Wednesday, April 17, 2013

IMPOSSIBLE POEM

GUINEA PIGS

When my uncle was a teenager, 
on a dare, he hopped the zoo fence 
and swiped a lone guinea pig. 
He stuck it in his jeans jacket
and brought it home. Aww,
it had babies, so he built a hutch
for his baker's dozen of guinea pigs—
Within months they had litters—and so on. 
He tried to give them away. No such luck.
Picture my uncle trying to thumb a ride
across the Golden Gate Bridge to West Marin
with dozens of guinea pigs wheeking
and chuffing and piddling while chewing
their way to freedom from cardboard boxes.
They ate him out of house & home.
In fact, there were so many guinea pigs, 
that they ate their feces, then they ate 
each other. Too bad he didn't know
any Incas. Roast quwi tastes like chicken.
So one night, my uncle hitchiked out 
to the zoo, climbed back over the fence
laden with boxes of squealing guinea pigs.
The zookeeper must have scratched his head
to find hundreds of guinea pigs in the pen
that weren't there the day before.

4/17/13


(So here's the spillover—yesterday's post leaked over into today's attempt, but Molly's stealing with permission informed the piece. Or maybe it's a volta. Now, what to name it?)

---------------------------


PAD: write an express poem. This might be about an express train or express delivery. It might have something to do with expression painting. However you come at this prompt, be sure to express yourself.

NaPoWriMo: Early on in the month, I asked you to write a valediction — a poem of farewell. Today, let’s try the opposite, and write poems of greeting. There’s lots of things you could greet. The spring? Your new stapler? A favorite classmate? An addition to the menu at your local cafe? The subject’s up to you — now get out there and say “hello!”

Molly Fisk: April 17 prompt: Stealing with permission.

30 Day Poetry Challenge: Use volta (a poetic turn) in a poem of any length (it can be a sonnet, or not). For more about the volta: http://bit.ly/IoiYLd.

volta, ( Italian: “turn”) the turn in thought in a sonnet that is often indicated by such initial words as But, Yet, or And yet.


Tuesday, April 16, 2013

FROM THE FRISIAN


FROM THE FRISIAN 
                    DOWEN Albertina Soepboer 

Here it is, heading west, there's no mistaking it
the rigors of the pen writing samscaras.

It requires wading in, holding the pen flat, like a spade
the only way to carve out a track to lead out back.

The frission it creates when you think you're done
but the pen enters the house of memory at will

Reminding you it harkens a memory of two women
in an abandoned house, furrowing their brows at dusk.


4/16/2013

SAVED poem prompt



PAD: Two-for-Tuesday prompt. Here are your options:
Write a possible poem.
Write an impossible poem.

NaPoWriMo: write a “translation” of a poem in a language you don’t actually know. Go to the Poetry International Language List, pick a language, and then follow it to a poet and a poem. Generally the Poetry International website will present a poem in its original language on the left, and any translation on the right. Cut and paste the original into the text-editing program of your choice (and try not to peek too much at the translation). Now, use the sound and shape of the words and lines to guide you, without worrying too much about whether your translation makes sense.


DOWEN Albertina Soepboer (Frisian)

Hie it hoeden west, miskien hie it net
de rigels fan ús noateskrift skansearre.

It requiem waaide fan ’e flat, ôfdwaalde
fûgelkloft út de triedden om it bytfabryk.

Frissele frijden wy yn azem sûnder fleis.
In hûs fan stien streamde fol, bruts ôf.

It reinde wer. Ik harke nei de twa dowen
yn ús bline stege, fuorre har de triennen.

(MY TAKE)

Here it is, heading west, there's no mistaking it
the rigors of the pen writing samscaras.

It requires wading in, holding the pen flat, like a spade
the only way to carve out a track to lead out back.

The frission it creates when you think you're done
but the pen enters the house of memory at will

Reminding you it harkens a memory of two women
in an abandoned house, furrowing their brows at dusk.


Molly Fisk: April 16: How do you want to be saved?


30 Day Poetry Challenge: Do you find it difficult to express one sense (sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch) more than others in your writing? Paying special attention to that often ignored sense, write a poem with exaggerated sensory detail.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Lunch with Carol Drinkwater


Lunch with Carol Drinkwater (All Creatures Great and Small), and "Olive Farmers", at La Note, Berkeley, California. then a reading at Mrs Dalloway's for Carol's new book. Fun event and afternoon. I was newly on crutches with a torn meniscus, so I was in a lot of pain, and don't remember much. — with Gail Austin Andersen, Donna Champion, Linda Forde, Anjuli Sherin, Clive Lindemann, Arnold Ambiel and Carol Drinkwater.

Gracenotes from Paisley Abbey


Memory: Paisley Abbey. Neil was singing some Rabbie Burns in the apse because of the acoustics, and a startled steward popped his head out, and then, began to harmonize with Neil. The Abbey was filled with the strains of My Love is like a Red, Red Rose. Goosebumps on the heart. A moment locked in tine.

