Memorial Day

Last Memorial Day I was in Washington, D.C. and wrote this poem which recently won the Robert Clark Appreciation Award and has been published by Sol Magazine and That Thing We Do 2008:

Memorial Day in McPherson Park,
Washington, D.C.

A soft breeze cools the cement beneath my feet
as geometric shadows of nearby buildings
grow long across worn patches of green grass.
Making their way slowly, one by one they come.
With walkers, wheel chairs, crutches they come,
come to find that certain bench,
to stake a claim on dream time.
Black plastic bags holding what’s left
of a life of hard times and bitter memories
lay near torn and ragged soles.
Darkness will bring nightmares of “Nam”,
dreams of beds and showers
as sirens wail down K Street.

Ducks and pigeons scurry with flapping wings
circling round the woman in green sweats.
Midst the clamor, her hand, a rusty brown,
reaches into a bag and throws the fowl some crumbs.
She who has so little shares what she can.

Oblivious, suited figures hurry through the park
conversations wrapped around their ears.
Passers-by become intruders in this strange land.
Do they bring anything to the table?
Can they hear their pain?
A dark figure stoops under his mighty load
ranting, raving at sights unseen
as he stumbles from bench to bench.
He looks at me and I become afraid.
He shouts a greeting and I nod.

I take a seat on a fading sun-lit bench
feeling overwhelmed.
Here on Memorial Day near the Wall of honor
gather the forgotten ones
lost in the “land of the free and the home of the brave”.
How did it come to this?
Fearful and ashamed
I walk away toward my hotel
knowing that my meal tonight will fill my belly
but will it feed my soul?

Squatting hair

Well, it was haircut week and I am left with what my friend, DeAnne's, brother would describe as squatting hair. What happened? With all the vitamins I'm taking I should have bold, strong, standing-tall hair. A trip to Walgreen's and new gel and we shall see. Is this a message to let my hair grow out? Do I really want to mess with longer hair again? Only if I can have stripes of another color. Perhaps now I should go for the stripes, I think they are called high lights, in hopes that my silver strands will stand on their own.

Foggy Dawn on Clear Lake

Foggy Dawn on Clear Lake

Months after Ike
cold air descends at night
onto the warm, still water.
Lakeshore homes become faint shadows
wrapped in a silver-tinted blanket of cozy humidity.
Silent, calm, ominous
remnants of past destruction
hide beneath the surface.
Sea birds echo the fear
that possible repeats approach with time.
Tossed from anchored slips,
recovered boats line the shore.
Slimy green brown growth covers shattered hulls,
a graveyard of tattered dreams and sails
headed for a dumpster.

Beams of sunrise break through the fog.
People stir from trailers parked in driveways
waiting dollars from insurance, FEMA.
With hopeful eyes and hearts
they stare at their blue-tarped empty shells,
pray that this is the day
they hang sheetrock, lay tile, glimpse the time
they can once again
call this house home.

Masks

We collect masks of all kinds. While in Bali, we were fortunate enough to meet with the Master mask maker in his village and collect a few of his fabulous masks. The Balinese use these masks to play different characters in their dramas and the artist invited us to try on different ones and get the feel of each. On a return visit to him he had arranged a group of men to drum and chant for us and then play for us while we danced wearing the masks. It was an extraordinary time, one of many such events in our visit to that country. When an artist becomes very successful, it is tradition that he/she give back to their village. This artist shared his wealth by building a large community building in his village.

Artists are very honored in their culture and is an integral part of their every day life. Frequently we would come across fresh flowers or fruit placed on a bamboo leaf weaving out near a tree or other plant...an offering to the gods in gratitude for their blessings and prayers for more. Sometimes these offerings would be outside a cafe or a home. In the compound where we stayed in Ubud, the house women would make these simple but beautiful offerings all during the day. Bali is an interesting mix of Hindu and Islam with all sorts of rituals to gods and goddesses so much of the art forms are rituals of faith.

Maya Angelou says...

'MAYA ANGELOU'S' BEST POEM EVER



A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own,
even if she never wants to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

something perfect to wear if the employer,
or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..

a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....

a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems,
and a recipe for a meal,
that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .

a feeling of control over her destiny...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to fall in love without losing herself..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to quit a job,
break up with a lover,
and confront a friend without;
ruining the friendship...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that her childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. .

whom she can trust,
whom she can't,
and why she shouldn't take it personally...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

where to go...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table..
or a charming Inn in the woods...
when her soul needs soothing...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

What she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year...


Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect.
It means that you have decided to look beyond the imperfections

Latest of a series

 
This is one of a series I'm working on inspired by the fall foliage I saw in NC last fall. My timing is a little off I know being as spring is beginning to pop around here but the memory is still strong. We so seldom get a real fall here on the Gulf Coast the whole experience was a great one for me. Right now there are three in the series but there may be more.

But still there is the question...

what to do with all the "stuff" I am creating? I have a cupboard of journals filled with writing and drawings, closets full of painted and collaged canvases, more drawings, a flat file full of more drawings. I give it away and create more. I recycle and paint over old art work but there is still more. Yes, this is a God given gift to do all this and what I do to fill my soul, to heal myself, to place myself in the universe but God didn't tell me what to do with all the products of all this. My house is pretty funky as you can well imagine.

I think God says "Build a warehouse for all that stuff and let your kids worry about how to burn it when you are gone. Or maybe my great grandchildren will look at it and think geez, didn't she know how to do digital art? What was she thinking?