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The Ashburn Old School

The Ashburn Old School “on the edge”

of Washington, D.C., Vandalized Last

Night

 

Might I apologize for an entire color?

I can’t—I didn’t make it, nor do I feel

intense affiliation.  But whites (I figure

whites) have defaced an old school on

the cusp of finished restoration.  An

old school that had been inhabited by

black students and, I guess, an all-black

staff.  The problem in apologizing for

criminals is that I don’t know them.  I

don’t know that kind of ugliness in hate.

I don’t get the relish manifest through

stupid, destructive action.  I am sorry

though in a general, human way.  I

apologize for all of us who are blind

when we can only see one color.  I can

praise and thank you who are of color,

as all are, and who make strides by reaching

in and lifting up learning and the story,

however dismal certain chapters must

become.  Learning is triumphant and,

we know, shall overcome.

 

 

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/oct/03/racist-graffiti-historic-black-school-virginia?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=GU+Today+USA+-+morning+briefing+2016&utm_term=193179&subid=16706344&CMP=ema_a-morning-briefing_b-morning-briefing_c-US_d-1

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Lysistrata Vote

Lysistrata Vote

(USA, elsewhere)

 

A comedy by Aristophanes

 

And a Spanish film

From 2002

(Thanks, Wiki-P)

 

The Lysistrata woman

Wages sex against men who

Rather

Want to go to war

 

She wins, averting

Armageddon

Between Sparta and Athens

 

And, as in all good comedies

(Classic, say),

The community is better,

Stronger for it

 

For her

 

Now

 

For all shes who must be obeyed,

Time for another laugh like this?

The Banshee Cries

The Banshee Cries

 

I split the night, I know

I want to

Further chaos into silent

Human sleep

 

I have neither quiet

Nor rest

Why should you?

 

And when my piercing

Work is done

And I’ve coursed through

Your family

 

I’ll come for you

You won’t see though

You will hear

And maybe at last

Listen

 

Too late to fix your

Prophecy

 

That’s done:

 

And you will come with me

To a place

Where hellish noise is

All you know

 

You,

Betraying man

Who spoke

Curses in love

9

The Selkie Charmed

The Selkie Charmed

 

We offered love

And you took sex

 

We were wondrously

Outfitted, loving

Shapes and colors to

Show the world

My feeling

 

You removed every

Thing to get to flesh

And to the bones

Underneath:

 

Did you think this was

Affection?

 

It was abduction,

And we never again

Felt rescued or

Recovered

 

We left home

You took us instead

Into a somber place,

And in the way

That matters most

We are still locked

Away

8

The Lesson of Saint Francis

The Lesson of Saint Francis

 

We are all animals in

Beauty, here:

 

And we need guide each

Other to

A pilgrim path

In walking with the saints

Who would eschew

The capital s

 

Service is ennobled

(As are all better things)

When we love

To give away

What we have

 

To share with

All other creatures of

The Earth—

 

The sky, what’s

Under the water,

And what dances upon

The surface

 

In the measures and the

Rhythms

Of creation

4

Saint Francis and the Animals

Saint Francis and the Animals

(4 October)

 

Eight hundred years

Ago in the

Middle part of Italy,

 

A person walked and others

Walked with him

 

But when he tried to preach

No one would hear;

So he spoke his message

Unto the birds

The raccoons (in my telling)

And all things that crept

Or flew through the air

 

He would return to people:

He visited the pope

He met with the sultan of

The Muslim warriors who

Fought in Jerusalem,

 

Because he hoped

That peace as a cause

Might overwhelm

The rest

That keeps

Getting in our way

5

A Birthday Imbiber

A Birthday Imbiber

(in blogosphere cyber)

 

A year and not brighter

No vision of lighter

A groan in a rhymer

Who needs a pun-timer

The ducks who are eider

And eight-sided spider

A sugar- and spice-r

A little enticer

Each one is a-finer

Than my poor one-liner

Say ee-ther or aye-ther

And make me a scythe-r

So stop, exerciser

The next year be wiser

9

Monday Duo

Monday Duo

 

What shall I write about?

What shall we talk about?

 

It is Monday

Though any day is fine

 

Monday morning, of course,

Lends itself

Toward silence and slow

Moving

 

Maybe coffee later today

And conversation

Would be just right

 

Will you join me?  I know I’d

Like that

 

The privilege of your company,

Quieter delight in your

Companionship

5

Cyrillic Alphabet

Cyrillic Alphabet

 

Here’s what I know, which

Isn’t all that much:

 

Cyril and Methodius travel

To Russia

To send a unifying story

Into tribal affiliations that

Have been

 

Sibling-folk murdering each

Other

For their difference

 

Here’s what the pilgrims

Found

In talking,

That no one knew the word

 

Each one uttering only

What each knew

And deadly ignorance

 

Who could hear?—there

Was no way;

 

Placing sectarian evangelism

Aside (though not

Unloading their first

Purpose),

What the saints gave first

Was language

 

In a unifying word

All could

Listen to at last

 

When the target is no longer

Blank, rather filled

With shapes

And hues

Of understanding,

 

Denial in killing becomes

A challenge

In Impossibility

 

All stories were told,

Fables had new morals;

 

All the letters are now legacy,

Spoken with

Living breath each day

 

The saints are capitalized

I don’t know how

Much they care

 

And people are

Still talking, if

Through veils sometimes

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