 2017 I started taking, and truly committed to, Monday night classes at my UU church.  In six months, I saw/felt major improvement in my strength, flexibility, and mindfulness.  I was more in touch with my body than I'd been in years, and my spirit was more peaceful.  I learned coping mechanisms for dealing with stress, as well as increased self-confidence in my physical abilities.  Because of the increased self-confidence, I segued to our LA Fitness, twice a week.

 

Before that, I always thought of yoga classes as a room full of skinny, blond, scantily-clad young women.  I could *never* have envisioned myself there.  Now, not only did I see myself there, I followed through and put myself there (Note to Self:  many of them are full-figured, dark- or gray-haired, and wear T-shirts...  😉 ) 

The gym instructor made me feel that I could do *most* of what she taught, but also offered challenges I could see myself achieving on down the road.  None of it would have been possible without Victoria's patient and loving tutelage.  She trained me up to fly away (roots and wings), and my gratitude is eternal.  

I continued classes at the gym until the pandemic, and now I have a home practice, either Yoga with Adriene via YouTube or on my own with a series of poses I've put together.  It's a great way to start the day (or mid-afternoon or evening), stretching, breathing, escaping yet at the same time attuning.  So many challenges, but so much growth as well.  I am amazed when my body will do things I never envisioned.  What a great journey indeed.

However, I still have problems with tree pose, but we all know that balance, on many levels, has never been my strong suit... 😁

 

P.S.  Veni Vidi Vici (translation: Oooooo... I'm on Music Sensory Overload... an evening snack of watermelon is the best... :-) 

NR:  The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

SONG:  Alive by Dala 

BOOK:  Yoga After 50 For Dummies by Larry Payne PhD

POEM:  First Yoga Lesson by Mary Oliver

"Be a lotus in the pond,” she said, “opening

slowly, no single energy tugging

against another but peacefully,

all together.”

I couldn’t even touch my toes.

“Feel your quadriceps stretching?” she asked.

Well, something was certainly stretching.

Standing impressively upright, she

raised one leg and placed it against

the other, then lifted her arms and

shook her hands like leaves. “Be a tree,” she said.

I lay on the floor, exhausted.

But to be a lotus in the pond

opening slowly, and very slowly rising–

that I could do.

QUOTE(S): "Love is a friendship set to music." ~ Joseph Campbell 

“Happiness comes of the capacity to feel deeply, to enjoy simply, to think freely, to risk life, to be needed.” ~ Storm Jameson

Reach Out and Touch (Somebody's Hand) (Diana Ross)

[Disclaimer:  Not our family, but this photo is a placeholder until Sarah sends me the one she took a few days ago... 😍]

The highlight of this week was getting together with The MossFam6, maskless and hugging!  We have all finally had both vaccinations, and the relief is palpable.  I cried, because I just could not stop embracing my children.  Here's/cheers to better days ahead, because the world is becoming a safer place as we approach herd immunity... 💞

 It is indeed Feel Good Friday.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 

~ Biden Is Pushing a Climate Agenda. Gina McCarthy Has to Make It Stick:  Gina McCarthy, Barack Obama’s E.P.A. chief, could only watch as the Trump administration dismantled her climate work. Now, she’s back with another chance to build a lasting legacy.

~ There’s a Name for the Blah You’re Feeling: It’s Called Languishing:  The neglected middle child of mental health can dull your motivation and focus — and it may be the dominant emotion of 2021.

~ The Ms. Q&A With Ani DiFranco: “You Have License To Be All the Aspects of Yourself and To Be Unashamed of Them”:  When feminist icon Ani DiFranco first stepped onto the global music scene with a defiant voice and black combat boots, she was just 19 years old.

~ Mister Rogers Heat Changing Mug:  The Mister Rogers mug features several quotes from the beloved television host, and when you add a hot beverage, Mister Rogers changes into a comfy sweater. (Yes, I ordered it, and yes, it works.  Very cool.  However, *not* dishwasher-safe!)

~ 2021 Big Read Keynote Address: Hope Jahren, Author of Lab Girl:  More than half a dozen Big Read communities from around the United States will join online for an insightful and inspiring lecture and Q&A by Hope Jahren, a scientist from rural Minnesota who not only knows her trees and flowers, but “has some serious literary chops” (The Washington Post).

SONG:  Reach Out and Touch (Somebody's Hand) sung by Diana Ross (written by Ashford and Simpson)

BOOK:  Heart Minded: How to Hold Yourself and Others in Love by Sarah Blondin

POEM(S):  Hidden Haiku from a Times interview with Kyle Abraham

Even approaching

touch with a friend is a new

negotiation

Creed by Meg Kearney

I believe the chicken before the egg

though I believe in the egg. I believe

eating is a form of touch carried

to the bitter end; I believe chocolate

is good for you; I believe I'm a lefty

in a right-handed world, which does not

make me gauche, or abnormal, or sinister.

