Headline Poem 1/16/14 -- Tribute to Meryl Streep

(Photo credit BBC)

2014 Oscar nominations were announced this morning. Meryl Streep has been nominated for yet another one. She doesn't keep track, so I am not going to worry about how many. I know it's a lot. She is one of my all-time favorite actress. Today's headline poem is dedicated to her.

Tribute to Meryl Streep

It's easy to get caught up in the glitter and fanciness that is Hollywood

Seems all some care about is bling and fancy shit

When I am discouraged by award show madness

Focused on weight and height

Breasts, beards, bronze, or light 

Designers, jewels, and the secret society rules --

who won't attend because they are off gallivanting again

Taking a stand against the Industry man

(who pays their bills, but won't share a table)

There is Meryl Louise Streep

Of course, a stranger

Knows nothing about me, nor I of her,

except for what she has looked like every year of her life since 1979, and 

what I read on Wikipedia...

Married to the same man, four kids

a Cancer

Born June 22, 1949 in New Jersey

Vassar, Yale, and an Honorary Doctor of Fine Arts from Princeton U.

Impressive

she reminds me of the art behind the game

the grace

and class

the honing of skills

the pushing of limits

being relevant by being real

She is a woman behind her roles

make up is an addition, not a distraction

she becomes who the part demands she becomes

for her, for them, for us

With her we stroll lanes,

rage down rivers, and 

sit anxiously in courtrooms and corridors

she is a bitch, she is a whore,

she is timid, she roars

like lions out of Africa,

she is complex,

she is complicated... 

she sounds like all of us

Germany, Switzerland, England, Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, 

She has a maternal great-grandmother named Mary Agnes McFadden from Clondahorky, Ireland 

Oh to have a conversation with Mary Agnes McFadden!

Perhaps we already have...

Headline Poem 1/14/14 -- selfie surrender

(Photo credit Paul Zizka/Caters News)

I love photography, and I love nature. Great pictures tell stories; they capture special moments in time that will never happen again. "Selfie" is a new term, and most people know what this is -- pictures taken of yourself. Plenty of people post selfies on Instagram and Facebook on a daily basis. We see people, appropriately and inappropriately, capturing their whereabouts and what-doings. We have become comfortable sharing #widn "What I'm doing now" with others. 

The headline that caught my eye today was "Photographer puts everyday selfies to shame." Whether these pictures are selfies or not, is up for debate. Nonetheless, they are beautiful images of man and nature co-existing. The artist, Paul Zizka, truly captures the intensity and calm of our natural world. Here is a link to some of his photography, and here is my headline poem for the day...

selfie surrender

blades of green grass

soil brown as it should be

moist stillness, endless gaze
messages swirl with nightly winds

peacefully he sits

selfie surrender 

measurements of height irrelevant in the night
do not stand

run your fingertips along the speechless earth

patiently waiting for absolutely nothing
the joy in surrendering to no words
no room for pictures not present
all else seems false and materialistic
hard to explain to those who do not
peacefully he sits

selfie surrender

colors are real, here
not captured in a waxy stick
what i'm doing now
for all to see
an artist takes what has existed long before him and makes it new
peacefully he sits

selfie surrender

eyes open, no fear of blinking

it's been captured by a click
it's okay
moment saved to share and reflect

if you had to explain it, could you?
peacefully he sits

selfie surrender

Headline Poem 1/13/14 -- Bridge Days

(Photo credit USA Today)

I really didn't want to write about the headline(s) focused on the George Washington Bridge that connects New York to New Jersey.  But, it has become inevitable, and the scandal is demanding a headline poem of its own. Do I care about the details surrounding the cones-up "controversy?" No, not really. I care that people were inconvenienced for what might be a childish game of payback. I care that one man was late to his first day on at a new job after being unemployed for an entire year. I care that emergency personnel could not get to the scene of a crash as quickly as they should have been able to. I care that people's blood pressure rose unnecessarily. I care that this closure nonsense happened two days before the anniversary of September 11th. BUT, I'm not staying up at night worrying about who instigated the closure, who has been fired since, and how this will impact Christie's political career.

