Category: Just me

Black Rabbit 

Black Rabbit 

There’s a hookah smoking caterpillar 

Dancing through my head tonight 

He told me he’s using a Zappa beat

Which makes sense because he’s moving

pi beats per measure 

I want to ask him to stop since I’m dizzy 

But I’m a little nervous that if he does

I’ll have to wake up 

And walk through the wonderland called America 

Where all the cards, cats, and queens want to remove my head 

I think I’ll keep searching my dreams

Maybe a black rabbit will help me find what I need 

The pill that keeps me small enough

Just small enough to stay out of sight 

Head down and attached

© Gayle Force Press 2021

Autumn Sky


After the harvest has been made

But before the frosts of winter have begun

The Midwest holds a special sort of magic


On nights when the moon takes its rest

Drive out to a small town

Then head away from the highway

And toward the darkness


When you realize that you’re nearly alone

The darkness seems friendly


As though it expected you

Whenever you’ve arrived


Far away from the dimming haze of light

You’ll discover endless universes

Represented in tiny, fantastically powerful orbs

That reach out singly to touch the whole of you


And wonderfully, graciously

This silent communion can last as long as you like

Or at least until the stars begin to fade.



© Gayle Force Press 2002.



As always, you can find Franklin’s books here.




Hunted and sought

Captured then bought 

Still we do survive 


Shackled and chained

Whipped to be trained

Still we do survive 


Raped and abused

Scarred, misused 

Still we do survive 


Worked just like dogs

Fed worse than hogs

Still we do survive 


Freed then discarded 

Our progress retarded

Still we do survive 


Separate but equal 

Slavery’s sequel 

Still we do survive 


The Movement fights

For basic rights

Still we do survive 


A change from the past 

With “Free At Last”

Still we do survive 


Dreams still deferred

Our consciences stirred 

Still we do survive 


The POTUS is Black

So racists fight back 

Still we do survive 


A Movement anew

Now what will we do


More than just survive 



© Gayle Force Press 2019

A poem by Franklin Oliver

April’s Last



Soon will be May again

That darling month of poems, flowers,

Gaiety and holidays

Till then though, 

April will hold fast

To its power to sway

The fragile moods of humans

With wind, sun, buds and storms

Performing their spontaneously choreographed dance

Raw and intemperate

In full, unceasing view of us all



© Gayle Force Press 2012

A poem by Franklin Oliver 




Thank God for Ferguson

My US History classes are doing significant work on Thomas Jefferson right now. Thinking so much about Jefferson and his complexities keeps bringing Charlottesville to mind. That led me to dig into the archives for this reflection on Ferguson. We keep seeing. When do we start changing?

FDO- 9.21. 2017


There’s a massive difference between being seen and being invisible. That’s why I’m glad Ferguson has become not just a place but a thing. Ferguson is now qualitatively different than every other incidence of police brutality. Mike Brown’s murder was the catalyst for something bigger and potentially transformative.


In the past couple weeks the whole world has begun to see what Black people have experienced for decades; the use of state power to intimidate and suppress populations. The police are the clearest example but much of the infrastructure of our society has done the same thing for centuries. Ta-Nehisi Coates’ invaluable article ‘The Case for Reparations’ provides the clearest explanation of the mechanisms behind this reality.


Ferguson demonstrates that the police do not always work on behalf of the citizens. In fact, for many in law enforcement, people of color are presumed to be an enemy force. This reality has been astonishing to many Americans but entirely unsurprising to people of color. Very few people of color can really be shocked when we hear the story of Mike Brown or Eric Garner or Ezell Ford or Tamir Rice.


What separates Ferguson from previous police violence is that the public response has been handled in such an absurd fashion. Everyone should be appalled at the way the police have brutalized and intimidated citizens who have not done anything wrong. Perhaps more than anything else, it’s the scale and openness in Ferguson that has garnered such attention. However, the idea that this style of policing is new or limited to a single police force is ludicrous. There’s already been some amazing reportage on this.


The biggest difference between the public recognition level of Rodney King (an instantly recognizable name for most Americans older than 35) and Sean Bell (who?) ….. is not that King lived but that we saw happened to him. It’s not the outcome of these situations that creates public recognition, it’s the coverage of the situation. Even in the murder of Mike Brown, the authorities have attempted to create a counter narrative that reduces the level of blame for Darren Wilson. Since we didn’t see Brown being shot, we don’t know precisely what happened.


Fortunately, we do know what the response to the mostly peaceful protests in Ferguson has been. Those images will linger because they are chilling and astonishing and might well be repeated in dozens of communities across America. The overwhelming militarization of the police makes the visuals more stark and citizen fear more understandable. That clarity matters. Ferguson is likely to provide the most important visuals of 2014 in America. We are Mike Brown and we are Afghanistan and we are Iraq and we are not far enough from being Pakistan or Guantanamo.


