Words on War from Someone Other Than John McCain

We've all heard McCain speak on his war experiences - ad nauseum.

He walks, he talks, he postures and pontificates. He collects a tax-exampt $58,000 a year in disability money even though he's capable of doing all of those things and more because, his staff says, he is "technically disabled."

I'm sick of hearing John McCain talk about his heroism, (he got shot down - losing his 5th and final plane, for those of you who keep count of such things,) he spent half his life in the military ( he spent a grand total of about 20 hours in actual combat,) his grace under pressure, (he cracked after 5 days like a hard boiled egg on the edge of a counter top.)

How about a few words from a real hero?

Meet Ron Kovic - paralyzed from the chest down for the last 40 years from a wound received during his second tour in Viet Nam - listen to what he's got to say:

"I am the living death, the Memorial Day on wheels. I am your Yankee Doodle Dandy, your John Wayne come home, your Fourth of July firecracker exploding in the grave."

"We who have witnessed the obscenity of war and experienced its horror and terrible consequences have an obligation to rise above our pain and suffering and turn the tragedy of our lives into a triumph."

Now that's a man worthy of the title "veteran." People like John McCain dishonor him and every other veteran of Viet Nam or any other war every time they open their mouth and vomit forth pap and propaganda.

McCain-Rich vs Obama-Rich

The candidates were recently asked what would be a "rich income" and Obama said $250,000 a year and McCain said five million dollars a year.

I think what the candidates have forgotten is that "rich" isn't always defined by a monetary scale.

In the early 70's I was a very young and very single mother - my son and I had a small, low income apartment in a not-so-good neighborhood. I had a 12 year old car with bad brakes and a faulty exhaust which a dear aunt had given to me. I slept on a mattress on the floor, not because mattresses on the floor were in vogue, but on a $3.00 an hour waitressing salary the cost of a real bed was impossible to justify. My son slept in a crib which was 25 years old. I rarely ate the day or two before payday - the money I made just didn't cover living expenses and food enough for both of us.

But, looking back, if someone asked me when I felt the richest and the most secure, I'd have to say that was the time. I was rich because I had a job I liked, I had a car that ran, I had a roof over my head and I had the best baby in the world. I had friends and I had family, I had my health and, most of all, I had hope for the future and boundless optimism.

People who are afraid of the future, people who are pessimistic, people who are suspicious, those people never have enough. Whether they make $30,000 a year or $250,000 a year or 5 million dollars a year - it is not going to be enough.

I don't necessarily think that money is the sole concern of the working class. It is to the extent that they sometimes think it's the answer to all their problems - and then they get more and they find that it's only the answer to some of their problems. More money might buy them a better house, but it won't make that house a happy one or a safe one.

I'll go out on a limb here and say that the very rich worry far more about money than the very poor do. When you're worried about survival everything else pales and disappears in comparision.

As for those in-between here are some of the things having more money won't do; Having money won't make you stop fearing that your son might end up fighting in a war no one believes in, it won't make the gas crisis go away, it won't make you stop fearing that you're going to someday be the victim of a crime, it won't make you trust the government or the politicians who run the government, it won't make you love your neighbor or make your neighbor love you, it won't make you healthy or intelligent or bright or beautiful.

Having money simply gives you more to lose and heightens your sense of insecurity. Hence, the 5 Million Dollar Candidate being so quick to suggest war. It is a get them before they get me mentality. The more you have, the more paranoid you become that someone is going to try to take it away.

If a politician could find a way to give us back our optimism and our hope, he'd be in like flint. I think Obama's trying - but we've become, as a nation and as individuals, much more jaded and fearful then we were when JFK was able to give us Camelot.

In the recent Saddleback forum one of the questions was "What would you do for the orphans?" I was appalled that neither candidate bothered to even touch on why we had orphans in the first place. Get rid of the wars, get rid of the diseases, get rid of the religious and political persecutions which kill parents around the world and you've gotten rid of the bulk of all orphans in the world today. It is a problem humanity has created. It is a problem humanity can eradicate. The question should not have been, "What can we do to care for the hundreds of thousands of orphans in the world today?" The question should have been, "What can we do to prevent the further orphaning of children today?" You cannot fix a situation if you do not eradicate the continuing cause.