So, that leads me here to this page for my daily dose of poetic justice. What about this bridge trouble on the G-Dubya is worthy of a poem? How about a bit of history about the bridge? Or about the strong metaphoric value of bridges overall? I'm racking my brain here trying to think of something. And then... it comes to me -- a make believe character waiting to get to work. Enjoy!

Bridge Days

Coffee goes from hot to warm to cold
I always order two, black with two sugars, no cream

Today, one will do

Sitting on the bridge with my music
there is usually traffic
but this is ridiculous

This is my drive three days a week

New Jersey to New York and then back

These are my Bridge Days

Where I sit and wait, stop and go

My donuts are gone, 

I always get three 

Glazed

No sprinkles or filling inside, just three glazed

Sometimes I finish them all by the time I reach the other side, sometimes one or two

Today, they're gone and then some

I fear I'll be sitting here for lunch

Trapped, I start to sing some Metallica, hoping it doesn't soon become Johnny Cash

Banging on my steering wheel

All slicked from the Armor All

recently applied

I pick at my scab, gross I know, but I am stuck here with no band-aid

And nothing else to do
I try to stop the blood with my Dunkin' Donuts napkin
now spotted like a poisonious frog,
Dried ones brown, fresh ones red

I notice the crack on my windshield

I've been meaning to get that fixed

Damn truck kicked up a rock

And one got stuck, boom right there in the center, it's starting to stretch out pretty bad

My car's just been washed and fueled up, shouldn't have chosen the piña colada flavor savor from the lobby, damn thing's giving me a headache

I'm not one of those internet folks I see while looking around, staring at their screens while stopped

Liking, tagging, following, sharing, complaining, and tweeting out crap

Tweets are for birds if you ask me

I've still got a flip phone

No point calling my wife, she'll see it on the news 

I just gotta get to the other side 

Before I start singing the blues

Like a bridge over troubled waters, 

here it comes... 

Move those freaking cones! 

Headline Poem 1/11/14 -- Hemline

(Photo credit Esquire)

Today's poem is based, loosely, on an article in The Salt Lake Tribune. The article is basically about Utah and marriage. It discusses a bit of Mormon history, and the main thesis is that Utah seems to always be on the ground level when it comes to both defining and legalizing marriage. There was a word used toward the end of the article, though, that caught my eye -- fabric. Seems everywhere you turn today people are talking about Polygamy. There are TV shows and images around every corner. If you've ever been to Utah, my guess is that you've encountered women with long, homemade dresses playing in a park with their family, or picking up some essentials at a local Walmart. When I read the word fabric, I pictured an image similar to the ones I've seen from various shows and encounters, like the one above, and wrote the following. 

Hemline

Hemlines float across the grass

Pebbles and stickers accumulate 

Dirt and syrup mix to make a crusty, pasty substance

Good for nothing

So low to the ground you don't notice until you take it off later

Undressing, you start to wash a load of clothes,

Detergent, homemade with a bit of added rosemary and sage

Grandmother says it will warn off spirits and keep you in the mood for cooking food

What did she know about the collections found on too-long hemlines in the grass?

Roses in the distance recall the days of spring

Water droplets fresh and stuck

Clinging on to the smooth surface they know so well

Too cliche to say we all have thorns like the roses here above

Instead watch the droplets happy to get to smell the sweet fragrance all day, 

In no hurry to jump or get ahead 

She blows out the candle that was burning at both ends

satisfied, she goes to bed

Rocky cliffs in the distance sing a nighttime song

Sweet voice of sky and moon 

Nature's lullaby,

Laundry on the line brings smells of sage and rosemary 

The drying hemline

Headline Poem 1/10/14 -- Woolworth's February 1, 1960

(Photo credit PBS)

In the news today, Franklin McCain, one of the "Greensboro Four," has passed away. On the Smithsonian National Museum of American History it is stated, "On February 1,1960, four African American college students sat down at a lunch counter at Woolworth's in Greensboro, North Carolina, and politely asked for service. Their request was refused. When asked to leave, they remained in their seats. Their passive resistance and peaceful sit-down demand helped ignite a youth-led movement to challenge racial inequality throughout the South." This led to a six-month-long protest that eventually led to the desegregation of the F.W. Woolworth lunch counter on July 25, 1960. In honor of McCain, and the three other Greensboro young men who took a fearless stand toward segregation and injustice, I write today's headline poem.