The steward took a shine to Neil, and
we got a down-home back room tour of the bowels of the abbey. He showed us some finds from an archaeological dig lift from the old sewer: tweezers, gambling dice, chorale music—gracenotes scratched on a piece of slate roofing. Notes from the past.

added, rev. /4/2017

Friday, April 12, 2013

BROKEN POEM


BROKEN POEM


Zelda Fitzgerald once said
"Nobody has ever measured,
                    not even poets,
how much the heart can hold."
But sometimes when the heart becomes weary
after the dance of so much benign neglect,

a secret locked in a room of stale promises
shatters like seven years bad luck,
escapes, mercurial. Leaving us wanting.
The things we envisioned,
the life we might have lived.
Banking on a future that will never come.
Instead, we square off, like duelists at dawn
taking measured steps, as if numanistics
could save us from ourselves and each other
laying blame in the dark attic of the self.

4/12/2013

BROKE poem prompt


Zelda Fitzgerald once said
"Nobody has ever measured,
         not even poets, 
how much the heart can hold."
But sometimes when the heart becomes weary
after the dance of so much benign neglect,
a secret locked in a room of stale promises
shatters like seven years bad luck, 
escapes, mercurial. Leaving us wanting.
The things we envisioned, 
the life we might have lived.
Banking on a future that will never come. 
Instead, we square off, like duelists at dawn
taking measured steps, as if numenistics 
could save us from ourselves and each other
laying blame in the dark attic of the self.





PADI: write a broke poem. The poem could be about a broken record, broken relationship, or someone who is just flat broke (no money).

NaPoWriMo: “write a poem consisting entirely of things you’d like to say, but never would, to a parent, lover, sibling, child, teacher, roommate, best friend, mayor, president, corporate CEO, etc.” Honesty is the best policy, after all, so get it off your chest! And if you’re interested in the complete list of experiments, you can find them all here.

Molly FIsk: April 12 prompt:
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows. (Robert Frost)


30 Day Poetry Challenge: Write a limerick for a stranger. (For more information on the limerick, visit http://bit.ly/q1wV0)



APRIL A POEM A DAY info

Me & Mary Robinson, 7th, & 1st woman president of Ireland (photo)

Mary Robinson signing her memoir, Everybody Matters: My Life  Giving Voice, at Book Passages. A last minute impulse visit led to meeting her. She was so amazing. It was a FULL house at Book Passages. Mary's driver got lost enroute from Palo Alto, so we started late. Lots of old  Irish friends: Pat and Uta, Leslie...

What Mary said: everyone matters—that the individual is capable of changing society, the the world. Law and morality. Very empowering. Got a chance to chat with Mary at the end. Someone took a photo of us together, lovely. Thank you Jane Bark for driving us there!

This makes two Irish presidents I've met—Mary McAleece. I will have to dig up my notes.  We also met the inimitable Mo Mowlam, Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, at UC Berkeley ca. 2000—she was a real firecracker, despite suffering from cancer.

My grandfather met Taoiseach Éamon de Valera, Ireland's first president of Dáil Éireann in San Francisco during the Irish War of Independence. Somewhere, there is a lost photo of them together, leaning on a car. We have a photo of Liam Mallows in our lower field. 

I have NOT, however, met, nor will I ever plan to meet Margaret Thatcher.

Me & Mary Robinson, 7th, & 1st woman president of Ireland (1990-1997)
Mary Robinson served as the seventh, and first female president of Ireland (1990-1997); she was appointed the U.N. Commissioner for Human Rights (1997-2002). In her memoir, Everybody Matters: My Life Giving Voice, she writes of her pioneering work on behalf of women’s rights, the separation of church and state, and world peace. Mary Robinson's social advocacy also includes Oxfam, the GAVI Alliance, vaccinating children worldwide, and the Council of Women World Leaders, and she is one of the “Elders,” led by Nelson Mandela dedicated to bringing peace and justice.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

NIGHT BLINDNESS

NIGHT BLINDNESS

If only I had some carrots…
I, who left the stars behind
for the proverbial city lights

no longer dream of moonlight.
it's a case of insanity.

4/11/2013

NIGHT BLINDNESS poem prompt


NIGHT BLINDNESS

If only I had some carrots…
I, who left the stars behind
for the proverbial city lights
no longer dream of moonlight.
it's a case of insanity.

4/11/2013



PAD: take the phrase “In Case of (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles could include “In Case of Emergency,” “In Case of Oversleeping,” “In Case of Snoring,” or something else.

NaPoWriMo: write a tanka. This, like the “American” cinquain, is a poem based on syllables, with the pattern being 5-7-5-7-7. They work best when those final two 7-syllable lines contain a sort of turn or surprise that the first three lines might not wholly anticipate. You can string a bunch of them together to make a multi-stanza poem, or just write one!