It is far easier (and far less costly) to prevent a problem than it is to cure one. That goes for all problems, wars, energy costs, religious mistrust, racial hatred, health issues, enviornmental concerns - not just orphans. It's all a mess right now but it's not reached critical mass yet. It's a very full pot, granted, but adding to it by fear-mongering, war-mongering, painting visions of future doom, "talking tough" without being able to back it up, lying, story-telling and name-calling is not going to fix it - it is going to make it overflow and catch fire.

Taxes, at this point, are (or should be) immaterial. Nothing is free - everyone should be willing to pay a fair share of what's necessary. That goes for the rich as well as the not-so-rich. Make it proportionate and I don't think the poor man's going to object. Arguing over what constitutes "rich" isn't going to change anything. It's not just about dollars, it's also about sense.

Common sense.

Doesn't anyone have it anymore?

We wouldn't need nearly so many tax dollars if we didn't have so many unnecessary costs in the first place.

A Modern Day Romulus and Remus

A newborn baby abandoned outdoors in winter by her 14-year-old mother was found safe in a dog pen with a mother dog and her brood of puppies near the city of La Plata, Argentine.

Farmer Fabio Anze found the naked baby girl on Thursday, being kept warm among his dog China's puppies. Anze called the police and the baby was taken to a hospital.

Egidio Melia, director of the Melchor Romero hospital, told television and newspaper reporters that the baby was just a few hours old when she was found, and was in good health although she had some bruises.

Nighttime temperatures are chilly but not freezing in the Southern Hemisphere winter in the rural area around La Plata, 40 miles (60 km) south of Buenos Aires.

Police said they had located the 14-year-old girl who gave birth to the baby outdoors during the night.

It was not clear whether the mother left her baby in the dog's pen or whether the dog found the baby outdoors and carried it in to join her puppies.

Insecticide and The Sandwich Generation

What a cruddy week. My mom's been in the hospital, my office has an infestation of gnatty little fruit flies and my boss tried to poison them and ended up poisoning me, instead.

I've been home sick with some sort of allergic reaction to the indiscriminate spraying of large cans of Raid in an enclosed office space where all of the windows and all of the duct work and all of the fresh air vents had been duct-taped shut prior to said spraying. The aforementioned Raid spraying was done in addition to the professional exterminator's spraying which had been done only hours before. This has happened not just once, mind you, but twice on different days. My throat hurts, I'm hoarse and it feels like an elephant has been sitting on my chest. Plus I can't get the smell of insecticide out of my nose and throat. I've been staying home for two reasons, 1) It hurts my throat to talk or swallow and 2) I'm afraid of what's still to come. The building maintenance supervisor (after drilling a hole in a wall and inserting a small scope, not unlike the one which a gastroentologist would use to ram down your throat and look into your stomach with) is talking about jackhammering the tub and cement flooring in order to reach what he describes as "Several feet of standing green water which is trapped beneath your bathroom in which we think the bugs are breeding." Many years ago two of my three children were stricken with Legionnaires Disease. I have not trusted any source of stagnant water, much less "several feet of standing green water" since then. It took forever to diagnosis, they very nearly died and even though they were fortunate enough to survive while many others did not they still suffered lingering effects for years afterwards.

My 85 year old mother has been hospitalized in Indiana for the last 10 days. What started out a half-treated UTI progressed into confusion, dehydration and an inability to ambulate. Considering she's lived alone since my aunt died several years ago, that's a problem. For now she's fully recovered from the UTI but she's still unable to walk or dress without assistance. My sister and I have had her transferred to a short term rehab facility - hoping she can get her strength back and return to her home. I'll most likely be going home in a week or so to help her get back on her feet and to assess the situation. Best case scenerio she'll be able to function with some daily visits from relatives, friends and whatever social agencies I can find. Worst case scenerio, she won't.