I believe "normal" is just a cycle on

the washing machine; I believe the touch

of hands has the power to heal, though

nothing will ever fill this immeasurable

hole in the center of my chest. I believe

in kissing; I believe in mail; I believe

in salt over the shoulder, a watched

pot never boils, and if I sit by my

mailbox waiting for the letter I want

it will never arrive—not because of

superstition, but because that's not

how life works. I believe in work:

phone calls, typing, multiplying,

black coffee, write write write, dig

dig dig, sweep sweep. I believe in

a slow, tortuous sweep of tongue

down the lover's belly; I believe I've

been swept off my feet more than once

and it's a good idea not to name names.

Digging for names is part of my work,

but that's a different poem. I believe

there's a difference between men and

women and I thank God for it. I believe

in God, and if you hold the door

and carry my books, I'll be sure to ask

for your name. What is your name? Do

you believe in ghosts? I believe

the morning my father died I heard him

whistling "Danny Boy" in the bathroom,

and a week later saw him standing in

the living room with a suitcase in his

hand. We never got to say good-bye, he

said, and I said I don't believe in

good-byes. I believe that's why I have

this hole in my chest; sometimes it's

rabid; sometimes it's incoherent. I

believe I'll survive. I believe that

"early to bed and early to rise" is

a boring way to live. I believe good

poets borrow, great poets steal, and

if only we'd stop trying to be happy

we could have a pretty good time. I

believe time doesn't heal all wounds;

I believe in getting flowers for no

reason; I believe "Give a Hoot, Don't

Pollute," "Reading is Fundamental,"

Yankee Stadium belongs in the Bronx,

and the best bagels in New York are

boiled and baked on the corner of First

and 21st. I believe in Santa

Claus, Jimmy Stewart, ZuZu's petals,

Arbor Day, and that ugly baby I keep

dreaming about—she lives inside me

opening and closing her wide mouth.

I believe she will never taste her

mother's milk; she will never be

beautiful; she will always wonder what

it's like to be born; and if you hold

your hand right here—touch me right

here, as if this is all that matters,

this is all you ever wanted, I believe

something might move inside me,

and it would be more than I could stand.

QUOTE:  "Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." ~ Leo Buscaglia

Back to the Earth (Jason Mraz)

Earth Day has always been near and dear to my heart.  I've written before that I was a sophomore in high school when it was instituted (1970) and, despite the last administration's plans/wishes to systematically undercut/erode all the gains previously in place, we are finding our way back to making environmental concerns a priority.  Even the small things can add up to big things.  I urge you today to make, or continue, a commitment to action:  bring your canvas bags to the grocery store... recycle... walk, bus or bike instead of driving and, if you do drive, carpool... use compact fluorescent light bulbs... turn off lights when you leave a room... brush your teeth with the water off... plant a garden... start and maintain a compost pile... become a locavore (eating as much locally-grown food as possible)... buy minimally-packaged goods to reduce your garbage... follow through on Meatless Monday or, even better, go as vegetarian or vegan as feels comfortable to you.

We are connected to each other as well as to the Earth and all the creatures that are a part of nature, and we must spread the message of that connection, a message that challenges us to heal the Earth for our children (and grandchildren!), and for all on this precious planet. We must envision and work towards a future that will be healthy for all beings as if our lives depended on it. Because, in fact, it does... 🌏

Delighted to read this article this morning!

Biden Will Pledge to Cut Greenhouse Gas Emissions Nearly in Half:  The president will commit the United States to deep cuts in emissions at an Earth Day summit meeting that starts on Thursday, according to people familiar with the plan.

Also, we here in South Florida can celebrate Earth Day on WLRN-TV (our local PBS station) tonight with:

Extinction: The Facts

9 P.M.

With a million species at risk of extinction, Sir David Attenborough explores how this crisis of biodiversity has consequences for us all, undermining our ability to control our climate and putting us at greater risk of pandemic diseases.

Climate Change: The Facts

10 P.M.

Host Sir David Attenborough presents scientific evidence of the impact of global warming. Discover how the latest innovations and technology are posing potential solutions and what we can do to prevent further damage.

Troubled Waters:  A Turtle’s Tale

11 P.M.

In this WLRN original documentary, you'll learn the devastating effects global warming and water pollution have had on the lives of South Florida's most beloved underwater creatures - our sea turtles - and what you can do to help.

Over the weekend I watched Kiss the Ground and Seaspiracy documentaries, both excellent, and highly recommended!

