Category: Poetry

Trash Day

 

 

The strong, nearly intoxicating

Smell of burning trash

Comes to me past a state park,

an ancient river that gave this
place its name,

3 creeks,

a gorgeous pond,

and half a medium-sized city.

 

 

At least

That’s what my imagination tells
me.

I want to believe that if the
trash burners truly exist

They live in spheres separate from
mine

There can be no points of mutual
reference

No chance that I’ll take the
parking spot they covet

Or that they could snag the last
copy of the Gazette where I stop

For my coffeedonutpaper

No.

Not those folks.

People who are my bogeymen

These fearsome apparitions.

 

 

I know all about the east side of
this not so large town.

The pond I’ve heard about,

Those several creeks that may be
only a windy one,

The valley where a river ran dry,

And the state park I’m afraid to
visit.

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2002

 

 

February 15 Muhammad Ali

 

This Black History Month I’m Grateful for Muhammad Ali

 

 

“He who is not courageous enough to take risks will
accomplish nothing in life.”

 

-Muhammad Ali  

 

 

I want to spend today’s blog post reflecting on a man who
transcended virtually all the expectations of his life. While a young boxing
champion, the man born Cassius Clay made the first high profile conversion to
Islam. After being brought into the Nation of Islam by Malcolm X*, the newly
christened Muhammad Ali was immediately condemned as an un-American radical. Most
in the mainstream media refused to use his chosen name for years.

 

 

When drafted
to enter the Vietnam War, Ali became the most celebrated American to refuse
induction. Ali famously declared that he had no quarrel with the Vietcong.
Although Ali was offered the possibility of spending his military service as a
traveling entertainer, he continued to refuse to participate and risked jail
time for his stance. Although he was not imprisoned, he was stripped of his
championship and not allowed to work as a boxer.

 

 

For many years, Ali’s name was associated with Jane Fonda’s
as Vietnam era traitors. It took much longer for Ali’s stance to be recognized
for the act of willing sacrifice that it truly was. Ali eventually was allowed
to return to boxing where he became the first three time heavyweight champion.
More importantly, Ali used his fame and celebrity to support a wide variety of
social causes. As the most famous Muslim in the world, Ali had an extraordinary
following and level of credibility globally. Ali has been honored with the
Presidential Medal of Freedom and in the 1996 Summer Olympics, his lighting of
the Olympic Torch became one of the iconic images of the decade.

 

 

Ali’s work as an advocate for peace was generally
understated but recently, ESPN produced a documentary
detailing Ali’s role in freeing American hostages held in Iraq before the
Persian Gulf War. At this stage in his life, Ali’s physical impairments had
already manifested and he risked his health in a profound way on this trip. As
one of the most famous people in the world, Muhammad Ali could have chosen to
bask in luxury and adulation. Instead, he’s continually worked to promote peace
and justice.  He’s become an icon worthy
of the label.

 

 

Today I am grateful for Muhammad Ali. You should be too.

 

FDO

 

*- check back Thursday

 

Here's a poem I wrote for Ali:

 

 

The Greatest

 

King of all the world

From sinner to savior to saint

And shrill to sagacious to silent

Always beautifully, willfully,
painfully

Real.

 

 

© Gayle Force
Press 2003

 

 

In the New World

 

You can feel the changes

As the people begin to move

From Earth’s every corner

Bringing with them hope and strength

Knowing their dreams can soon take flight

In the new world they will create

 

 

You can see the changes

As the people begin to rise

Loosed from the shackles of fear

Breaking the bonds of ignorance

Rejecting the power of separation

In the new world they will create

 

 

You can hear the changes

As the people begin to sing

Songs of courage and strength

New as a baby’s cry

Old as the language of life

In the new world they will create

 

 

You can be the changes

As the people begin to build

Bridges from one to all

Forged from peace and justice

Raised on love and truth

In the new world we will create

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

 

 

Four Season State

 

Winter in Indiana

Is a confusing blend of possibilities

And patterns

There will be snow

Sooner or later

A little or a lot

 

Wind will cause grief

But rarely damage

The ice will send many to the hospital

Few to the morgue


Still we’ll chatter intently

About the rain and the snow

The cold sunny days

And the joy

Of a four season state

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

 

 

Computer Love

 

So many people

Find that one, true love

In cyberspace

 

The holding, touching and

Proximity of growing close

Subsumed beneath a laundry list

Of questions and answers

 

Need to know

Have to learn

How love blooms

With words alone

 

 

 © Gayle Force Press 2003

 

 

Hidden Truth

 

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

 

 

 

 

Falling Grace

 

Falling Grace

 

 

The rain crashes down from heaven

And today, the sinner and the saint

The righteous and the wicked

Will all give a moment’s thought to nature

 

The clouds pour their sustenance on all

In grace, not in judgment

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

 

 

 

 

Bumpus

 

In the late 70s I listened to lots of White music

And acts like the Bee Gees, KC and the Sunshine Band, Hall
and Oates and Elton John seemed as natural to listen to as the Bar-Kays, Maze
and Earth, Wind and Fire

So it didn’t really take that long for me to figure it out

When the old White guy told me I was Bumpus

At first I thought he asked me a question and maybe he did
but I heard bupkus so the look on my face was revealing enough to prompt him to
tell me, not ask

Who I was

“The horn player, y’know”

By which time I did since bupkus can only go so far in your
head

Before it runs into Bumpus

But since I was in grammar school when the Doobie Brothers
broke up

And Bumpus has to be at least twenty years my senior

I was still perplexed that this guy could think we could be
the same person

So even though I know that black don’t crack it seemed to me

The more appropriate aphorism

Is that to some people

Black folks all look alike

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2002