To get you going, here’s an anonymous example from the Japanese, translated by Kenneth Rexroth:

On Komochi Mountain,
from the time the young leaves sprout,
until they turn red,
I think I would like to sleep with you.
What do you think of that?

Molly Fisk: April 11 prompt: If I had carrots...


30 Day Poetry Challenge: Find a poem you love. Translate it in some way. It could be from its original language to another. It could be from one voice into another voice. Rewrite something contemporary in a way that makes it sound old or something old into modern English.


A link back to APRIL A POEM A DAY info

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

SUFFERING POEM


SUFFERING POEM


In his book of dreams he sees her

and he tells himself it's a sure sign
but the suffering that haunts him
is a burden they can no longer bear
and his darkness seeps in until
she's adrift, cast off in a flood,
the surcease of the sea
relentlessly pounding the shore
offers little solace.
White foam horses
madly galloping on the strand,
hell bent for the lip of the whirlpool.
The edge of the known world.




4/10/2013

SUFFERING poem prompt


In his book of dreams he sees her
and he tells himself it's a sure sign
but the suffering that haunts him 
is a burden they can no longer bear
and his darkness seeps in until 
she's adrift, cast off in a flood, 
the surcease of the sea 
relentlessly pounding the shore
offers little solace. 
                   White foam horses
madly galloping on the strand, 
hell bent for the lip of the whirlpool.
The edge of the known world.





PADI write a suffering poem. A person or animal in the poem could be suffering. The poem itself could be suffering.

NaPoWriMo: write an un-love poem

Molly FIsk: April 10 prompt: His book of dreams.

30 Day Poetry Challenge: Listen to an excerpt of Joe Brainerd’s “Remember” here: http://buff.ly/14GJb1c Write your own version.

Thatcher, drinking and Drinkwater


Peculiar sensation of being depressed because I'm depressed—sort of like a Gemini moment after immersing myself in too much negative Thatcherism yesterday. So I had two glasses of wine. I'm sure Katelin would approve.
Carla Stone I approve.
Katelin Me too, but not blaming the Iron Bitch. Hope it helped.

Maureen Hurley Indeed. Maggie Thatcher milk snatcher

Katelin Have you noticed how the news organizations in Britain don't quite know how to handle the coverage and the ensuing blowback? No matter if they slant pro or anti, they are getting slammed. Some of them are trying a even hand - now- and still failing. Poor news media.

Gregory An original concept: Happiness through a bottle....

Katelin An oldie but a goodie.

Maureen I'm out of milk.

Donna Margaret Thatcher is not worth getting depressed about. My homeowner's insurance--now THAT'S depressing. Being out of milk--that's depressing, too.

Maureen  Meanwhile, Danny Boyle to create Thatcher closing event: http://www.newsbiscuit.com/.../danny-boyle-to-create.../

Donna Look, you're having lunch with Carol Drinkwater on Saturday (restaurant still not disclosed!).

Maureen I'm doin' taxes now—it's killin' me. Not quite a poll tax but it points to the role Thatcher played in paving the way for financial deregulation, and how that corruption so easily took root on Wall Street. Ah, the Bush years—will we ever climb out from under?  So very looking forward to it and will be sad to miss Carol's reading but I need to pick Neil up at the airport around 5 PM. I'm sure he'd give his eye-teeth to also be there. 

She worked with Olivier!!! Wow, what a career. I bet she'll have things to say about Thatcher too. What book is she reading from at Diesel? 4 PM, right? Wonder if we can swing by later and catch a few moments. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carol_Drinkwater

Carol Drinkwater (born 22 April 1948) is an Anglo-Irish[1] actress, author and film-maker, best known[1][2][3] for her award-winning portrayal of Helen Herriot in the television adaptation of the James Herriot books, All Creatures Great and Small (1978–85), which led to her receiving the Variety Clu...
en.wikipedia.org

There's also an Irish in California Meetup at 6:30-9 PM (Tim Ferry's Yahoo group) at the Starry Plough 3101 Shattuck Ave. in Berkeley CA 94705. Maybe Niall MacDonagh Himself will be attending—amazing, he is. Amazing family history as well.

Donna Carol will, probably, be reading from one of her "olive" books. She just finished making a documentary film about the olive tree (she will be selling the DVD, too). She will be at Mrs. Dalloway's Books and Garden Center at 4 p.m., on College Ave. Her mom is Irish. I'm sure that Carol will be at Mrs. Dalloway's for a couple of hours. Come by, if you can. She's also doing a reading of some sort at KJB Winery in Kenwood the next day, but the winery has turned it into a "fund raiser" event with food and wine tasting for $40. Carol gets nothing!