Also, Help the Lorax Plant Trees!  For each copy Barnes & Noble sells in stores and online from 4/1/21 – 4/30/21, Dr. Seuss Enterprises and Penguin Random House will each donate $1 to One Tree Planted.

SONG:  Back to the Earth by Jason Mraz

BOOK: The Story of More: How We Got to Climate Change and Where to Go from Here by Hope Jahren 

POEM(S):  Earth Your Dancing Place by May Swenson

Beneath heaven's vault

remember always walking

through halls of cloud

down aisles of sunlight

or through high hedges

of the green rain

walk in the world

highheeled with swirl of cape

hand at the swordhilt

of your pride

Keep a tall throat

Remain aghast at life

Enter each day

as upon a stage

lighted and waiting

for your step

Crave upward as flame

have keenness in the nostril

Give your eyes

to agony or rapture

Train your hands

as birds to be

brooding or nimble

Move your body

as the horses

sweeping on slender hooves

over crag and prairie

with fleeing manes

and aloofness of their limbs

Take earth for your own large room

and the floor of the earth

carpeted with sunlight

and hung round with silver wind

for your dancing place

Speaking Tree by Joy Harjo

I had a beautiful dream I was dancing with a tree.

                                                                   —Sandra Cisneros

Some things on this earth are unspeakable:

Genealogy of the broken—

A shy wind threading leaves after a massacre,

Or the smell of coffee and no one there—

Some humans say trees are not sentient beings,

But they do not understand poetry—

Nor can they hear the singing of trees when they are fed by

Wind, or water music—

Or hear their cries of anguish when they are broken and bereft—

Now I am a woman longing to be a tree, planted in a moist, dark earth

Between sunrise and sunset—

I cannot walk through all realms—

I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark—

What shall I do with all this heartache?

The deepest-rooted dream of a tree is to walk

Even just a little ways, from the place next to the doorway—

To the edge of the river of life, and drink—

I have heard trees talking, long after the sun has gone down:

Imagine what would it be like to dance close together

In this land of water and knowledge. . .

To drink deep what is undrinkable.

QUOTE:  "We are called to assist the earth, to heal her wounds and in the process, heal our own – indeed, to embrace the whole creation in all its diversity, beauty, and wonder." ~ Wangari Maathai

The Killing Fields (Rosanne Cash)

A bit of justice, finally... 💙

From today's NYT newsletter:

"The murder conviction of a police officer is an exceedingly rare event.

There have been only seven murder convictions of officers for fatal police shootings since 2005, according to Philip Stinson of Bowling Green State University. That suggests the chances of a killing by the police leading to a murder conviction are about one in 2,000.

Yet a jury in Minneapolis yesterday convicted Derek Chauvin of second-degree murder (as well as two other charges) for killing George Floyd last May. A typical sentence for that felony in Minneapolis is 12½ years in prison, although prosecutors have asked for more and the maximum is 40 years. A judge will sentence Chauvin in about eight weeks."

NR:  Priestdaddy:  A Memoir by Patricia Lockwood

SONG:  The Killing Fields by Rosanne Cash

BOOK:  Chokehold: Policing Black Men by Paul Butler

POEM:  Ode to the Cameraman by Alora Young

This is an ode to the cameraman

for the poet

and the pastor

and the speeches that redefine legacies.

It’s the lens that takes history and makes it art,

the art that makes wrong into revolution.

The gun the knee

we can never unsee       the bodies

of George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery.

—To Emmett Till

to all the faces painted on every memory.

We were wrong.

This revolution is live in living color.

We are dying in HD.

I had a dream that our lives went viral

and that Twitter somehow set us free.

The last four years

have been etched into the flesh of progress

like

a

B u r n i n g

cross.

I can’t help but reminisce

about all the moments that Martin lost—

you see martyrs,

those who die for a cause,

we don’t often think about their families.

His legacy is infinite,

but I’m sure Bernice must just miss her daddy.

Every black man who dies in the street

lies on top of the last

four hundred years of combat.

Call me a hysteric

or a heretic,

but all I know is I want my God back. My God.

Not the one who stands

hand and hand with MAGA malice,

who they say wants us to stop counting ballots

to keep this new age toupeed Nero in an all white palace.

The only way out of the belly of this beast

Is       Through.

We keep marching towards a freedom, but freedom’s a concept

… I don’t get where we’re marching to.

This is an ode to the men who know how to win a war,

to the men who take martyrs and make movements human—

it’s funny how 2020 looks just like 1965.

I wonder what wisdom Martin would give me if he were still alive,

if peace is still the best option,

if we are headed towards his vision,

… are we going fast enough to stop them?

This war is televised.

These cameras have put the truth before our nation’s eyes.