It's awful to get old in some cases. To be unable to care for oneself must be the worst of the worst. In my mother's case there's nothing medically wrong. A good bit of arthritis, a small touch of forgetfulness, a whole lot of sadness and anger at the world in general and her family in particular, but nothing threatening or fatal. Her heart is good, her lungs are good, her circulation is good, her overall physical health is excellent. Her mental well-being is another story. She just can't or won't get out of bed and care for herself anymore.

They say you're lucky to have your health when you reach a certain age but I suppose if you feel like you have nothing else it's nowhere near enough.

I have officially joined The Sandwich Generation.

Coincidence? You Decide!

A Blaine man was found dead five hours after his wife returned home from jail for attempting his murder.

Ya gotta love smallish town headlines.

Waiting For The Sun - Flash Prompting

Who Is This Coming?

It's almost six in the morning and it's still dark outside. She's nearly comatose, but not quite. She hears although she seldom speaks, she sees although she does not acknowledge, she thinks but she does not share her thoughts.

Mostly she just ignores the world around her. She's spent a long time, almost 86 years, in this world - she thinks that maybe she's ready to leave it behind. It's not what lies beyond life which frightens her - it's the act of leaving that she's still a bit uncomfortable with.

On the other hand, there's nothing holding her here. Everyone she knew once is gone. She's buried her mother and father, two good-for-nothing husbands, a son, a daughter, one tiny unborn grandchild and an untold number of friends and lesser family. She's outlived every one of them. They were weak, the whole lot of them - not one of them was as strong or as tenacious as she.

The thought makes her smile.

Suddenly she hopes there's an afterlife. God knows this one hasn't been all that good to her. But then again, maybe the next one won't be, either. She's always believed in both God and science and she knows that for every action there is a reaction. If there's a heaven then it follows that there's also a hell.

She quits smiling then and fumbles for the rosary that the nurses let her keep underneath her pillow. A little insurance praying never hurt anyone. Even though it's almost morning and shift change she's still tired and praying always puts her to back sleep.

She hopes that damn hospice woman doesn't show up today. All that talk about relaxing and closing her eyes and going towards the light makes her skin crawl. Oh sure, they mean well, but she wasn't born yesterday, you know. There's no long tunnel, no longed-for family waiting at the end, no golden light beckoning. She's seen enough of life to know that just as there's only darkness when you close your eyes there's also only darkness when you die.

By the third Hail Mary her mind begins to drift. For some reason, even thought she hasn’t thought about him in years, she remembers the man no one wanted her to love; the soldier she'd sneak out of the window to meet when her parents thought she was safely sleeping. She remembers the ring he gave her before he left for Normandy, the one she wore on a silver chain around her neck where her father wouldn't see it. She remembers the plans they had for when he returned. The ones where they were going to run away and be married and live happily ever after - just him and her and damn the differences in faith and family.

She smiles a sleepy girlish smile and suddenly her heart beats faster, her respirations increase. She drops the rosary and tries to sit up but the old familiar pain in her chest suddenly hurts too much - she thinks about ringing the bell for the nurse, she thinks about the soldier who never returned, she thinks about how easy it would be to let the pain consume her. She struggles to reach full consciousness and wonders if it's turned into morning yet.

She forces open her eyes and turns her head to look out the window. Ah, thank God, the sun's coming up, bright and beautiful as always - it's time, the day nurses will be here soon enough. She's made it through another night.

Thank God for the sun; she loves the sun - there's safety in the sun. Bad things only happen in the night, nothing bad ever happens when the sun is shining.

Mindful of the ache in her chest, she slowly raises her head to get a better look as the last few bits of sunrise break over the horizon. But wait - what's this? How strange. Is that a young man in an old fashioned uniform smiling at her, holding out his hand? It almost looks as though he's in the center of the sun, waiting just for her. How can this be? She thinks she might be dreaming. She forgets her pain and fearlessly struggles to a sitting position. What is this speck in the familiar morning brightness? What sort of man could stand in the hot hot heart of the golden orb? Could this be Him, coming out of the sun?

