He is babbling through teeth of stone,
drooling in veins that spread
across dormant, bone-wet ground.
Relief lies dammed
with last year’s deciduous puke.
Ignorant pools burst
into careless tendrils slithering
toward a creek that will carry
the Old Man away.
For now.
A soggy, water-laden sponge swallows
Every footstep and threatens
To steal your shoe. You pull away
But not without layers of phlegm.
She is cantankerous,
ridding Herself of his purity –
a mass of ashes and smut and filth.
Unmannered and ruthless,
the old Dame’s way.
For now.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Breathe Full Circle
My mother isn't here.
She’s with my father.
But, they’re gone.
Not on a trip or a vacation;
not in the conventional sense of such,
but gone.
Someplace that I am unsure of.
Someplace that I am assured is good.
A place of no pain or suffering,
filled with warmth and love for all beings and all things;
and, I,
I can only hope that this is true.
There is no science to concretely prove the theory.
No proof. No evidence found at a graveside or
message carved on a tombstone to let me know
that the world they left behind was merely existence,
and that the unknown is what holds the secret to life and living.
But, there is also nothing to prove otherwise.
All I know for sure is that their bodies
have been returned to the earth from whence they came.
Full circle.
And their souls...
She’s with my father.
But, they’re gone.
Not on a trip or a vacation;
not in the conventional sense of such,
but gone.
Someplace that I am unsure of.
Someplace that I am assured is good.
A place of no pain or suffering,
filled with warmth and love for all beings and all things;
and, I,
I can only hope that this is true.
There is no science to concretely prove the theory.
No proof. No evidence found at a graveside or
message carved on a tombstone to let me know
that the world they left behind was merely existence,
and that the unknown is what holds the secret to life and living.
But, there is also nothing to prove otherwise.
All I know for sure is that their bodies
have been returned to the earth from whence they came.
Full circle.
And their souls...
Their souls have been spread among us – the living –
to be shared, treasured, and passed down
through the generations of our own families,
and to the families of families of friends and relatives
whose lives they touched in some way
large or small.
Memories.
Ah, those are my celebration and my heartbreak.
They can carry me through, or tear me down –
rip me apart limb by limb, drain the liquid from my soul,
and leave me parched, empty,
and longing for the embrace that left me.
Memories can lift me from that place of darkness,
that echoing chamber in my mind where I,
for reasons unknown and often unbelievable,
have chosen to allow the infliction of pain to capture me.
Where instead of celebrating
the hugs, laughs, encouragements, lessons, and love,
I grovel at the feet of pity and despair
only to lift my head
and find nothing but a photograph…
a favorite record...
a cherished heirloom…
a pocketknife, sweater, handkerchief.
A threadbare t-shirt.
An unfinished afghan.
Breathe.
First, life-giving breaths of birth.
Breathe.
Invigorating, life-sustaining breaths of living.
Breathe.
Shallow, painful breaths of death.
Breathe.
Eternal, circular breaths of remembrance.
to be shared, treasured, and passed down
through the generations of our own families,
and to the families of families of friends and relatives
whose lives they touched in some way
large or small.
Memories.
Ah, those are my celebration and my heartbreak.
They can carry me through, or tear me down –
rip me apart limb by limb, drain the liquid from my soul,
and leave me parched, empty,
and longing for the embrace that left me.
Memories can lift me from that place of darkness,
that echoing chamber in my mind where I,
for reasons unknown and often unbelievable,
have chosen to allow the infliction of pain to capture me.
Where instead of celebrating
the hugs, laughs, encouragements, lessons, and love,
I grovel at the feet of pity and despair
only to lift my head
and find nothing but a photograph…
a favorite record...
a cherished heirloom…
a pocketknife, sweater, handkerchief.
A threadbare t-shirt.
An unfinished afghan.
Breathe.
First, life-giving breaths of birth.
Breathe.
Invigorating, life-sustaining breaths of living.
Breathe.
Shallow, painful breaths of death.
Breathe.
Eternal, circular breaths of remembrance.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Drama vs. Truth
I could go on and on about this topic, but I'm strapped for time right now. As many know, there has been a longstanding battle over shutting down the carriage business in New York City (Philadelphia has also been targeted, but not on such grand a platform). It boils down to politics and animal rights extremists vs. the carriage drivers and horse owners. The other day, friends posted this to our Facebook page:
This whole issue reeks of ignorance. The saddest part is that the bandwagon is full of ill-informed mouth pieces with louder microphones than the ones in the know.