My father taught me that God lies in the darkness as well.

The plans of a holy man are often impossible for even him to find.

We can never know the future God has woven

inside of Martin’s mind,

but as we wander blind

toward tomorrow

know that there is more in heaven than the roadmap.

This is not a poem, it’s a playbook.

It’s laid out in 24 frames—look:

the same stage has made the difference on every battlefield,

because the camera I swear is the weapon victors wield.

These men have made God a tool of their war—

I ask you to tell me was he not used as such before?

It’s more than shooting or violence—

progress moves in a silence—

that makes it so we can’t shake the feeling that change is made to come.

In this non-poem lies the markers on our map to freedom,

because I’ve shown you where we’ve come from.

Martin made change not because he was made changed,

but because the same stage holds the ghost

of all its past plays,

seeing the future is much the same as seeing the past,

because

my God

has made the answers,

long before we’ve asked.

The camera is the difference between

Armies of Radicals and Protests Sabbaticals

Whether X’s are Kisses

^ or Graves

Whether we were kings

^or slaves

Martin’s method of protest

made true progress because the script was just too hard to flip.

In God, he found the processes he made sure that we didn’t slip.

Peaceful seats at counter sides

do no wrong in cameras’ eyes

that’s why he changed so many minds:

he changed a narrative.

The first mission of Trump’s modern fascism

is to lose the “fake news”

he likes multi-takes with camera crews

making merch for propaganda crews

so the people will abandon who

actually has their best interest at heart.

I dare to say a narrative is what split this country apart.

When you want to change the world,

first, change a child’s mind.

Martin preached a life in words that had a joy like children find.

When you start on this next battle call a cameraman

because war is in

the people’s minds.

Kingdoms rise and fall, but the camera sees it all.

Memories live past the trials that decide the truth of abuses,

and the phantoms that live in the call.

The first time you see change

I promise

is never the beginning.

Because for eras before the prophets of yore

had minds that had long been spinning.

God gifts the words for the battle-winning narrative.

Prophets just sing along.

That’s why in the streets people scream

I have a dream

that’s Gods music—

we’re just singing along.

We have our actors and our cameramen,

we have God’s script and our stage

turn

on the lights

send the artists and wrights

and hope our revolution makes

the Front Page.

[Alora Young, 1/26/21: “With the combination of the Martin Luther King holiday and the inauguration, last week has been monumental for our country. We have survived a year of division, we have survived a year of revolution, and when I saw the photographs in this NPR article, I realized something. We aren’t fighting a war with fist anymore. We are fighting a war with cameras. We are fighting a war with art. And I feel that now we understand this we can win the struggle for a kinder world.”]

QUOTE:  “True justice requires that we come to terms with the fact that Black Americans are treated differently, every day...  And it requires us to do the sometimes thankless, often difficult, but always necessary work of making the America we know more like the America we believe in.” ~ Barack Obama

I Can't Breathe (H.E.R.)

The jurors have begun deliberating in the George Floyd trial.  In closing statements, the prosecution urged jurors: “Believe your eyes. What you saw, you saw.”

From today's NYT newsletter:

"Since George Floyd’s death last May, dozens of states and local governments have changed their laws about police behavior. And yet police officers continue to kill about three Americans each day on average, nearly identical to the rate of police killings for as long as statistics exist.

Which raises the question: Are the latest efforts to change policing — to make it less violent, especially for Black and Latino Americans — destined to fail?

Not necessarily, many experts say. They believe the recent changes are meaningful. They will probably fall well short of solving the country’s problem with needlessly violent police behavior. But the changes still appear to be substantial, even if they will take some time to have a noticeable effect.

“You actually can get a lot of common ground between police critics and police themselves,” Rosa Brooks, a Georgetown University law professor and former reserve police officer in Washington, told us. “There are plenty of places where those conversations seem to be occurring in a preliminary way.”

That common ground extends to public opinion. Most Americans disagree with sweeping criticisms of the police, like the calls to abolish police departments. (Rashida Tlaib, a Democratic congresswoman from Michigan, wrote last week on Twitter: “No more policing, incarceration, and militarization. It can’t be reformed.”) Recent polls show that most Americans say they generally trust the police, and few if any mayors, governors, congressional leaders or top members of the Biden administration share Tlaib’s view.

But many politicians and most voters do favor changes to policing, like banning chokeholds and racial profiling or mandating police body cameras. “Americans — both Democrats and Republicans — want some sort of reform,” Alex Samuels of FiveThirtyEight wrote.

The recent policy changes fit into two main categories. The first is a set of limits on the use of force. Sixteen states have restricted the use of so-called neck restraints, like Derek Chauvin’s use of his knee on Floyd’s neck. And 21 additional cities now require officers to intervene when they think another officer is using excessive force.