America is still intensely separated when it comes to race but that often has little to do with where you live, what you like or how you spend your time. Instead, that divide is usually about understanding and experience; the lenses through which you view the world. Those lenses often aren’t chosen by any of us individually; they are usually provided for us. None of us choose what America will expect of us or how America will respond to us.


It’s very hard to say this and I need to be clear that I’m deeply grateful that Mike Brown is the only person to have died at the hands of the police in Ferguson. But I am very happy that White America has the chance to see more of the realities of being a person of color in the USA. Now comes the hard part.






The face in the mirror

Is black

Not brown or cocoa

Or anything else

The too nice people

Might try to tell me

Since it’s about opposition

And the power of whiteness

The power they validate

By denying it exists

Comes only because I am

And must continue to be




© Gayle Force Press 2005 



Ten Years Gone

I have lots of favorite days every year. Rachel’s birthday, Jake’s return from summer break, 46118 Christmas… They’re all beautiful days for me every year.


Today is always the worst.


My mom died on October 1, 2005.


Rachel and I bought a car that day. It’s the first and only new car either of us have ever owned. We drove to my parents’ house where Rachel, my dad and I talked about the car, discussed my new job at Brebeuf and had as normal a conversation as is possible when someone is dying of cancer in the big bedroom.


My dad and I spent part of the afternoon in that bedroom talking about our plans for the next stage of Mom’s care. We came to some decisions and made sure Mom was warm; shared some laughs and tears and rubbed Mom’s feet and arms; we talked about how well we could manage to continue making good choices for her and discussed how we could take care of each other.


A couple hours later, Dad called to tell me Mom was dead. My initial thought was confusion; I didn’t know what he meant. When he repeated himself (I’m so sorry I needed him to say it a second time…), I squealed. I groaned. I uttered a primal, urgent sound that I’ve never heard before or since. It was the sound of my soul being sucked out of my body.


I was on autopilot as I drove back to Mills Road and I sped as though I could somehow manage to hold on to something of my mother if I just arrived quickly enough.


The last thing I clearly remember from that entire day was thinking how mad Mom would be if I killed myself driving recklessly on 465. 
I think I slowed down.


In the intervening decade, I’ve lived a wonderful life. The gifts of love I’ve received have blessed me beyond measure. The heartbreaks of living have reminded me how much I continue to love the people in my life.


And every single day, I miss my mommy.


Today is always the worst.


Dennis Green: An Appreciation


I was saddened to hear about the death of former Minnesota Vikings Head Coach Dennis Green. According to all, Green truly was what we thought he was: a damn good coach.


He was also an important public figure in the great White north of Minnesota. I remain convinced that Green helped ready the Twin Cities for a host of Black leaders. To the best of my knowledge, Green was the Black person t0 ever lead a major element of the Metro community’s public life. (Some might suggest Clem Haskins, but U basketball rises and falls with its winning percentage and has a much smaller social footprint.)


Since then, the Cities have had prominent Black civic leaders like Mayor Sharon Sayles Belton, Bobby McFerrin, Representative Keith Ellison & head coaches of both the Timberwolves & Vikes. They have all built on Green’s success.


My adopted homeland owes him a tremendous debt.


RIP, Mr. Green.



More Love for Venus


During last year’s US Open, I posted a simple request: Can we show some love for Venus Williams?


Now that she’s made her way to the Wimbledon semifinals and solidly into the top 10 of the WTA rankings, I want to ask again for a renewed appreciation of a legendary, perhaps iconic American athlete.


In case you’ve forgotten, Venus is one of the 10 greatest players in the history of women’s tennis. She’s won seven Grand Slam titles, four Olympic gold medals and revolutionized tennis with her unprecedented combination of power, speed and athleticism in much the same way Martina Navratilova once did.


The primary difference between those two is that Martina’s great rival was her foil, not her sister. The epic battles between Martina and Chris Evert elevated both players. The one sided finals Venus lost to her little sister, Serena Williams, seem to have added to Serena’s ledger of greatness but diminished Venus.


In my September post, I dug just a bit into the why of the Serena domination, but suffice it to say that Venus’ seven Grand Slam wins underrepresent her excellence. They also only scratch the surface of her historic importance.


Now that more eyes are on her again, let’s take a moment to recognize Venus Williams for her trailblazing brilliance.


Let’s go, Venus!



Once Were


Beyond our sight

So many spirits

That once were and now

Will only be ‘once were’

Their fruit, their seeds,

Rotted and buried

Surely as last years’

Over early apples



Unlike apples

Whose seeds may somehow

Find deep-rooted luck

And brand new expression

Of their purpose

These dead, once were men,

Women and children

Can only be ‘once were’




© Gayle Force Press 2005