For the record:
According to an editorial written by actor Liam Neeson in support of the carriage workers "the city’s horse-drawn carriages have made an estimated 6 million trips in traffic in the past 30 years, most ending up in Central Park. Four horses have been killed in collisions with motor vehicles, with no human fatalities." That's much better than the multitude of automobile accidents in the city. Or, the amount of courier accidents while weaving in and out of traffic on their bicycles. He also noted that "the horse carriage trade is a “humane industry that is well regulated by New York City’s Departments of Health and Mental Hygiene and Consumer Affairs.” This past weekend, picketers paced outside his NYC home protesting his support.
This whole issue reeks of ignorance. The saddest part is that the bandwagon is full of ill-informed mouth pieces with louder microphones than the ones in the know.
The ASPCA itself has set regulations for the carriage horses,
and even has staff that keep watch on how long each horse is on
shift to make sure that they’re not being overworked, that they are not working
in extreme conditions (heat/cold), and that they are kept humanely. Horses are
meant to work. They are healthier, and I like to think happier though I've
never actually seen a horse smile (well, maybe I have but people will think I’m
crazy), when they are working and fit. In fact, it is much healthier for a
horse to be working rather than a living lawn ornament whether it be as a carriage horse, work horse (plowing,
hauling, farming), riding horse, or any other physically active type of horse. Inactive, barn-kept horses are more unhealthy, and quite honestly, not happy horses.
So, instead of choosing to clearly inform their viewers (some of the NYC stables are on prime real estate that friends of politicians want to develop in addition to other hidden agendas), this local news station decided to fill a time slot by jumping aboard the abuse-to-animals train
that has long plagued New York City carriage drivers, their horses, and the livelihoods of both. Choosing
to spread the wealth of ignorance rather than researching and reporting the
underlying reasons for the proposed ban because it might mean standing up to political
agendas driven by the thickness of their wallets and elected
position of probable corrupt power, because--why? It's easier? It's what the public wants? It's what sells? Oh wait, they did interview very reliable horse owners from Happy Trails--great people who are experienced and skilled in the craft of horsemanship with reputable facilities, horses, and services--but what about the whole story? I fully appreciate the reporter having sought out horsemen for their views and valid opinions--that in itself is quite commendable--but it's not enough.
What ever happened to investigative reporting and telling the whole story rather than pure sensationalism and a twisted idea of what the public wants to hear? I, personally, am tired of the drama for the sake of drama. Not only in relation to this topic, but several: it's going to snow (close the schools and streets for an inch), it's going to be cold (bring in your pets, it's going below 30), a brick fell from a building (reporter tosses an already-fallen brick while standing in supposed harm's way). This isn't a prime time drama. It's not supposed to be entertaining for the sake of ratings. It's supposed to be the news. The good, the bad, and the ugly of it. And all of it. I’m tired of having to do my own research to get to the real story because I can only trust a minuscule amount of the information that I get from the news. What sells is important? No, truth is what's important! And reporting the truth, all angles of it, should be a moral, ethical, and unequivocal requirement for any newscaster, reporter, writer, or analyst.
What ever happened to investigative reporting and telling the whole story rather than pure sensationalism and a twisted idea of what the public wants to hear? I, personally, am tired of the drama for the sake of drama. Not only in relation to this topic, but several: it's going to snow (close the schools and streets for an inch), it's going to be cold (bring in your pets, it's going below 30), a brick fell from a building (reporter tosses an already-fallen brick while standing in supposed harm's way). This isn't a prime time drama. It's not supposed to be entertaining for the sake of ratings. It's supposed to be the news. The good, the bad, and the ugly of it. And all of it. I’m tired of having to do my own research to get to the real story because I can only trust a minuscule amount of the information that I get from the news. What sells is important? No, truth is what's important! And reporting the truth, all angles of it, should be a moral, ethical, and unequivocal requirement for any newscaster, reporter, writer, or analyst.
For the record:
According to an editorial written by actor Liam Neeson in support of the carriage workers "the city’s horse-drawn carriages have made an estimated 6 million trips in traffic in the past 30 years, most ending up in Central Park. Four horses have been killed in collisions with motor vehicles, with no human fatalities." That's much better than the multitude of automobile accidents in the city. Or, the amount of courier accidents while weaving in and out of traffic on their bicycles. He also noted that "the horse carriage trade is a “humane industry that is well regulated by New York City’s Departments of Health and Mental Hygiene and Consumer Affairs.” This past weekend, picketers paced outside his NYC home protesting his support.
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