Author: whodeanny

Summer nights (#2): Processional

The night sky has often inspired me to dream, think, wonder and write. 

This poem is a perfect example.

 

 

Moonrise comes early tonight

The sky filled with bright dancing lights on either side

This holy, heavenly waltz brings coolness

and the west wind

A comforting breeze

 

Billowing, pillowing clouds hold the sun

And lay it down to sleep

While the silent armies of stars guide the moon

on the way
to its throne

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2013

 

 

Summer Nights (#5) : Witness

 

Last night

The sky filled me

With dread

 

I wondered

How I could matter

My thoughts

These words

 

But now

That I feel

The power

Of these ancient

Generous lights

 

I feel warmed

And certain of my place

Even if beyond

Space and time

 

 

For some great wisdom

Dictated long ago

That these lights be

And allowed me

The chance

To bear witness

 

So I will

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2013

 

 

One Size Fits All

 

It doesn't happen very often that I think the New York Daily News provides an important contribution to the national dialogue but this cover does exactly that. (Please take a moment to look.) Creating an explicit connection between Trayvon Martin and Emmett Till, Michael Donald, Yusef Hawkins and others puts race in the forefront of this situation. Right where it should be. 

 

As hard as it is for some of us to acknowledge, race is the defining element of the Trayvon Martin story. It was race that created the initial decision of George Zimmerman to find Trayvon suspicious and it's race that deeply animated the actions of the police, the broader community, the attorneys on both sides and probably even the jury.

 

In one sense, this is perfectly clear. Tall, skinny White teenagers like my son just don't frighten grown men. Tall, skinny Black teenagers like Trayvon do. Enough so, that millions of Americans seem to have decided that George Zimmerman undertook reasonable actions throughout his confrontation with Trayvon. 

 

This reality is heartbreaking but not shocking. Not when we take a moment to recognize just how deeply feared and mistrusted Blacks (particularly men) are in our country. That fear and mistrust is why Trayvon is dead and Zimmerman is a free man. It's also why Emmett Till, Michael Griffith, Sean Bell and so many others fit into that hoodie on the cover of the Daily News. For millions of Americans, it fits us all. 

 

 

FDO 

 

 

Justified Use of Force (for Trayvon Martin)




Every year there’s a new one
A Diallou, King or me
Clamoring loudly
Faces on TV
We ask so many questions
But no one’s forced to answer



With sympathy’s short half-life
Soon most are hoping for the noise to stop
And the questions to disappear once again
Just like us
In our lives
And our deaths



© Gayle Force Press 2002


The Dancing Game

 

 

Floating through a crowded wedding reception

We never discover the dance is a game

Focused on age or longevity

Not questioning but celebrating it,

Giving it a privileged place

 

 

Other couples fade from view

Just when they’re supposed to

While we keep dancing

Oblivious to the predetermined competition

That’s captured everyone else’s attention

 

 

The music’s still playing

Which proves to be enough for us

To continue holding each other close

While we keep on dancing

 

 

 

© Gayle
Force Press 2007

 

 

 

The Other Half of Balki

 

I didn’t remember his name

No, that’s not true

 

Mark Linn-Baker

 

What a funny, unforgettable name

I didn’t care to remember it I
suppose

He didn’t matter to me

 

Really Mark Linn-Baker was just there

Archived in my brain

Alongside Tracey Gold and Ken Kercheval,

Todd Bridges and Lisa Whelchel,

Roxie Roker and the rest of the litany

Of not quite stars

That worked so hard to barely input themselves

On my consciousness

 

The lot of them hardly identifiable

As individual entities

Only who they pretended to be

Which for them, like me,

Was the only important reality

 

The masks we wear for better

And for worse

Define us and allow us

To define each other

Whether the me you think you know

Or Mark Linn-Baker

 

You remember him, right

Cousin Larry

 

The other half of Balki

 

 

 

© Gayle
Force Press 2002

 

 