Maureen  Carol Drinkwater presents The Olive Farm: A Memoir of Life, Love, and Olive Oil in the South of France (Penguin, $16) Saturday, April 13, 4:00pm, A popular and acclaimed author and film-maker as well, Carol has published nineteen books. Her series of memoirs about her experiences reclaiming a Provence Olive Farmhave become best sellers in the U.S. and abroad.
2904 College Avenue, (and Russell, off Ashby) Berkeley, CA 94705
info@mrsdalloways.com Phone 510.704.8222
http://www.mrsdalloways.com/about-our-store

Donna Her prose reminds me, a bit, of your writing. Personal recollections, filled in with factual information.

Neil Are you ale to pick me up on SAT...? I thought you'd be working...

Maureen See Drinkwater note above...

SEEING DOUBLE


That peculiar sensation
of being depressed
because I'm depressed—
sort of like a twinned Gemini
moment after immersing myself
in too much negative Thatcherism.
So I had two glasses of wine
instead.

4/10/2013

added 4/2016 from a FB memory

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

HUNTERS POEM


HUNTERS POEM



The dark tramontane winds

laden with rain and sleet
slaughters spring and small lilies
hunting the light, shrivel in the corm.



APRIL 9, 2013

HUNTER poem prompt



The dark tramontane winds
laden with rain and sleet 
slaughters spring and small lilies
hunting the light, shrivel in the corm.



PADI: Two-for-Tuesday prompt. Write one of the following (or both):
Write a hunter poem.
Write a hunted poem.

NaPoWriMo: Write a poem inspired by noir — it could be in the voice of a detective, or unravel a mystery, or just describe the long shadows of the skyscrapers in the ever-swirling smog.

Molly Fisk: April 9 prompt: Tramontane \truh-MON-teyn\, adjective:
1. Being or situated beyond the mountains. (The other definitions, including of the noun form, you'll have to look up yourself.)


30 Day Poetry Challenge: Write a poem while doing something else.


APRIL A POEM A DAY info

Thatcher's Dark Legacy


I don't even begin to understand British politics but from what I can gather, former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher (PM 1979-1990) brought Britain, Scotland & Wales to their knees.

My Irish grannie, no Anglophile, was always reading and fond of quoting from the Brehon Laws, O'Hart's Irish Pedigrees, and the original 1894 Gaelic League edition of Dinneen's Irish Dictionary—while cursing the Irish equivalent of the devil incarnate, Oliver Cromwell, and current British politics in empty rooms. Such was my education.

Official news reports are extolling the virtues of the Thatcher Years, canonizing her at death, akin to how we whitewashed Governor/President Reagan's sins, then chiding us to not to speak ill of the dead. We Irish Americans have had our fill of revisionist Anglocentric history. Lest ye forget—Thatcher's dark legacy was a "political legacy of rampant inequality and greed, privatisation and social breakdown."

Thatcher's key policies, deregulation of the financial sector, the privatization of state-owned companies, and what she called Community Charge (a poll tax), devastated the backbone of the United Kingdom—the working class.

Thatcher ruthlessly and systematically destroyed the social fabric of the welfare state that protected the economic well-being of UK citizens. No wonder Scotland and Wales—hardest hit by Thatcherism—want to secede.

Irish mediator, Miceál Francis O'Hurley reminded me that "We only need remember that Pinochet was her friend to whom she extended protection. Aside from my many reasons as an Irishman to loathe her for just cause, her economic policies devastated several generations of English people." I am also reminded that she was also a good friend of Saddam Hussein. 

O'Hurley (no relation), who once worked on The Hill as a legistlative analyst, before emigrating to Ireland, knows the dirty laundry of Washington politics, jokingly trotted out the dog Latin axiom - semper ubi sububi

LOL, dirty laundry indeed. Knickers aside, the argument should support facts, not rely upon false syllogism (read: yellow journalism, or to further degrade the term—FOX News), so what little information I have on Thatcher, was viewed from someone else's warped lens. And so I read it all. But something keeps nagging me as I read the glowing tabloid eulogies.

I loved delving into rhetoric with Dr. Daniel Milia, my Irish professor at UC Berkeley. Indeed, quid est veritas?Brilliant stuff, rhetoric. That's what we employed when we read the medieval Irish manuscripts. What lens?

I am a poet, not a politician. All I can do is read voraciously and deduce until I become myopic. But this adulation makes me uneasy in my soul. All this sweeping under the rug stuff. Rhetoric is a lost art. The ability to lay one's hands, er mind, upon facts, and create a coherent train of thought. 

I am reminded that a filidh, the ancient Irish poet-seer, who was part-diviner, part-healer and part-councilor, was required to have a background in law as well—whether it be the laws of nature or laws of the heart, or the Laws of Bréifne.

O'Hurley stated "There was no contradiction that the land of Brehon laws also was the land of Saints and Scholars. When did we allow the law to be the stuff of fear and loathing and not the refuge of the poor, the widow and the orphan? Our [Irish]"backward ways" gave rights to women, the sick, the poor, etc., (even maternity and paternity leave) with which the West is now only 'discovering.'"