The changes have mostly been in Democratic-leaning states, but not entirely: Kentucky has limited no-knock warrants, which played a role in Breonna Taylor’s death, while Indiana, Iowa and Utah have restricted neck restraints. (Republican legislators in some states are pushing bills that go in the other direction, by strengthening penalties for people who injure officers, for instance, or by preventing cities from cutting police budgets.)

The second category involves police accountability. Several states have mandated the use of body cameras. Colorado, New Mexico, Massachusetts and Connecticut have made it easier for citizens to sue police officers, as has New York City.

In Maryland, David Moon, a state legislator, said that the recent changes were “just light-years beyond” those enacted after Freddie Gray died in the custody of Baltimore police six years ago. The new laws “basically blew up the old system and tried to create a new structure for discipline,” Moon told The Washington Post.

One significant part of the policy changes: States are enacting them, forcing local police departments to abide by them. “States had given great leeway to local jurisdictions to decide how to police themselves,” The Times’s Michael Keller told us. “Now, states are starting to take more control.”

It’s too early to know whether all of the attention on policing after Floyd’s death will amount to widespread changes. “Police organizations have an amazing ability to resist change when there’s no real buy-in from the rank and file,” Brooks said. But there does seem to be a greater recognition of what policing has in common with virtually every other human endeavor: It works better when it includes clear standards and outside accountability.

“What we’ve seen since George Floyd’s death — and really since the death of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Mo., in 2014 — is a widespread acknowledgment that law enforcement needs new rules and policies,” my colleague John Eligon, who has covered policing extensively, said. “But there is still a great frustration among many activists and community members I talk to who say that the changes do not go nearly far enough.”

He added: “They see tinkering around the edges that does not really change the culture of police departments or solve the big problem: that police in America are still killing people every day.”

SONG:  I Can't Breathe by H.E.R.

BOOK:  'I Can't Breathe' The Cities Cry Echoing George Floyd's Final Words by Kadesha Henry

POEM(S):  Why I don’t write about George Floyd by Toi Derricotte

Because there is too much to say

Because I have nothing to say

Because I don’t know what to say

Because everything has been said

Because it hurts too much to say

What can I say what can I say

Something is stuck in my throat

Something is stuck like an apple

Something is stuck like a knife

Something is stuffed like a foot

Something is stuffed like a body

Poem with an Ear Pressed to the Ground by Kindra McDonald

That it would come down

to the science of breathing

how the lungs receive oxygen

how a pulse becomes stilled

that it would come down

to the compression of an airway

somewhere between the diameter

of a quarter and a dime

shallow breaths the equivalent

of surgical removal of the left lung

trying to breathe with fingers and knuckles

under the force of 90 pounds of pressure

like sipping air through a drinking straw

that it would come down to 12 peers

in chairs palpating their own throats

to feel the pulse beneath their probing

fingers, the tender skin indent

the metric beat of pumping blood

an ear pressed to the ground

prone and pleading

all of us needing the one

who we all came from

who held her breath

spent and waiting

for a newborn to cry

to breathe with life.

[Kindra McDonald: “So much of this last year has been about breath and breathing. The transmission of an unseen virus, the breath of contagion, the respirators and intubations of packed ICU patients, but amidst all of that a reel of “I can’t breathe.” Three words that have for too long been linked to violent restraint. As the Chauvin murder trail in the death of George Floyd plays out, I’ve been struck by the breath we all share. The image of the jurors feeling their necks for the airway that was obstructed has haunted me and this poem is that ghost.”]

QUOTE:  "We need to statutize what is permissible and what is not permissible. If a law enforcement agent uses a clearly unapproved technique like the knee that was on the neck of George Floyd for over eight minutes, no law enforcement agent thinks that that's right and that officer should be held accountable." ~ Cal Cunningham

Through the Looking Glass (Eliza Gilkyson)

Wonderful to see Girlock and Jennifer again yesterday after their Tour o' Florida; since their flight back to PA left later that night, we had a chance to view the local burrowing owls (awesome!), walk around the Broward College Lake to see more wildlife (Egyptian geese!), go out to lunch at Don Pepe's (Cuban/Mexican!), and head back to my place for a few hours for more conversation (in the A/C; yesterday's high was 96 degrees!).

Lovely day, but more social than this hermit is used to lately, and I was exhausted; ended up taking a Cortisol Manager pill to ensure a good night's sleep, and didn't wake up until 9 a.m.  Bliss... 💖 

As soon as I hit Send, I am curling up with the (NR) book below, for this Tuesday's book club Zoom gathering.