 

The Last Train from Overbrook

 

The last train from Overbrook is leaving today

I suppose it’s about time

But this has come to feel like home to me

Here in my special private room

 

My tiny windows give me just enough light

To see the stream across the bridge;

This really is a gorgeous view

I know that Dr. Baylor was right, now

Rest and some down time made the difference

Thankfully everything is fine, now  

 

This winter will be wonderful

I already can sense it,

I’m just doing so well

The snowy days will be peaceful

With laughing kids reminding me of my own childhood

Not like last year’s taunting jeers

Those little cretins were awful

 

And Christmas, wow,

I can’t wait for Christmas

Even though I won’t get any presents

It will still be thrilling

Maybe I’ll go out some night

Just looking at the store windows and houses

Decked out so lavishly

 

My apartment will be nice

With so many little things that I like

Some books, my clocks

Maybe a couple pictures too

Not the sad kind that make me feel lonely

But happy smiling photos

Filling empty frames and spaces

Some with people I used to know

 

The last train from Overbrook is leaving today

I know it’s the right time

Even though this has become home for me

My private room isn’t that special

 

 

 

© Gayle
Force Press 2007

 

 

 

Potato Chips and Pills

 

 

Potato chips and pills share grease

Trade color and occupy the same space

In the little wooden bucket

Perched in Gerri’s kitchen

Her anchoring protection from the world

 

 

These two disparate, precious fixations

Keeping her from drifting

Too far into either the ether

Of her madness

Or newly opened earth

 

 

I watch sickness and pain

Turmoil and sadness reaching around

Her infantile waist

With taut, tender embraces

Crushing and comforting simultaneously

 

 

So we buy more chips

Lauding the sodium, laughing at the colors

Then look away when the pills are popped

Ignoring the wooden bucket

As much as we can

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2007

 

 

Mt. Hibbert Explodes!

 

A friend of mine mentioned that since Roy Hibbert’s press
conference Saturday, he’s now rooting for the Heat. That started me thinking
about what Hibbert was actually aiming for in that presser. 

 

 

I must admit that I've always been perplexed by "no
homo". That phrase is often used in ways that are totally nonsensical.
There’s an interesting Slate article
from a few years ago that describes some of the curious ways it functions in
rap music. For Hibbert to have used “no homo” seemed like acting out as part of
a broader attempt to be tough. The same is true of his calling the reports
"motherfuckers". They both sounded false coming from him. (It verges
on funny to watch Hibbert consider whether to actually say “motherfucker” or
not. I immediately had flashbacks to middle school.)

 

 

Let’s face it, Hibbert is just not a 'street' guy.
Particularly in Indiana in the decade long aftermath of the ‘Malice in the
Palace’, NOT being a street guy is part of why Mt. Hibbert is widely beloved. He’s
one of the faces of the Pacers franchise and in a world wherein Wilt
Chamberlain could believe, “Nobody loves Goliath,” Hibbert’s kindness, charity,
quick smile and obvious love for his family have made him an important
exception to the rule. We Hoosiers love our Goliath. 

 

 

That’s part of what was so jarring about Saturday night. The
eyes of the nation are rarely on the Hoosier State where the NBA is concerned.
The Pacers have been the most important, positive surprise of the playoffs but
Saturday’s after game was a deeply unpleasant, unanticipated surprise. The
contrasts between the press conference and Hibbert’s immediate postgame
interview were shocking. It seems clear that Hibbert’s 'Happy Birthday Dad' hokum
was authentic. The badass wannabe posing he did on the dais wasn’t. Thank
goodness.  

 

 

Of course, it’s always hard to balance who you are and who
you are expected to be, isn’t it? I imagine that’s particularly true on big
stages with bright lights. I’m pleased that David Stern pulled some charity
cash out of Hibbert’s pockets. My hope is that Saturday night will serve as
another clear reminder that the world continues to change and we all need to change
along with it. 

 

 

FDO