"Along with Reagan, their world view, inflicted through economic policies, bankrupted the poor, impoverished the middle classes, diminished education for all and instituted a regime of economic Darwinism. I admired her courage, and the sincerity of her beliefs— but then the Nazis all were courageous and firm in their beliefs too."

O'Hurley continued: "Historically, truth and facts have had little relation to decision-making. Only consider Joe McCarthy and how he and Tricky Dick Nixon shaped the nation."

Thatcher's Privatisation has been described as "the biggest electoral bribe in history." Thatcher also tried to sell off privatize social medicine, hospitals, waterworks, gas, electricity, etc., in other words: to put publically owned amenities already paid for by the people through taxes—into the hands of private investors so it wouldn't be financial a burden on the government. Sound familiar? The rich got richer under her stewardship. Can you spell Bush?

For many, Thatcher's reign saw the destruction of British industry, when she assaulted and declared civil war on the trade unions (especially coal, and print unions)—what she dubbed, "the enemy within." Then she turned around and privatized all but 15 publicly owned coal mines which left thousands out of work—most notably in Wales.

Under Thatcher's regime, direct taxes on income were lowered and to balance the shortfall, she increased indirect taxes. Meanwhile, working class unemployment (over 3.3 million), skyrocketed through the roof. Trade and industry fell by 38.2%. She hamstrung and garrotted the middle class, then drowned them.

As the recession of the early 1980s spiraled, Thatcher counter-measured by increasing taxes and cutting funding for social services, housing, and education (taking school lunch milk from the children—fergawdsakes—as bad as Reagan's proclaiming katsup as a vegetable). She then completely gutted funding for higher education.

The wholesale loss of employment, mass closure of factories, housing, and loss of basic social services fueled massive race riots in every major city which led to the reinstatement of the Vagrancy Act of 1824 to detain citizens based on "reasonable suspicion" which was heavily enforced in migrant and black communities.

She played the race card during reelection, saying, "People are really afraid that this country might be rather swamped by people of a different culture" which helped spark the 1981 race riots  in London, Liverpool, Glasgow and Brixton.

Then during the next decade, Thatcher introduced a per capita "poll tax"(at 20% +) to fund local government in order to—get this—lower the tax burden of large property owners and big businesses. Sound familiar?

When 1.8 million people point-blank refused to pay the head tax, Thatcher enforced draconioan measures, riots ensued. During the Poll Tax Riots, the Battle of Trafalgar, at Trafalgar Square, was among the most violent where hundreds were arrested and incarcerated.

Meanwhile, under Thatcher's regime, interest rates soared, value added tax (VAT) shot up to 15%; and tellingly, by 1990, when she resigned from office, inflation was back at 10%—the same level as when she implemented the reforms in 1979.

A modern day Cromwell, Thatcher's aggression towards Ireland was horiffic; Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams said she had done "great hurt to working class communities across Britain and also people in Ireland".
Adams also accused Thatcher of "embracing collusion" and playing a "shameful role" in the IRA hunger strike of 1981. (BBC)
"As De Valera said about Churchill, she was good for the UK, but her policies were not good for Ireland," said Fianan Fail leader, former taoiseach, Bertie Ahern. "She was a unique lady and a formidable lady. She was prime minister for the same length of time that I was. But nothing was achieved towards peace in Northern Ireland during Thatcher's time as prime minister." (Herald)
Thatcher also destroyed basic human rights in Northern Ireland. Catholics were stripped of civil rights. She made political prisoner Bobby Sands, an Irish martyr whose death led to a surge in IRA recruitment. Ironic, isn't it, that on this very day in 1981, Bobby Sands was elected MP for Fermanagh/South Tyrone with 30,493 votes—almost 10,000 more votes than British Prime Minister Thatcher received.

(Political prisoner and IRA Hunger Strike leader, Bobby Sands (Roibeárd Gearóid Ó Seachnasaigh 1954 – 1981) was arrested in 1976 at age 18, and imprisoned 14 years in the most brutal of British prison camps, the H-Block of Long Kesh—Great Britain's own Gitmo in Belfast, for "illegal possession" of a gun in the boot of a car. Not shooting anyone, or blowing anyone up.)
IRA prisoners had historically been treated differently than common criminals. They were treated as political prisoners. Thatcher’s decision to treat them like ordinary criminals was a disastrous policy measure. It lengthened The Troubles by at least a decade, if not a generation. It led to the inevitability of the hunger strikes and the polarization that followed. (Boston Globe)
Sands' MP election victory raised hopes that a settlement to raise Sands to political prisoner status could be reached—thus restoring basic human rights under the Geneva Convention, but Thatcher took a hard stance, stating that Mr. Sands was a convicted criminal, with no rights— not prisoners of war. Under Thatcher's tenure, Sands was tortured with daily beatings, water-hosing, mental abuse. Sands died in 1981 after 66 days on hunger strike. Said Thatcher, "Mr. Sands was a convicted criminal. He chose to take his own life." The mother of Joe McDonnell, one of the hunger strikers, said “Criminals don’t starve themselves to death to make a point.”