NR:  The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz 

SONG:  Through the Looking Glass by Eliza Gilkyson

BOOK:  Change Your World: How Anyone, Anywhere Can Make a Difference by John C. Maxwell, Rob Hoskins

POEM:  Confusion by Judith Viorst

I can't figure out if it's gas or a coronary.

I can't figure out if it's hostile or benign.

I can't figure out if I'm turning into a hypochondriac, or just being sensible.

I can't figure out when we stop supporting our children.

(At twenty-one? At thirty? Forty-nine?)

I can't figure out if not bothering to change the sheets in the guest room in between houseguests is ever an option, or always reprehensible.

I can't figure out why men won't ask for directions.

(Is it genetic or could they be retrained?)

I can't figure out when dressed in the height of fashion, if I'm looking incredibly chic or slightly ridiculous.

I can't figure out if my tale is enthralling or boring.

(What are those facial expressions? Spellbound? Or pained?)

I can't figure out if I wanting all the hangers in my closet to face the same way means I'm obsessive-compulsive, or merely meticulous.

I can't figure out if I've gone from stable to stodgy.

(Is "reliable" what I want as my epitaph?)

I can't figure out if helping yourself to a shrimp from your spouse's plate ought to be viewed as intimacy or intrusion.

I can't figure out if I've lost my sense of humor

Or if, after fifty, it just gets harder to laugh.

And I can't figure out if everyone else has figured everything out, or whether we are all in a state of confusion.

QUOTE:  "The realization that each day's 24-hour offering is abundant and more than enough is a fairly recent one. In a more renewed sense, today, personhood for me has begun to look like a home that is being lived in — where the light goes out sometimes, pipes break, sinks get clogged, wires trip, paint on the walls chips off." ~ Anjali Menon

Everyday People (Sly & The Family Stone)

Was house- and dog-sitting at Nancy's Wednesday and Thursday, while she and Mark went out of town.  Lucy and I took two walks a day, slept together, did each other's hair and nails (ha!), hung out on the patio.  It was a true getaway for me, albeit three miles down the road!

Pool Day today with Nance, and two lovely phone conversations, Alisa in the a.m. and Melanie in the p.m. (much laughter in the second one... 😍)  Just ordered pizza from the restaurant in our condo community:  no cheese, broccoli, mushroom, and kalamata olives for me... and meatballs, Italian sausage, and pepperoni for Chico (Can this marriage be saved?).  I also sauteed some onions and garlic to top it all off.  If it's good, this could be a weekly occurrence.

It's Feel Good Friday and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ He’s Running: LeVar Burton Commences Campaign for Jeopardy! Hosting Job:  After months of murmurs from fans, the actor, director, podcaster, and previous Celebrity Jeopardy! champion LeVar Burton is through with waiting for producers to come to him. He’s making his interests known to the world. He wants to be the next Jeopardy! host.

~ Trash Cocktails for Conservation: Virtual Sustainable Mixology Class

Online, $10:  This Earth Day (April 22, 2021), savor a cocktail class with a conservation twist! Learn to make Lincoln Park Zoo’s specialty Acts of Green cocktail using food scraps from around your kitchen, as well as creative ways to give your “trash” another delicious life! This virtual event will include 30–45 minutes of guided instruction followed by 5–10 minutes of Q&As with the presenters.  

~ Making Music Visible: Singing in Sign:  A new project is producing sign language covers of 10 seminal musical works recorded by Black female artists.

~ It’s working in Eugene, Olympia, Denver: More cities are sending civilian responders, not police, on mental health calls

~ How to Make Small Talk After We've Been Through... a Pandemic:  Do we try to keep it posi vibes, or commiserate about the one thing we definitely all have in common?

SONG:  Everyday People by Sly & The Family Stone (bonus cover with Jack Johnson, Jason Mraz, Paula Abdul, Misty Copeland, Elizabeth Banks, Keb' Mo, Forest Whitaker, and many more)

BOOK:  Everyday People: The Color of Life--a Short Story Anthology by Jennifer Baker (Editor)

POEM:  Whack Report by Kim Addonizio

A woman at the gym today said to her friend, Most people are whack.

Whack meaning crazy, displeasing, undesirable, stupid, of poor quality,

appalling, masturbatory, laid off, weird, or dead.

Most poets, as it turns out, are generally pretty whack

as in mentally ill. Anne Sexton, for example. Robert Lowell, also quite whack.

I myself am whack about sixty-seven percent of the time,

not counting nights and weekends, when it's more like eighty-two percent.

But let us focus on the beautiful wine glass, eighteen percent full

of sane, delightful, and intelligent fruit and acid. A whiff of rose petals.

