Exploring the Intriguing
There are angels all around us
In innumerable guises
Wearing masks we fail to recognize
Like Baucis and Philemon
Dumb to the divinities
Asking for our help
There is stardust all around us
In everything you see
All we are or do
Or can ever become
Wholly filled
With the essence
Of Heaven itself
There are angels all around us
There is stardust all around us
© Gayle Force Press 2003
My head is pounding unmercifully
Surely little Athena is trying to force her way out
If I can find Hephaestus quickly
I’ll beg him to open my skull
© Gayle
Force Press 2002
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
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
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
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
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
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 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 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
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