Saturday, November 30, 2019

Festival of Lights

Edited a little. Probably needs more work.

Festival of Lights
Holiday season.
Houses with bright lights,
Stores playing Christmas music.
'Tis the season to be jolly
and smile when asked if the holiday shopping is done.
Smile when someone wishes you Merry Christmas.
It’s the time of year
when it takes a thick skin
to remember 
that the Christmas assumptions aren’t personal.
Just accept the good cheer
And celebrate what you want to however you choose.
The symbolism of lights
The tradition of oil and candles, 
Are not the providence of one religion.
The festival of lights
Hindu November,
the triumph of light over darkness 
and good over evil. 
Hebrew month of Kislev
Celebrating the miracle triumphs over oppression and oil.
Kwanzaa December,
African American celebration of life,
Seven candles, seven principles.
No matter the religion or beliefs,
Festivals. Lights. Symbols. 
Brightening the night.
Miracles. Renewal. Gifts.
Spiritual rituals.
Making memories.
The goal is to end the year with hope.
And love.

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

First Thanksgiving

First Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving won’t be the same
without you.
Who will be there to glare
when the kids about what time to eat
and which football games are on tv?
Who will comment on the food at the restaurant
the dried out turkey,
fat laden gravy,
and oversalted green beans?
Who will be there to insist we take a break before dessert
even though we’re at a buffet.
And then ask ask for the third time
“Did you get enough to eat?”
Then on the way home 
comment about how we all ate too much?
Who will be there
to remind us
to be thankful
And to make us feel guilty if we aren’t?
Thanksgiving won’t be the same
without you.
But we will probably be more thankful
than ever before
When we notice the difference.

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Morning Poem for my Children

Morning poem
This morning’s poem is why I should write Morning pages in the morning.
This morning’s poem is why I should write free form,
every day.
Writing takes the doubt and sad
out of my head,
So I can go about my day
without the weight of my failures
on my conscience,
encroaching on my words and actions.
In other words,
I should write because it makes me
a better person.

I reach deep down and come up with
These are my daughters 
My children,
My everything,
And yet,
Am I dead?

Am I spiritually dead?
I’ve never been convinced about God.
When I read from the prayer book at services,
I skipped Our God.
My daughter noticed it once,
during a Yom Kippur Service.
She got so excited,
because she was unsure too
And did the same thing.
Is that the legacy I want to leave my child?
A question mark about God?

I have two.
I have none.
I find women to be comforting, mean,
Puzzling, brilliant.
I see that as a woman I am often underestimated and misunderstood,
Mainly by men,
Sometimes by women.

I am a woman,
a mom.
I call myself Single.
The forms I fill out want me to say Divorced.
I don’t.

I am a woman,
And still figuring out how to play that role
in a society where labels based on looks
set the stage for what you can and cannot say.
I say things anyway.
I get a little cranky.
I get offended.
I get angry.
I get soft.
I get confused.
And I cause confusion.
When I act like a man,
I am shunned or rebuked.
When I act like a woman,
I am put in a box and ignored.
Not always shunned, rebuked, boxed up and ignored.
But enough times that I am wary,
for my daughters, 
I wonder,
Will it ever change?

Monday, November 25, 2019

Something in the way I move

Something in the way I move

I walk quickly, so they say.
It’s not that I’m in a hurry,
That’s how my legs move,
Long legs, short torso.
Fast walker, slow sprinter.

My dance moves have gotten smoother.
They used to be jerky,
I didn’t know what to do 
And I worried about what people thought.
Mostly, they laughed.
Now I don’t care what people think when I dance.
I’ll stand in the back of a concert hall
And let the music move me.
Something in the way I move
With the music
Takes me out of my skin
Into a body of rhythm and feeling
That stays with me until the concert ends.

The way I move is me.
The way I move means something to me.
The way I move
Something in the way
I move
I move
I move.
Yes, it is something.

Saturday, November 23, 2019

This library is noisy

My first attempt to write about why I am passionate about libraries.

This library is noisy
There are people here
Doing all kinds of things,
Working at computers
Playing games on computers,
Small groups talking, maybe studying.
People looking at books,
Asking librarians questions,
Kids building with legos
Playing with puppets,
Crawling on the floor with oversize blocks
Parents watching,
Parents joining in.
Librarians talking, 
Checking their email, sneaking a peak at their cellphone,
Gabbing, reading, planning,
Answering questions about how to log into the computers, the internet, printing,
Where a book is, 
how to look for a book in the catalog
If a study room is available,
Where a program is being held,
Where the bathroom is,
Why there’s only a broken escaltor and no stairs,
And they don’t like the glass elevator.
The library is noisy,
A busy kind of noisy.
Full of sound created by people
From all over the city,
All over the world,
And they are all here
Where it is warm, safe, and open to anyone
Who wants to see what is inside the building.
No membership card is required,
No passport or visa or ID.
Just the need or willingness to cross the threshold.
So much noise
So much going on.
Reading, writing, learning, playing, singing, dancing, building, creating.
Noisy is a negative word.
In a library it is positive.
Clamor and discordance welcome change and learning..
Quiet, silent, soundless, and still encourage stagnation.
Libraries are about transformation
Encouraging  exploration.
Come to the library
Create a racket and grow.

Image result for library shush

Walk On

First title I gave this was Weather and Walks. Not sure I like that.

My kind of weather
My kind of day.
Cool, misty rain,
No commitments.
Hat, gloves, water, and snack.
I can walk until dark.
Image result for cartoon walking shoes clipart

I'm Writing a Book

I’m Writing a Book
When an eleven year-old tells you 
"I’m writing a book"
and means it,
It makes what I’m doing seem trivial.
I write thoughts that pop into my head.
I steal other people’s words that I overhear
and turn them into verse.
I search for a genre to write in, 
a project I can finish.
She already has her niche.
and is working toward an end goal.

Eleven years old and looking for a writing workshop.
So she can learn to be a better writer
and how to publish her book.
She writes fantasy
and is proud of it.
Her mom is proud of her.
Her sister smiles and says she could make a book.
I look at my 49 pages and counting
and think I write garbage.
Eleven years old
and confident enough to call herself a writer.
And she is.
Image result for writing a book

Friday, November 22, 2019

Fantasy Football

Fantasy Football

The draft was a pain to schedule time for,
The players my friend told me to go for 
Were nearly all taken by the time I got my chance.
Got one and went by rankings for the rest.
First few weeks were stressful.
FInding out we had to set a lineup each week
Figuring out how to do it.
While being nagged about what I didn’t know.
Next few weeks were a learning experience,
Learning we could drop and add players,
And how to do it
Weeks six through nine were kind of fun
Studying the numbers 
Winning a few games.
At ten weeks it became interesting.
Discussion started about the prize structure.
Turns out I didn’t understand that either.
Week twelve and my interest waned.
So many things I’d rather be doing
on Wednesday night, Saturday night, Sunday morning.
Binge watching a tv show
writing, reading,
sleeping late, working out,
Or anything that doesn’t involve
bye weeks, player stats, and projections.
It’s a family league so the pay-in
will go to a nephew, niece, or sibling.
And that’s okay by me.
Personally, I find real life 
far more interesting than this kind of fantasy world.
If I want fantasy,
I can read a book. 
Far more interesting
and it won’t cost me fifty dollars.