Black cherry, pomegranate, cassis, devil's food cake. And limestone. Drink me

and taste my ooids, my hot buttered toast. For we must be ceaselessly whack

as in deranged said another whack poet who became a whack gun runner.

Guns are whack. Much of the world population experiences the whack factor

ninety-nine percent of the time, which can cause excessive thirst, diarrhea, death

and other side-effects. After a while, if you keep saying a word, it kind of loses

its meaning. Whack. Whack. Here come the weed whackers, beheading the grass.

QUOTE:  "The truth is that life is delicious, horrible, charming, frightful, sweet, bitter, and that is everything." ~ Anatole France

No Hard Feelings (The Avett Brothers)

Feeling somber tonight, as a dear friend called me a few evenings ago to tell me that her former husband had passed away unexpectedly, cause unknown.  I knew him as an acquaintance, but always had a great interaction whenever we crossed paths.  It's just got me thinking of how vulnerable we all are, living one day at a time, never fully aware that we might not wake up the next morning.  You know the drill.  Hug your special people extra tight.

"For life and its loveliness" indeed... 💖

SONG:  No Hard Feelings by The Avett Brothers (we shared a love for this band... ♩♪🎵)

BOOK:  Grief Day By Day: Simple Practices and Daily Guidance for Living with Loss by Jan Warner, Amanda Bearse (Foreword)

POEM:  Self-Portrait As Escape Artist by Jeannine Hall Gailey

I could say at 42 I’ve escaped death already many times.

Maybe I was due, like a library book,

at an earlier age, but some spirit renewed me.

I almost drowned at three, then twice got scarlet fever

at 6 and 10. I could have died of my rare bleeding disorder

at 12; thanks to modern prescriptions, life prevailed.

I’ve become an expert at dodging tornadoes

and downed planes, traffic accidents and plain old bad luck.

I’ve been in a lot of hospitals, where doctors made mistakes—

but still, woke up every time, little worse for wear.

I’ve been scared of death, but now he seems so familiar,

an old sweater I’ve casually tossed aside so often.

Please remember when I die that I was lucky

to be here at all—my mother’s pregnancy uneasy,

birth difficult and under an ill star, infancy involving

incubators for a little baby blue me. So when I finally

take the fall, I must remember to say thank you

for the breaks that kept me ahead of the game so long.

QUOTE:  "Between our birth and death we may touch understanding, as a moth brushes a window with its wing." ~ Christopher Fry

Mr. Biden (Bring My Vaccine) (A Randy Rainbow Song Parody)

Went to Costco yesterday.  Very anxiety-inducing, as it was my first "store" outing (other than the library, which has 4 people compared to 400) since the beginning of the pandemic.  I had been putting off my membership renewal (expired end of last month) because it is required to go *in* to do it, as well as getting Chico his own card (he was on the account, but needed to have his picture taken to be official).  Done, and Done.  Zippity... 😍

Zoom with Nancy and Judi this morning, now getting some things done around the house.  Continued Gratitude because, as of this morning, all three of our adult children have been fully vaccinated.  Huge sigh of relief, especially for the boys, since they are both in the restaurant business and have daily exposure to goodness knows what.  Right now we are all looking forward to our next gathering, when we will feel comfortable hugging, maskless.  Oh, Happy Day... 💞

This blog post has been in the works for *months*, back when Chico and I had our first shots in mid-January, and the circuitous and lengthy process we encountered (filling out forms, writing on our windshield at various points:  driver's license checks to make sure we were 65+, as well as waiting 15 minutes after the vaccination, to make sure we didn't have a reaction).  Start to finish, a three-hour experience.  Second time around was half the time, as they had fine-tuned the process.  That was at a public park, in our car, and now availability has expanded to Publix, drugstores, etc.  We've come a long way in three months.

The news is full of variants and herd immunity and "following the science", oh my!  We just have to figure out how to get more people vaccinated more quickly, and convince those with hesitancy, if not for themselves, to do it for others.

SONG:  Mr. Biden (Bring My Vaccine) - A Randy Rainbow Song Parody

BOOK:  Kelly Gets a Vaccine: How We Beat Coronavirus by Lauren D. Block, Adam E. Block, Debby Rahmalia (Illustrator)

POEM:  the delicate arrangement of unavoidable sorrow by Maya Stein

At the clinic, the path to the nurse with the syringe in her hand was festooned with signs.

It took no time to get through the answers - “No,” “No,” “No,” “No,” “No” - before

the clipboard came down and I was pointed toward table number 6. It was, dare I say,

almost cheerful, the processions of new arrivals, the summer-hued short-sleeve shirts

rolled to the tip of bare shoulders, volunteers on circuitous rounds in the waiting area,

spray bottles clipped to their waists. It was only later, midnight, waking to the cry

of my body as it wrestled with the angel serum inside it, that I peered at the edge of what

and who had been sacrificed, and what remainders the disease would scavenge.