Incredible Video Cat + Crow

More Flash Fiction

There’s a child in the water – the greenish, yellowish, brackenish, and overwhelmingly pine scented water. He’s upside down, both feet in the air, with his broad baby shoulders wedged tight against the ridged sides of the deep metal wash bucket - almost as if he tried to crawl, headfirst, back into the soothing liquid heat of some warm primal birth canal.

But it’s cold. The dirty water’s cold. The baby’s cold. The room’s cold, the house is cold, everything’s cold. I’m cold. And it's all so quiet – except, of course, it isn’t. Everyone else’s slower sirens are still arriving outside and inside there’s a screaming mother and a cursing father and somewhere, in another room, there are children playing and a television set is blaring, incongruously tuned to Sesame Street.

Underneath the drunken father’s loudly offered explanation, the unintelligible high-pitched ramblings of the three small babbling brothers, and the mother’s hysterical and repetitious “Holy Mary, Madre de Dios,” I can hear the familiar voice of Oscar-the-Grouch, stuck right-side-up inside his own silver can, grousing at some unseen intruder.

It's the baby, it's just the baby that's so awfully quiet. It’s unusual for toddlers this size to be so quiet. Truthfully, I’m amazed by how still everything seems to be when, if fact, if I’d just quit thinking about how quiet he is, I’d realize that things are rapidly approaching unbearably noisy.

And so I do – and instantaneously I want everyone around me to shut-up. I want the mother to quit keening and the brothers to quit babbling and the father to sober up and quit yelling and I want someone to go into the other room and shut the goddamn television off and make that stupid whining Oscar just go the hell away. I want the sirens outside to stop sirening, I want my heart to quit pounding so loudly in my ears that I’m almost positive that I’m going to be sick, and, most of all, I want that god forsaken clean-footed baby to pull his big-old swollen infant head out of that carelessly abandoned bucket of last night’s dirty-assed Pine-Sol water and I want him to grin some crooked, wide-mouthed, 6-toothed, 13 month old grin and I want to hear him holler “Peek-a-boo” at all of us so that I don’t have to be the one to walk over there, yank him out and confirm what I goddamned well already know to be true.

Playing With Flash Fiction

I've been experimenting with "Flash."

Dangerously addictive stuff.

Humpty-Dumpty Elizabeth Edwards

I am so disgusted with John Edwards. Not angry, not disappointed, not surprised, not forgiving - just disgusted. And just a touch outraged.

I am disgusted for what he's done, not to the public, but to his family - more specifically, to his wife, Elizabeth. I am sorry she must face her betrayal in public. It's hard enough to face in private.

I was married to a man who cheated. In my particular case we were no longer married when I found out. We'd been separated for months by the time one of his friends let that particular cat out of the bag. We'd split up for various reasons, alcoholism, child abuse, physical and mental cruelty, lots of good reasons, but infidelity was not one of them.

I remember going home after hearing the news - and feeling numb and disbelieving. By then it's not that I didn't think him capable of such an act, it's just that I didn't believe myself capable of not knowing. I was not angry at him - I was angry at myself. I never said, "How could he?" Instead I asked myself over and over again, "How could you not know? How could you have been so trusting, so blind, so stupid?"

It's not just about the act itself. Sex is fairly cheap - and it can be (and often is) meaningless. What it ends up being about is betrayal. The betrayal of trust - the time stole from yourself and your children; the money spent on another woman that could have fed your children; the ordinary conversations he had with her that you were home alone starving for; the dinners eaten alone while you believed he was working overtime; the nights you stayed awake, waiting, until 2 or 3 in the morning, convinced that he'd been in an accident; the numerous nights you spent in some emergency room with a desperately ill child, frantically trying to reach his father and being unable to do so; the thought that everyone knew - except you, of course. And close on that thought, the thought that everyone either pitied you or was laughing at you - and had been for months, maybe even years.

I'm not sure which is worse - the pity or the laughter. No one ever sets out to be the object of pity or the butt of a joke. No one in their right mind wants to be either thing. Maybe it's worse for some of us than others - sometimes your pride is all you have left and when even that's taken away the despair that follows is without comparison. There's nothing left to hold onto. As the spine stiffens, the core cracks.

