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 1/12/14 -- Pant-less Practices

(Photo credit ibtimes.com)

No Pants Subway Ride #NPSR 2014 is here! Started in New York, NY 13 years ago, it's now an annual event. Improv Everywhere started this pantless tradition in 2002, and now people all over the world are partaking. The premise is to go without trousers, look "normal" on top, and if confronted, just pretend it's a coincidence that your fellow passengers are also without clothing on their lower halves. Obviously, this was pretty natural to write.

Pant-less Practices

People wait all year

To pounce on the subway or train

Wearing half of what they probably should

Partaking in pant-less practices,

Showered (hopefully) in pride, perfume, and undergarments, 

These bold, pragmatic pioneers 

Pretend it's all proper in spite of their silly, planned predicament. 

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 1/9/14 -- Squeezebox Expansion

(Photo credit The Atlantic)

I hope I don't embarrass my husband and his siblings too much, but as a kid in the early 1970's, his mom made a lot of their clothes. He has an older brother, a younger sister, and a younger brother, and they were all fortunate enough to wear handmade, matching outfits. Picture Christmas photos and a lot of plaid! To top it off, my husband and his older brother played the accordion. Oh ya! I'm sure it built character, and hey, musicians are hot right?! This leads me to today's headline from The Atlantic -- "Accordions: So Hot Right Now, once considered glamorous and sexy, then forgotten, the instrument is making a comeback."

The article explains that European immigrants introduced the accordion to the U.S. in the 1800's, but that it really started to take off just before World War I. It became cool, sexy, and important. By the 1950's it was one of the most played instruments, and heck even Elvis and Lennon rocked them! The accordion lost its popularity for awhile, but it is now back because of bands like Mumford and Sons, Arcade Fire, and The Lumineers. So, to recognize the hotness of the accordion, here is today's headline poem. Enjoy!

Squeezebox Expansion

compressing and expanding

bellows
of the squeezebox expansion
not an easy task
keys, buttons, pallets, reeds
breath 

produces vibration that produces sound
in and out
not made for the weak of 

heart
sweat dripping from the brow,

falls heavily onto the instrument

changes 

the sound

bodies and grilles
mechanisms meant to 

last

mumford and sons belts out tunes
youtube 'white blank page' 

and
tell me accordion,

"where is my fault in loving you,
with my whole heart"

gratifying, pleasing
tunes
miraculously melting your
ears
sitting on the park bench
staring 

at the screen
soon,
you will be tapping
along
ebbing and flowing 

with 

your own imaginary, invisible 

machine

 

Headline Poem 1/8/14 -- Haiku for Lions in West Africa

(Photo credit The Guardian)

Today's poem is for lions in West Africa, who now, according to an article today in LiveScience, are on the brink of extinction. Staff writer Tina Ghose writes that there are currently only 250 adults confined to 1 percent of their historic range. In order to save these threatened cats, governments and conservation organizations must increase budgets. Otherwise, they could be gone within the next five years.

Haiku for Lions in West Africa

Lions on the brink
Majestic, endangered cats
Conservation now