Boston Globe's Kevin Cullen writes, “Thatcher’s intransigence drove many young men into the waiting arms of the IRA. She was one of the IRA’s best recruiters. She pushed the end of the war back at least 10 years and consigned a generation to conflict.”

My grandmother cried the day Bobby Sands died. The only other time I saw her cry was when Jack Kennedy was shot. It left me shaken to the core. It made me sit up and bear witness.

Ironically, it was Reagan who told Thatcher that "she had to talk to the Irish government"—which led to the Anglo-Irish Agreement of 1985. As Nelson Mandela once told Martin McGuinness, “You don’t make peace with your friends. You make peace with your enemies.”(Boston Globe)

Thatcher (bosom friend of Pinochet) denounced Nelson Mandela and the ANC as "grubby little terrorists, while backing South African apartheid. (she later reversed that position when it became economically and politically savvy to abolish Apartheid). 

Thatcher did more to polarize society and create a rift and division between the classes and between oppressors and the oppressed than any other Prime Minister. I won't even mention the Falklands farce—with a thousand dead and 2,500 wounded. For what? Cojones?

Thatcher's policies also foisted us into the first Gulf War (and ultimately to Iraq.) But I'm tired now, so in closing, yes, Thatcher was female, but no feminist. She was not a good role model for women—as Amy Tan's friend posted on Facebook (which got my blood boiling—and led to this diatribe).

Obama said that she had "broken glass ceiling for women." In his Guardian obit, comedian/actor Russell Brand quipped: "Only in the sense that all the women beneath her were blinded by falling shards. She is an icon of individualism, not of feminism."

I fear Thatcher's death has already become a Welshman's holiday replete with epithets of verbal grave dancing.

Across Britain tonight, especially in Liverpool, Glasgow and Brixton, Thatcher's death is turning into an early Guy Fawkes birthday celebration. And they are gathering at Trafalgar Square. Poetic justice is served.
Twitter reported more than one million mentions of the word "Thatcher" in the four hours after the announcement of the former prime minister's death. (BBC)
"Ding Dong! The witch is dead" has become a national anthem. British filmmaker, Ken Loach “Remember she called Mandela a terrorist and took tea with the torturer and murderer Pinochet. How should we honor her? Let’s privatize her funeral. Put it out to competitive tender and accept the cheapest bid. It’s what she would have wanted.” Scottish comedian Frankie Boyle ‏(@frankieboyle) posted: "Finally, I get to wear my black suit and tap shoes together."

My sweetie in Scotland reports that: "They're also raising flags and having celebratory street parties—especially in the north and mining areas. Thatcher ironically caused the [resurrection of the] Scottish Parliament—in response to her policies that decimated Scotland during her time. The Poll Tax was her final undoing."

Stone-hearted Maggie was ruthless. She was a curious admixture of Iron Lady and Good Old Boys school. She championing warmongers Reagan, Bush & Bushs' worst politics served up with a sidedish of corrupt Wall Street bakers tossed in for good measure.

So tell, me how Thatcher's legacy was a good legacy? I don't understand. I don't wish to speak ill of the dead but I wonder how long will it take to reverse the damage done during Thatcher's reign. Perhaps a generation, more like a lifetime.

In the words of Bobby Sands, "Our revenge will be the laughter of our children."

Monday, April 8, 2013

WANTING POEM


WANTING POEM


My first boyfriend and I sat in the back row
of the little theater in Olney Hall, 
amidst human skeletons and dinosaur bones
watching a film series on Buckminster Fuller
envisioning our lives, moving back to the land
and when Bucky said: "The minute you begin 
to do what you really want to do, 
it's really a different kind of life."
We stepped into the sultry evening
and walked in beauty like the night
beneath a cloud of jasmine stars
and we believed in what was possible.
So very young, and sure-footed,
we scaled the heights of the tallest summits:
Mt. Whitney, Lyell Glacier, Cloud's Rest.
That summer we traversed the Range of Light,
the Sierras, our bed, the stars our blanket
and in alpine meadows, we made promises 
to the gods, not knowing the price to be paid.


APRIL 8, 2013


WANTING POEM

WANTING poem prompt


My first boyfriend and I sat in the back row
of the little theater in Olney Hall, 
amidst human skeletons and dinosaur bones
watching a film series on Buckminster Fuller
envisioning our lives, moving back to the land
and when Bucky said: "The minute you begin 
to do what you really want to do, 
it's really a different kind of life."
We stepped into the sultry evening
and walked in beauty like the night
beneath a cloud of jasmine stars
and we believed in what was possible.
So very young, and sure-footed,
we scaled the heights of the tallest summits:
Mt. Whitney, Lyell Glacier, Cloud's Rest.
That summer we traversed the Range of Light,
the Sierras, our bed, the stars our blanket
and in alpine meadows, we made promises 
to the gods, not knowing the price to be paid.