In the morning, I drifted between rooms, sipping from my water glass, nested in a limbo

of relief and sadness, my eyes scanning a horizon that kept slipping in and out of view.

Relic by Russell Brakefield

years from now I dislodge a mask

kneeling in a gas station parking lot

to suck crumbs from the consoles

half in and half out the passenger seat

I dislodge a mask from the floormat

flattened and streaked, folded on itself

like a wounded bird but still

retaining its feather-blue tint

ear straps flung aside like broken wings

its sunken breast smudged

where I once pressed my mouth

the downy screen through which

I filtered my life, where my words were

wrung out and carried off as on a soft wind

a dirty plume that held prayers

and songs and desperate transactions

where I said even I love you

in a muffled tone, where I said even

I’m home! standing in the doorway

forgetting, for a brief moment, which

were the safer parts of the world

[Russell Brakefield: “As we encounter positive news about vaccines and look forward to a new administration’s response to the pandemic, I’ve been turning my mind to a post-Covid world, thinking about how we will live and interact with this time in history in the years to come.”]

QUOTE:  "Imagine the action of a vaccine not just in terms of how it affects a single body, but also in terms of how it affects the collective body of a community." ~ Eula Biss

There Will Always Be (Friction Farm)

Lesley Imgart

D*mn, I missed uploading a blog post yesterday as well.  What the h*ll?!?  I guess my social life is picking up, such that more days/hours are filled with joyful activities (besides reading, that is... 😍 )

Went to Colin's swim lesson in the morning (he is doing very well learning pool safety), which segued into another few hours of pool fun with Sarah, Donna and her kids as well, which led to a few interesting conversations about mythology, feelings, and coping mechanisms (with her 6- and 9-year-old tiny humans!).  Swung by the library to pick up a few books on reserve, then on to Hollywood Beach to meet up with SharonG (one of my "folk daughters"-turned-friend) and Jennifer.  The water was a bit rough but the breeze was lovely, the sky cerulean, and the conversation deep and loving.  Home by 5:30 p.m. feeling refilled and relaxed.

In the mail was the new CD by Friction Farm, which I had only ordered a few days ago.  Zippity to their "Shipping Department" as well as the Post Office.  I had heard most of the songs previously (during livestreamed concerts or the South Florida Folk Festival), and it is delightful to have them recorded and accessible now, not to mention discovering the ones that are new to me!   From FF:  The new album, “Evidence of Hope”, explores the topics of fear, loss, immigration, family, protest. Looking at the songs as a collection we were surprised to see how much hope was embodied in each track. Hope nurtured by a belief in nature, in our institutions, but mostly in one another. We didn't feel hopeful, in fact we felt a little desperate, but we wrote our experience; what we did, saw, and heard in mostly virtual encounters with the world. Truth always finds its way to the surface in the music. Maybe it will bring you some hope."

Today is rainy and productive, but no less joyful.  Feeling/conjuring my default these days is Gratitude... 💞

NR:  The Final Revival of Opal & Nev by Dawnie Walton (thanks, Mari... 💝 )

SONG:  There Will Always Be by Friction Farm (Aidan Quinn and Christine Stay)

BOOK:  100 Days of Actions & Intentions to Create the Life You Wish For: Guide Yourself to a Place Where You're Happy & Free and Achieving Your Dreams. All Day, Every Day by Susan Balogh

POEM:  Home Remedies by Couri Johnson

First;

            I will weave heartache into a blanket

            the way my mother taught me, white knuckled,

            catching it on hooks held between browning fingers.

            When it is done I will wear it as a shawl when I am out,

            at night lay it down on the vacant side of the bed

            and wake tangled in it and suffocating.

Next;

            I will unlearn my manners. Rub sandpaper

            and salt along the skin that had been kissed

            and caressed soft, grow the callouses back

            in my voice and nip the word sweetheart

            off of my tongue. I will call you once before dawn

            to tell you I was never sweet, but all you will hear

            is blood and breath, and the final click of bones

            resetting into a primal shape.

Finally;

            I will brew coffee without a filter; black and bitter

            thick like the soil after thunderstorms. I will curl my fingers

            around the cup and let it burn my palm. I will let its steam

            sting in my eyes. I will read our future by flicking ash

            off the end of my cigarette into the mug.

            I will watch it sink. I will watch it dissolve.

            I will watch it turn into nothing at all.

QUOTE:  "You are under no obligation to remain the same person you were a year ago, a month ago, or even a day ago. You are here to create yourself, continuously." ~ Richard Feynman