And in the end, it doesn't matter. You either survive or you don't. Most of us do. I'm sure Elizabeth with survive this - she's a strong woman that's survived much worse - her son's death at 16 and her own diagnosis of incurable breast cancer. The question is, however, why should she have to survive his mistake his failure?? Acts of God are simply that - acts of God. Children die for reasons unknown to man, people get cancer at random - God challenges us and we rise to meet the challenge. Man, however, has no such divine right - rgardless of how infallible or how above the law he may think he is.

Her ability to trust is ruined. There will always be some small part of herself that she'll never be able to give to anyone else ever again. She. like I, like every other individual, male or female, who's ever been betrayed by someone they loved, will go to her grave with the knowledge that love and trust are not synonymous, that they are two different things, and that you can never again think of one in tandem with the other.

No amount of excuse, no amount of I'm sorry will ever put those two things back together again.

Why the Right Words Are Important

Henbane or Fat Hen? Which would you prefer in your salad?

Just Plain Funny

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

Sleeping Cats Don't Lie

Soooo....how much does big black kitty hate little black kitty? Maybe not so much after all. At least not so much when nobody's home. I came home unexpectedly quiet this afternoon - and caught them in the act!! Ah-Ha!!

I Love This Kinda Stuff

Retriever adopts tiger-cubs

How'd Ya Like to Make $1,485.55 a second? Be Exxon

Gosh, what a shame - Exxon only made $1,485.55 a second in it's last fiscal quarter. They were expected to do better. Things are tough all over, aren't they?

I'll bet Melissa doesn't feel so bad now that she knows she's not the only one feeling the pinch ....it's always reassuring to know that others are suffering, too.

Arghhh

Good God!! Someone found this blog by googling the words "Free Kitten Corpse."

Not only did they find it - apparently Terminal Chaosity is the second offered pick.

Arghhhhh!!!

Two From the Heart

At Seven

This is when you learned to fear your food:
the summer squash sagged soft, the winter beans.
First came the night, the kitchen table where
you couldn't bear to eat and so were forced
to sleep, small head against congealing plate
'til dawn. Then came the day - with mother on
her knees as if in prayer, her index finger down
her throat - and yours - and you just stood there dumbly,
numbly, holding back her hair. Where's Grandma J.?
Where's dad? Where's God and what the hell? Can't
anybody hear the wretched retching coughs,
the gags that herald time before school time?
She's sick, she's purifying both of you.
You'll feel better afterwards - she promises.

You kissed the sour mouth goodbye, and hoped
the forewarned threat of death did not occur
before noon, before lunch, before you made
it home again - before you'd time to save her.

Triolet Challenge (For Patti)

I Am



Why can't you see? I am the best -
The poet of the century.
God's given me the tools. I'm blessed.
Why can't you see? I am the best.
I'm humble, yet above the rest.
There's no one that comes near to me.
Why can't you see? I am the best -
The poet of the century.

Fun

Shuffle Words

This Is Just So Wrong

I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day Is any day that's spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You?

I, Alone

Revision #1
(the flip-flop)

I, Alone

Now I lay me down to sleep
it's one o'clock - the hour of dread
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
when all the kids are tucked in bed
If I should die before I wake
with all their prayers devoutly said
I pray the Lord my soul to take
Though I, alone, fear God is dead.


I, Alone

It's one o'clock - the hour of dread -
and now I lay me down to sleep
when all the kids are tucked in bed
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
with all their prayers devoutly said
If I should die before I wake
and I, alone, fear God is dead.
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Cat Litter as Fashion Accessory

I Have Cats in My Drawers

This Week In Pictures

Ok, let's see - on Monday there was a freak storm around 4PM. It got dark, it got rainy, it got windy. Suddenly there was the sound of a train where no train should be heard - and then the very Midwestern sound of imploading glass. The picture below is my office window.

I really thought I was safe here, yanno? From tornados, anyhow.

















On Tuesday Carla sent Maddie pics....On Wednesday we decided to drive home for her christening next month. We'll drive all day Friday, stay over Saturday and Sunday and then drive all day Monday. It'll be worth it, tho. I can't wait to see her in person - and before she's walking, too.