PADI: write an instructional poem. Your instructional poem could list instructions. Or it could capture an instructional moment.

NaPoWriMo: write a poem that has the same first line as another poem. You can use a favorite poem, pick up a random book of poetry and get a first line that way, or perhaps use one of the following:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
She walks in beauty, like the night
Slowly, silently, now the moon
anyone lived in a pretty how town

I have written some poems of this type in the past, and it can be fun to take a well-known first line and do something totally different with it! But if it’s hard for you to shake the original, maybe using a first line from a random poem would be best for you.

Molly Fisk: April 8. "The minute you begin to do what you really want to do, it's really a different kind of life." Buckminster Fuller


30 Day Poetry Challenge: Find a short poem (one page or less) that you love. Cross out every fourth word. Replace the crossed out words with your own choices.


APRIL A POEM A DAY info

BERLIN WALL


I wonder if we were to reconstruct
all the pieces of the Berlin Wall
would it reach all the way to the Kremlin?

Sunday, April 7, 2013

INSOMNIA, ll

INSOMNIA

The secret to staying asleep at night
is to go to bed late, keeping yourself awake,
but not too stimulated—no good books,
no great movies, or charming lovers.
Reruns will do, but don't forget to set the timer
or you'll waken to the TV blaring in an empty room
with infomercial trying to sell you gawd knows what
and later, you'll have inexplicable cravings for
Congolium floors or timeshares
but the problem with timers is that
like with alarms clocks
you'll second guess when they'll go off
dozing cozily in the middle of the rerun
missing the climax, only to wake to a disjointed ending
and the writer in you will attempt to resolve the storyline
and there you are, at three am with owl's eyes
staring at the ceiling but it's all too banal to record.


4.7.13

LIE POEM

LIE poem prompt



(MY TAKE)
The secret to staying asleep at night
is to go to bed late, keeping yourself awake,
but not too stimulated—no good books,
no great movies, or charming lovers.
Reruns will do, but don't forget to set the timer
or you'll waken to the TV blaring in an empty room
with infomercial trying to sell you gawd knows what
and later, you'll have inexplicable cravings for
Congolium floors or timeshares
but the problem with timers is that
like with alarms clocks
you'll second guess when they'll go off
dozing cozily in the middle of the rerun
missing the climax, only to wake to a disjointed ending
and the writer in you will attempt to resolve the storyline
and there you are, at three am with owl's eyes
staring at the ceiling but it's all too banal to record.

4.7


PADI: write a sevenling poem. Never heard of a sevenling poem? Well, it’s a 7-line poem (chosen because today is the 7th day of the challenge) that features two tercets and a one-liner in the final (third) stanza. The first two stanzas should have an element of three in them that can either play off each directly, work as juxtaposition, or have no connection whatsoever. The final line should work as either a punchline, weird twist, or punctuation mark.

NaPoWriMo: poem that tells a lie. I think you could have a poem that’s all lies (that could be very funny — full of things like “the sun is the size of a nickel”) or a poem that steadily builds to telling one big whopper. I can imagine these being very poignant, or very much like goofy shaggy-dog stories. I suppose it all comes down to what you want to lie about!


Molly Fisk: April 7 prompt: The secret to staying asleep all night.


30 Day Poetry Challenge: Write an ode to one regret that you have. (For more information on the ode, visit http://bit.ly/gKG9Aa)


APRIL A POEM A DAY info

Irish President Mary Robinson


Mary Robinson (right) served as the seventh, and first female president of Ireland (1990-1997); she was appointed the U.N. Commissioner for Human Rights (1997-2002). In her memoir, Everybody Matters: My Life Giving Voice, she writes of her pioneering work on behalf of women’s rights, the separation of church and state, and world peace. Mary Robinson's social advocacy also includes Oxfam, the GAVI Alliance, vaccinating children worldwide, and the Council of Women World Leaders, and she is one of the “Elders,” led by Nelson Mandela dedicated to bringing peace and justice.

What Mary said: everyone matters—that the individual is capable of changing society, the the world. Law and morality. Very empowering. Got a chance to chat with Mary at the end. Someone took a photo of us together, lovely. Thanks to Jane Bark for driving me to Book Passages!

That makes two Irish presidents I've met—Mary McAleece. I will have to dig up my notes (make that three as I later met Michael Higgins at Stanford.) We also met the, Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, the inimitable Mo Mowlam at UC Berkeley ca. 2000—she was a real firecracker. I have NOT, however, met, nor will I ever wish to meet Margaret Thatcher. Not in heaven, nor in hell.

My grandfather knew Taoiseach Éamon de Valera, Ireland's first president of Dáil Éireannm and met him in San Francisco during the Irish War of Independence. Somewhere, there is a lost photo of them together, leaning on a car. We have a photo of Liam Mallows in our lower field.