Woolworth's February 1, 1960

college students hungry for some food
freshmen situated halfway between manhood and the world
no fear that day in 1960 when they sat upon the stools
left hungry because of their skin, bright stomach colors, gurgling hues

fifteen seconds after sitting down, invigorated, invincible, liberated
a natural high, unafraid, unaware of what they were about to do
told no food, night stick present, tap, tap, tap, warning, tension grew
non-violence.

older white woman watching the whole thing walks up and whispers
"boys, I'm so proud of you," lesson learned --
do not judge until you've had an opportunity to talk,
Harper Lee knows, Atticus knows --climb around in his skin and walk around in it
same year, different voice

Woolworth's closed for the night, do not go home and fight
more the next day -- 20, then 300, then Winston-Salem, Asheville, Durham, Charlotte
sit-ins lead to positive change, did it start on a dare?
inability to comprehend living a life of segregation
four young men, influencing more, six months later, all can be fed at the counter
hunger no more?

Richmond, McCain, Khazan, McNeil
bigger than these boys, McCain is the second one to go
54 years later
The Greensboro Two
we thank you

Headline Poem 1/7/14 -- Pass the Cheese!

(Photo credit kihm.wordpress.com)

For today's poem I wanted to find something a bit funny, weird, and out of the ordinary. After all, this is the day that completes my first full week of writing a poem-a-day-based-on-a-headline. (I feel like there should be a hashtag there somewhere #atruereflectionof2014). I wanted something that really caught my eye, you know like, "Clown Leaves Circus, Claims Costumes are Too Restricting!" Or "Landlord Evicts Tenant After She Posts Signs for Missing Fleas." I found this -- a Velveeta shortage! I hope it's not too cheesy. :) 

Pass the Cheese!

This just in...
We are experiencing a shortage
Caused by high demand
Sorry for the timing, but
Our advice is to load up on our brand

Advertising Age, the trade publication,
Started all this mess
Since when is Velveeta seasonal?
I call BS!

C'mon!
In the weeks leading up to the Superbowl
We have "factors" "contributing" to a "shortage"
Of cheesy, liquid gold!?

Creamy
Milky
Water
Milkfat
Milk protein concentrate
Whey protein concentrate
Sodium phosphate
Less than 2% of salt

Someone must be feeling nostalgic
Up in mighty Cheeseville-land
In the 1930's
Velveeta gained the upper hand
American Medical Association's seal of approval
For all those gooey curds and whey

Surely someone can cut enough  
So that these hungry dippers can dig in and play

The timing seems perfectly set up
Staged just right you see
Encourage
Busy
Working
Folk
To
Go
Out
And
Get more cheese!

Headline Poem 1/1/14 -- Homage to a priest

Happy 2014! I am going to attempt to write a poem each day based on a headline in the news. I have no clue where this will lead, and if this starts to become a chore, I will stop, because the last thing I want is for writing and staying informed to be something I "have to do." The first day of 2014 was great on a personal level. I spent the day relaxing with my beautiful family on the Northcoast of California; however, the New Year's Day headline that caught my eye was a sad one. Here is my first poem of 2014, based on a story in the Eureka Times Standard about a local priest's murder. Total downer, I know... BUT, in spite of the horrible crime, I am writing my first poem to pay tribute to this man of God, a stranger, and to start the process of documenting this year of news, in my words. May 2014 bring adventures, health, and love!

(Photo credit Eureka Times Standards)

Homage to a priest

A popular priest found dead in the church rectory
January 1st, 9 a.m.
He did not show for morning mass
Something is wrong with Rev. Freed -- please pray
The ambulance is called off
This is a homicide instead
The killer is at large
Church littered with yellow caution tape
On the first day of the new year
Yellow is the color of sunshine and flowers and love
Today it is of endings and crime and danger
The investigation is ongoing
Be aware