Overread at Table 5: A Few Notes on Segregations

a poem in six fragments:

A few notes on segregations


1.
Lines.
We are separated by lines.
Color lines
Welfare lines
Lines are the burkas we wear
to hide all but our haunted eyes
from ourselves.

2.
Why do we find such false security
in our segregation?

3.
Segregation – whether
imposed by ourselves
or by others – strangles
cultural growth.

4.
Only by embracing all of
our history can we move
forward as a nation.

5.
One nation of
many nations –
E pluribus unum

6.
I speak of
Unity through
Celebration of
Diversity.


MR
2017-0402

Overheard at Booth 3: Our Poetry is Too Full of Nazis

Our poetry is too full of Nazis

Our poetry is too full of Nazis
And the Holocaust
And tales of heroism from a tiny family in
Lithuania or
Latvia
Or Estonia.

Our poetry is too full of their
Slavic names,
And descriptions of how
They were hid behind cupboards,
Or under floorboards, or
In barrels behind barn doors,

And the blackbooted Gestapo
Who finally found them, and
Lines about how the last
Breath of their lungs
Were filled with cyanide gas,

But with a handful, the wide
Eyed innocent child or occasional
Woman, given
False papers
To be secreted away
To a new life
In America,

To spend a life of nightmares
And finally die
Bravely
At the age of 90
Or 100, in Yonkers NY
Or Albuquerque NM

And the poetry is filled with these
Ghosts, these haunted eyed spirits
Of the Holocaust.

But world is filled with other Holocausts,
Other haunted eyes, eyes that never fill our
Poetry.

Cambodian eyes,
Salvadoran eyes,
Gypsy eyes,
Kenyan eyes,
Eyes of the South Sudanese,
Eyes of the Congalese,
Georgian eyes,
Kurdish eyes,
Eyes of the Druze,
Eyes of the Wiger,
Honduran eyes,
Ojos de los pipiles,
Irish eyes (always smiling),

Eyes of every Holocaust that does
Not fill our poetry,
Voices that never sing through our verses,
Breaths never expressed through our rhyme.

The true Holocaust, is the
Voices that die without ever
Having this opportunity,

Because we are too busy
Struggling with the Nazis
That inhabit our own soul.


MR
2017-0402

Overheard at Table 2: Deacon - Notes from Escuela Dominical

For DEACON

Notes from 2019-0912

Escuela dominical

2 Tim 4:2

    "Piedra"

    Dios nos da oportunidades

Rocdorguage

Juan 16:8

Convencerá al mundo de pecado

Muchas veces ignoramos la voz de El Santo Espíritu

"Ronco Pecho"

Enojo

Aislo = withdrawn, like an island

Exploto

Phil 1:27

    2, 3, 4

Egoismo y vanidad

Bodia

Synteche

-====================

Mateo 6:25-26 on tithing

===============

La relación de gozo y alegría es como la relación de ser y estar

Sin perdón no hay relación

Mateo 18:21-35

your brother broke your arm
he thinks it's funny - 
do you forgive him?

Efesos 1:5-7

MAteo 18:15

Murioy

Griego "Murion" - diez mil (infinito)

Overheard at Table 1: 18 Years Ago Today

My daughter was born.

All the kids born on that date will be forever tagged as being the people who were born on 9-11.
My daughter, and her peers, have grown up with this shadow of the Twin Towers hanging over their every move.

Seems to me that it has always been in the backs of theri minds  That they have always had the smell of pulverized concrete filling their souls, and the hot stench of gasoline fumes form the downed airplanes heavy in their hair, on their skin, as the crust at the corners of their eyes, their mouths, their nostrils.

Or maybe not.
Who knows.
Maybe they never really gave a shit.

Perhaps when they were at their parties in high school they never really thought about their origins.
Perhaps it was just the emotional weight of their parents that was the shroud under which they lived.
Perhaps they never realized that they were the hope that we lost on that day, theat they were the reality in the midst of that horror.

I remember that day.  I remember holding that tiny body, and after my eyes being glued to the televisions all morning long, watching the world fall apart around us, then, late afternoon, the world suddenly came back together, the pieces came back together, all in this little lovely warm brand new human.

So Happy Birthday, my daughter. 
We love you.
You are so much more than this day of your birth.  You stand taller than those towers, braver than that field in Pennsylvania, and stronger than the Pentagon.

If you were to read this, I know you would roll your eyes.
So roll them now.

Love, your dad.


[NOTE: this letter will be saved in the Annals of Insomniac Jack]

Overheard at Table 4: Requiem for the Radio DJ

Requiem for the Radio DJ

Is there even a Radio DJ around anymore?
Maybe lying around some where on some station
in the middle of the desert, driving through the night,
headed high speed, to make it to the city by sunrise,

and a gravel voice of some old audiophile, who
is semi-retired and still a little sloppy from his
day-drinking, but who spins the stax of wax

of tunes you hadn't heard since you were
knee-high to an bird's eye,

and the songs sing you down the road,
broken white lines sliding underneath the
headlights, you

crack the window to let in some of the
night air, crisp and cool from the slow release
of heat captured from the long forgotten sundown,

and where is that DJ?
where did he go?
did he slither behind the shadow of the mountain?
is he asleep at the wheel?

are you?





MR
2019-0909

Overheard at Table 2: What Would You Do If

Helene: What would you do if I left you?

Marc: I'd chase after you, begging you to come home.

Helene: What if I never came back?

Marc: Then I'd spend the rest of my life crying my eyes out.

Helene: Oh, please, you'd probably shack up with some girl within three months.

Marc: Never!

Helene: One of my sisters, probably.  I've seen how they look at you.

Marc: They're just being polite!

Helene: Yeah, especially Claire. 

Marc: Why are we even talking about this anyway?

Helene [pause]: Saw the doctor today.  She saw something on my chest x-ray.  Wants me to go for some tests.  She said she's gonna fast-track it.  Try to get me in on Monday.

Overread at Table 3: Two Haiku for Books

Haiku - Books v1

Falling into books.
Open pages open doors.
Unfolding new worlds


Haiku - Books v2

To open new books:
Each page is a new doorway,
Unfolding new worlds








MR
2019-0903