And today - today was temporary truce day here in Virginia.

He Said It First

Oh My God!!

Not for the faint-of-heart. Or for those who detest the "C" word.

Although, come to think of it, I hate the "C" word with a passion and I found this hysterical.

And telling.

Very very telling.

"If they die, you're doing it wrong"

While I'm waxing political - two more Republican administration tidbits to chew on:

From CNN.COM

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Former terrorist suspects detained by the United States were tortured, according to medical examinations detailed in a report released Wednesday by a human rights group.

The Massachusetts-based Physicians for Human Rights reached that conclusion after two-day clinical evaluations of 11 former detainees, who had been held at the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and in Afghanistan.

The detainees were never charged with crimes.

"We found clear physical and psychological evidence of torture and abuse, often causing lasting suffering," said Dr. Allen Keller, a medical evaluator for the study.

In a 121-page report, the doctors' group said that it uncovered medical evidence of torture, including beatings, electric shock, sleep deprivation, sexual humiliation, sodomy and scores of other abuses.

The report is prefaced by retired U.S. Major Gen. Antonio Taguba, who led the Army's investigation into the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal in 2003.

and, nicely timed, from MSN.COM:


A senior CIA lawyer advised Pentagon officials about the use of harsh interrogation techniques on detainees at Guantanamo Bay in a meeting in late 2002, defending waterboarding and other methods as permissible despite U.S. and international laws banning torture, according to documents released yesterday by congressional investigators.

Torture "is basically subject to perception," CIA counterterrorism lawyer Jonathan Fredman told a group of military and intelligence officials gathered at the U.S.-run detention camp in Cuba on Oct. 2, 2002, according to minutes of the meeting. "If the detainee dies, you're doing it wrong."

(Both articles can, and should, be clicked on and read in their entirety.)

Interestingly enough,
some Pentagon officials acknowledged that the proposed methods faced opposition at the time from experts in military and international law. Among them was Mark Fallon, deputy commander of the Defense Department's Criminal Investigation Task Force. He warned in an October 2002 e-mail to Pentagon colleagues that the techniques under discussion would "shock the conscience of any legal body" that might review how the interrogations were conducted.

"This looks like the kind of stuff Congressional hearings are made of," Fallon wrote. He added: "Someone needs to be considering how history will look back at this."

Consider this - it's 6 years later and, hopefully, we can close this page in history as soon as possible. And look back in shame and sorrow on what was done while vowing to never again allow a president or a party to command so much and give back so little.

Bush + Katrina = Happy Birthday To John McCain

John McCain has recently critized President Bush for his handling of Hurricane Katrina - in fact, he's vowed, "Never again!" Quite commendable.

Until you realize that this picture was taken Monday, August 29, 2005 -



Several hours after Katrina hit New Orleans at 6AM.

Several days after we all knew something really bad was going to happen.

Apparently the emperor didn't fiddle alone while Rome burned.

Letter To Mom

Dear Mom,

About that interloping rat -
the one you're passing off as cat -
She's teeny-tiny-creepy small,
and we don't think she's cat at all.

She's commandeered the catnip mouse -
the bed, the couch - the whole damn house.
What once was ours she treats as hers.
She steals with sycophantic purrs.

She wrecks our litter, eats our food.
We're not amused - she's just plain rude.
She chews our tails. She takes our toys.
How could you, Mom? We were your boys.

How dare you bring this creature home -
this nearly hairless little gnome?
Don't call her " Kitty," she's not that -
she's naught but crawling wingless bat.

Quick, take her back! She's such a fake!
Admit you made a dumb mistake.
We're mighty tigers, hear us roar.
Show that rat-bat-brat the door.

Don't let her scare us any more.


Love,

Your Big Boys,
ADD & OCD

PMS With A Rope

Beauty: In the Eyes of the Beheld

One of these beauties is a friend of mine.

A close enough friend that I've even got a cameo appearance in the film itsef.

