Monday, October 23, 2017

I Would Make the Worst Cable News Anchorwoman Ever.

I’d laugh, cry, splutter with confusion or outrage.
I’d probably say “Duh” a lot,
grow pale, flush, and wink at the viewers.
I’d furrow my eyebrows, raise one or both,
and my eyes would narrow, widen, round, crinkle, and tear.
You’d see shoulder shrugging, hand waving,
finger pointing, fist clenching,
slapping of palms on the news desk
and smirking, smiling, quivering, tightening, frowning lips.
And I would certainly, certainly, fail to keep my tone of voice
well-modulated, and sounding sincere.
Yes, I’d scoff, shriek, whimper, and roar.
I might play with my hair as I listened to immortal talking points.  
As I grew evermore weary, my outfits would get sloppy, my fingernails dirty, 
make-up messed and I might start throwing darts at images 
of the crooks, schmucks, and bastards running the show.
The teleprompter and I would diverge:
given words about the deficit, I’d shout “Puerto Rico!”
given blab about Reps and Dems, I’d shout, “California’s burning!”

So, what I’m trying to say is that when the non-astounding
breaking news was that a honcho somewhere exploited someone,
or a cop got off scot-free, or a maniac used his ever-more-lethal guns,
or the President lied,
I’d have to let you know how I felt.
I would be the worst cable news anchorwoman ever. Yep.


Wednesday, October 04, 2017

October 4, 2017

Maybe we should split up. Separate for good. I think it would be for good, you know? You can believe what you want, do what you want, spend your money your own way and I can do the same. We don’t have to keep tripping over each other like this, do we? Tripping? What we’re doing is barreling, careening, spilling our guts over each other.

I am serious. And I’m exhausted. My throat is raw from all the talking, shouting, crying. My heart aches. I keep getting that pain you get in your upper back when you’ve been unbearably tense day after day. Do you have that pain, too? Or are you cool with all this? No, I didn’t think so. I see serious signs of disarray in you. I hear panic in your bluster.

Who will object? The way things are now, our lives would hardly be any worse financially. We don’t have big money to worry about. We’ll keep floundering, failing, bouncing back a little now and again, only we can do all that separately and forget this together thing. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work.

It might be best to keep this on the QT until we’ve made plans. My people have been meeting for years and are almost ready to talk about separation on the record. We are prepared to negotiate and believe me, for the sake of the children, we’re prepared to compromise when we absolutely must. You have most of the guns; that’s given. We have most of the scientists, though, and whether or not you credit them much, they will be a big advantage if violence comes into play. We don’t want that to happen, but we will defend ourselves. We’ve always been ready and willing to defend ourselves.

Well, I just googled it and there are 325,000,000 million, give or take. Some of those, a tiny percent, won’t be affected whatever the rest of us try. They’ll go on being the ruling class and may not even choose sides. Probably won’t. Hey, we can do five or six separations. Why not? We’ll become the Divided States of America. Yes, yes, calm bloody down! Of course, we can choose new names. We can have a gigantic re-do, names and all. I am serious. Let’s split up.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Big News

I know these are long complicated links, but if you ignore that and just click on them you’ll get to pages that have my book for sale for $12. If you buy it from CreateSpace I get a little bit more money. The CreateSpace genies are wonderful people who have made it possible for poets who have spent a bazillion dollars on contest entry fees, searched high and low, hither and thither for an indie publisher, and gotten not only generally fed up with trying to get someone else to publish their book but suspected their wonky heart was up to tricks and they might not have an indefinite amount of time (well, none of us do, eh?) to find this someone else to publish their books.

Even with the help of this publishing site and the lovely voices on the phone, I think my project would still be in the project stage if a friend (more than that; he and I used to make art in our dance company days) named Paul Hindes hadn’t said “I can help you format your book. I know how.” (I clearly didn’t know how.) He is truly a shining knight who knows his stuff. I’ll leave it at that; don’t want to embarrass him.

We were slightly bogged down on the 22nd version when I had a heart attack on July 5th and 6th. Yep. A two day affair. I called Paul from the hospital (he lives far away in New York’s countryside) as soon as they’d let me and I thought I was relatively coherent, and said, “I had a heart attack—we have to finish the book before I die!” And he said, “Right. Okay. I’m on it. Rest.” —or words to that effect. My brother Peter had already drawn an image for the cover and although I thought it was perfect, I had to learn how to make it into a book cover, and when I was home from the damn ICU for a few days,(sorry nurses and doctors; you were amazing and saved my life, but no one likes being in an ICU, do they?) my brother Robert, who came down from Philadelphia to help look after me and cook fabulous meals for Peter and I, took an author photograph that even I like.

Over the last six weeks, with Paul’s help, CreateSpace voices on the phone, loving encouragement from family and friends, and some doctoring, my book got finished and now it is available—out in the world, eager to be read. Oh, and I feel pretty damn good. Apparently heart attacks come in all varieties, and although in my excitement I may sound a bit flippant, I am taking it seriously. I am grateful to all of you who have helped me get through these last weeks. As Czleaw Milosz said, “There is no one between you and me.” We don’t all understand this yet, but maybe someday we will.