I’m grateful to have been asked to participate in Indy’s long running public festival!
Here’s a review of the program that includes two of my poems. Enjoy.
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Interstellar Space
A sacred reward
Found hiding between the stars
Waiting to be seen
© Gayle Force Press 2003
In the New World
I appreciate having an occasion to share this poem at the recent University High School Black Graduation event. These young people will be the creators of a new world.
FDO
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
The New Adam
Noah tells everyone
He’s the new Adam
Father of an original world
What he never says out loud
The reason he drinks
Is because now
There’s only one murderer on Earth
Noah tells everyone
He’s the new Adam
Noah knows he’s Cain
© Gayle Force Press 2020
She’s Gone
I have lots of favorite days every year.
Rachel’s birthday, my first Drunk Day during summer break, 46118 Christmas… Those are 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 the first six weeks of my new life as a high school teacher and had as normal a conversation as is possible when someone is dying of cancer in the big bedroom.
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 helpful decisions and made sure Mom was warm; we shared lots of laughs and more than a handful of tears and rubbed Mom’s feet and arms; we talked about how well we could continue making good choices for her and discussed how we could take care of each other.
A couple hours after I left, Dad called to tell me Mom was dead.
My initial thought was confusion; I didn’t know what he meant. When he repeated himself (Even now I am sooo sorry I asked 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.
Apparently I was on autopilot as I started driving back to Mills Road. I sped like I believed 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 these fifteen years since, I’ve lived a wonderful life. I have been blessed beyond measure by gifts of love I didn’t quite know existed before they came into my life. And even the heartbreaks of continued living have reminded me how much I continue to love the people in my life. Those in the present and in the past.
And every single day, I miss my mommy.
Today is always the worst.
Stephen A on Steve Nash
This take was fascinating for me to see, especially from Stephen A.
I love that the world of sports has worked so hard in the past few months to lift up inequality but this just isn’t one of the moments that applies. At least not in the way SAS suggests. Not in the NBA.
The same basic situation (getting a head coaching gig with no coaching experience) has happened for lots of Black coaches. Most recently it was probably Jason Kidd. The best and most prominent Black coach in the NBA is Doc Rivers and he had the same kind of job handed to him as did Steve Kerr, the most successful coach in the last decade.
I appreciate that we’re having the conversation but this focus may mean we’re still missing the actual core reason BIPoC usually *do* miss out on opportunities. This hire is about the privilege of relationship, not Whiteness. It’s not quite nepotism but it is about access. Nash and the Nets GM Marks are longtime friends. (That friendship was probably furthered by them both being White non-Americans on their Suns teams so race keeps showing up. It almost always shows up.) People tend to favor those they already know. Decision makers are still usually White and the people they know best are usually White. There’s nothing nefarious but this insular cycle is very real and incredibly powerful.
In this moment, we should also recognize the power of the NBA athlete. As much as Marks loves Nash, the most important people in the Nets organization are Kevin Durant and Kyrie Irving. They both have positive relationships with Nash too. Without their input, there’s no chance Nash would have this job.
Again, the theme is not race, but connection. I’d love to see us spend energy figuring out how more of us can connect. Especially for those of us to whom access to power is usually unavailable.
Over the Ohio
The water is wide
Littered with empty bodies
Once young old weak and strong
Mingled with fish and sledge
Along with the memories of those
Who made it over the Ohio
To a new home of hope
No land but how brave
Promising to remain
North of the river
Away from pattyrollers
Somehow, finally free
Their lucky descendant
Starts driving faster
As I take a bridge
One of several I’ll cross
Just hoping for fun tonight
In Cincy or Louisville
Leaving Kentucky for Ohio
Trading South for North
Simply signs on the highway
Beneath the shining images
Pointing me to a downtown
Or a floating casino
Nothing calls to attention
The history or the bodies
Still and real below me
Trapped in the Ohio
Permanently, without memories
Somehow, finally free
© Gayle Force Press 2012
A poem by Franklin Oliver
My Blackness
I wear My Blackness like a cape
Like Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman
No, she doesn’t always wear a cape.
Her daily life isn’t a special occasion I guess.
I wear My Blackness like a cape
Like Hawkgirl, Thor, Spiderman
Except no he doesn’t wear one
’cause he’s always caught up in a web
Like I am
But he creates his own webs
While I get stuck in someone else’s
With My Blackness flying all around me
I wear My Blackness like a cape
’cause Ric flair is the greatest of all time
But he’s also the Nature Boy and his robe tells you it’s true.
Same as I’m telling you about my life
and this heavy fucking cape around my neck
See, I wear My Blackness like a cape
Because that weight makes me stronger and braver and prouder and bolder
than you could ever understand.
I wear My Blackness like a cape
Because It reminds me that on any
Tuesday night or Friday morning
I might need a cape to protect me from the rest of the human race.
I wear My Blackness like a cape
Because some folks still pretend that they just don’t see
The very first thing they notice about me.
I wear My Blackness like a cape
Because It helps define me for me.
Because It contains multitudes.
And because I love it.
© Gayle Force Press 2020
A poem by Franklin Oliver
Justified Use of Force (for DaDon)
Every year there are
Untold more of us
An Ahmaud Arbery, Botham Jean,
Eric Garner, Tamir Rice or me
Then a loud clamor
Our broken faces on TV
We ask so many questions
That no one’s forced to answer
With sympathy’s short half-life
Most just wait for the noise to stop
So the questions
Can disappear once again
Just like us
In our lives
And our deaths
© Gayle Force Press 2020
A poem by Franklin Oliver
Survivors
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
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