If you ever get to see the entire film - and you're looking for me - I'll be the one backstage at the strip club - helping the stripper decide which clothes to take off.

(Ha! You laugh - but it's not as easy as you think. There's a lot of planning before disrobing that most of us never even consider.)

Who knows, if I can't make it in the poetry business perhaps there'll be a film career in my future.

Is It True About Obama?

This is wonderful. Please watch it.

Ex. New Jersey Govenor McGreedy

Ex-Governor Jim McGreevey, who left a great paying job as Governor of New Jersey is now claiming that, due to his entering a seminary at the age of 50 while being supported by his lover, he can only afford to pay $100.00 a month (Yep, you read that right $100.00 a MONTH) in child support.

Perhaps Mr. 50 Years Old Looking For A Second Career isn't too good at math. Perhaps he doesn't understand that $100.00 a month translates to $23.80 a week...or $3.40 a day.

In other words, if Dad has his way, his child will be able to eat at Taco Bell twice a day - so long as said child eats from the 79 cent value meal and drinks nothing but tap water.

It's nice Mr. McGreevey's finally found his life's calling - being a minister is surely good work - it'd be nicer, however, if he manned up and realized, like millions of other parents have realized, that sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do - which is not necessarily gonna be what you wanna do. Supporting your children to the best of your ability would probably be a good way to start a do-gooding career. The question is, how do you minister unto others if you cannot, will not, minister unto your own? Has Mr. McGreevey never heard of the phrases "second job" or "part time job?"

Many parents would love to switch jobs, many parents would love the luxury of being supported by a new lover while going to school - virtually all of them realize that with parenthood comes responsibility - and their dreams remain dreams and reality becomes working their asses off in order to give their children a better world than the one they had to live in.

That includes divorced women, single women, widowed women, lesbians, divorced men, single men, widowed men and gay men. One would think that would include ex-governors, too.

Apparently it doesn't. Not in New Jersey, anyhow.

I'd like to see Mr. McGreedy live on $3.40 a day.

Really I would.

Latest Issues

Bumbershoot

Umbrella

Shit Creek Review

The Chimaera

The Barefoot Muse

Great stuff - enough to keep you busy reading for the rest of the month.

There's even a "me" poem in Bumbershoot - doing what I do best - making fun of something.

Writer, Writer.

Clinton Supporter Thrown Out of Rules Committee Meeting

Makes me want to be identified as anything but a middle aged white woman.

It would be laughable if it weren't quite so embarassing.

I wonder if she was there with "Women Count?" You know - the ones who claim to speak for all of us.

If You Even Think About Driving Drunk

I was a medic for a whole lot of years - both on an ambulance and in a moderately busy ER. I've seen things and cleaned things that are, basically, untellable and unimaginable.

And yet, reading
this story sent chills through my spine. I've seen decapitations - they're not pretty. In fact, they're probably the single most horrible sight in the world - and the thought of some mother, someone like me, someone like you, someone like us - sitting by the side of some dark road holding her baby's severed head in her lap - and then refusing to give it up - and then finally handing it to the baby's uncle so she can tend to her remaining family members, each of whom was also terribly injured - my mind just shuts down.

What this woman will relive - what her family will relive - what the medics and firefighters and police officers will relive each and every day of their lives is almost more than I can bear to even imagine.

And all because some 24 year old man got drunk and got into his car and turned the key and drove away.

Two of his victims lost their lives instantly.

One man lost a leg.

One man broke his back.

Several others suffered numerous and severe injuries.

And one young mother, sitting in the dirt on the side of a road, got to kiss the severed head of her 7 year old daughter good-bye.

He got 18 years in jail.

He's appealing his sentence.

They're stuck with theirs.

Don't drive drunk.

Please don't drive drunk.

What the World Needs Now Is One Less Teacher

Christ on a crutch - what the hell was this woman thinking???

I'd vote her off the payroll.

Cover-Up Clinton

(CNN) -- Former President Bill Clinton said that Democrats were more likely to lose in November if Hillary Clinton is not the nominee, and suggested some were trying to "push and pressure and bully" superdelegates to make up their minds prematurely.