Chilling my knee to see Mary Robinson


Sittin' back chillin'—literally chillin' my knee with two ice packs (and a horse-sized Advil sidecar) so that I can go see former Irish president, Mary Robinson at Book Passages in Corte Madera at 5 PM—it's free.

Home again jiggity-jig. Icing da knee again. It was a FULL house at Book Passages. Mary's driver got lost enroute from Palo Alto, so we started late. Lots of old  Irish friends: Pat and Uta, Leslie...
What Mary said: everyone matters—that the individual is capable of changing society, the the world. Law and morality. Very empowering. Got a chance to chat with Mary at the end. Someone took a photo of us together, lovely. Thank you Jane Bark for driving us there!

APRIL FOOL POEM


This is just to say
that the text message 
you sent April first
arrived a week late
and all out of breath
having traversed 
the outer reaches 
of Alpha Centauri
in record time but 
I am sad to say that
it did not arrive
in time for last 
week's dinner invite.



This was not written from a prompt but one could use this one:
PADI: write a new arrival poem. The new arrival could be a baby or a person. The new arrival might be a car or other piece of technology. Heck, the new arrival might be an idea or poem. (Btw, if you’re a new arrival to the site and this challenge, take a peak below about commenting.)

Friday, April 5, 2013

THERE ARE THINGS NO ONE EVER TOLD ME

THERE ARE THINGS NO ONE EVER TOLD ME

So I needed a DVI to HDMI cable
that was 15cm long.
Not being metric savvy,
I Googled X cm to inches ratio
to get an idea of cable length
and the first entry was
average human penis size.
Not what I was expecting.
I'll never have trouble
remembering how long 15cm is again.
Thanks for the image, Google.

4/5/13
PLUS POEM

CINQUAINS

CINQUAINS


Cinquains
there are some things
I'm not fond of like writing
tight little poems in for
mation


4/5/13

Plus poem prompt

CINQUAINS

Cinquains
there are some things
I'm not fond of like writing
tight little poems in for
mation


4/5/13


syllables 2-4-6-8-2
stresses 1-2-3-4-1

PADI: write a plus poem. Plus can mean a lot of things, and even the act of addition could equate to subtraction.

NaPoWriMo: write a cinquain on this, the fifth day of NaPoWriMo. A cinquain is a poem that employs stanzas with five lines. Each line has a certain number of accented or stressed syllables, and a certain number of overall syllables per line. In the “American” cinquain, a form invented by a woman with the highly unfortunate name of Adelaide Crapsey, the number of stresses per line is 1-2-3-4-1, and the number of syllables is 2-4-6-8-2. So the first line would have two syllables, one stressed and one unstressed. The second line would have four syllables, two of which are stressed, and so on. This kind of accent/syllabic verse can be a bit frustrating at first, but it’s useful for learning to sharpen up your language!


Molly Fisk: April 5 prompt: These are the things that no one ever told me...


THERE ARE THINGS NO ONE EVER TOLD ME

So I needed a DVI to HDMI cable
that was 15cm long. 
Not being metric savvy, 
I Googled X cm to inches ratio 
to get an idea of cable length
and the first entry was
average human penis size. 
Not what I was expecting. 
I'll never have trouble 
remembering how long 15cm is again.
Thanks for the image, Google.

4/5/13


30 Day Poetry Challenge: Make something. Anything! Write a poem about your spontaneous making experience.



APRIL A POEM A DAY info

icing my knee

Icing my knee & facebooking (I have DSL again!) before I go to Dr's office. I love icing my knee, or rather, I love the lack of pain. In general, I don't feel the pain, per se (I get bilious when my painload has reached red alert stage, then it's too late), but I notice the relief from pain when I ice it. But I rarely remember to do it.

See,  I injured it at work, I tweaked it, and ignored it...I tried to work through the pain. It didn't work. Not an option, so things began to tear & stretch, beginning with the muscles, then the ligaments and tendons, resolving at the meniscus.Icing my knee

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Desperately seeking wifi (again), or epic AT&T fail (again)


OK, my parking lot wifi Facebook feeding frenzy must come to an end. My poor overworked MacBook is roaring like a furnace and it's too hot to touch. Certainly not something i want on my lap. It’s literally scorching my thighs. Smokin’ hot. Like a frying pan.  I’m trying to preload as many Facebook pages, and articles as I can, so I can read them later from the memory buffer. No DSL sucks: huge AT&T fail. After 2.5 hours of technical service, this time, from Florida, mind you, the AT&T technician discovered that though I had internet, they finally admitted that there were some electronic errors and glitches at their end of the line. Duh. As in no internet whatsoever for nearly 2 weeks? Ya think? How many phone calls later? We’ve taken to writing their service and agent  numbers on the wall. And then they didn’t want to give us a credit. Right, AT&T. Way to go. Tell me about your Uverse. What a black hole its become.

saved from Facebook memories