Bill Clinton did not explain who he was accusing of "covering up" Sen. Clinton's chances.

"I can't believe it. It is just frantic the way they are trying to push and pressure and bully all these superdelegates to come out," Clinton said at a South Dakota campaign stop Sunday, in remarks first reported by ABC News.

Clinton also suggested some were trying to "cover up" Sen. Clinton's chances of winning in key states that Democrats will have to win in the general election.


"She is winning the general election today and he is not, according to all the evidence," Clinton said. "And I have never seen anything like it. I have never seen a candidate treated so disrespectfully just for running."

Bill Clinton Cries Cover-Up

Opps, Bill, wrong election. You're jumping the gun and there is no such thing as future evidence. It's the primary election your wife is in right now. And she's not winning. There's nothing to cover up. Not only is there's no evidence she's winning the general election in November, there's no evidence she's winning the primary one in May or June either. And just who is "they" anyhow?

You've lost your shit - or you're getting ready for a future whine just in case "something happens" between now and November.

Making Friends With Liver Sausage

Hillary Misspeaks - Again

One more reason Hillary Clinton does not speak for me.

She speaks the unspeakable....and not just once - but twice.

Kinda makes you wonder if it's accidental phrasing - or wishful thinking.

Either way - not a person I'd want speaking for me - or my country.

Meet Ms. PMS

This is PMS. She's 10 weeks old and weighs about 12 ounces.



Our older cats, ADD and OCT, who are 3 year old brothers and are approximately 19 and 17 pounds respectively, are not pleased with the latest addition.

They are so displeased that each of them has bitten me at least once after merely smelling my hands after holding her. I never realized how many teeth an adult cat has - nor how sharp and pointed they are. I also never realized that cats could make such strange noises.

This is going to be a LONG Memorial Day weekend - in more ways than one.

WOMENCOUNT

While we're on the topic of disgusting:





This is a full page ad which recently appeared in several newspapers around the country. It was paid for by a group called WOMENCOUNT

Since the text is hard to read here I'll quote the major portions for ya:



HILLARY'S VOICE IS OUR VOICE AND SHE'S SPEAKING FOR ALL OF US:

We are the women of this nation. We Love our country. We raise our voices in one glorious defiant chorus.
We stand united in in our unwarvering support for Hillary Clinton.




There's a whole lotta "we" in there, isn't there?

Well, I've got news for you, WOMENCOUNT, "we" is not whom you are speaking for. You do not speak for the 53% of the women who are registered Republicans or Independents - you do not speak for the 85% of black women who have consistantly supported Obama's campaign - you do not speak for the women of every race, creed and color who support Senator Obama or Senator McCain - you do not speak for ME.

Our mothers and our grandmothers and our great-great grandmothers spent their whole lives trying to establish the right to their own voices, to make their own choices, to be their own person - they did not do so in order to have their female descendants follow blanket directives from anyone - and anyone includes other women. They did not labor hard and long in order to be lumped in with "all women" like so much meek meat hanging by a hook on a common wall.

You do not speak for me, WOMANCOUNT, nor do you speak for all women.

I resent your attempt to portray that you do. I resent it on behalf of myself and on behalf of women everywhere who do not blindly follow the crowd, who do not willingly wear blinders which tell them all things female are good and all things male are bad. I resent it on behalf of my daughter-in-laws who deserve to be treated as individuals, on behalf of my sons who do not need old stereotypes of women as a collective entity revisited and reinforced every time they open a newspaper or a magazine. I resent it on behalf of my mother and my grandmothers and my aunts and my great-aunts who made it a point to raise me to understand that I had a mind of my own and that it was trustworthy and solid and that no one would ever be able to take that away from me. I resent that the only group left that seems to be unable to accept that reality are other women.

On my own behalf, and on behalf of all the women who do not support Hillary or WOMANCOUNT, I'd like to say this much - you do not speak for us. Hillary does not speak for us. Other women do not speak for us.

We speak for ourselves.

What's Really Disgusting at Countrywide

The other day Angelo Mozilo, who happens to be the CEO of Countrywide Mortgage Company, received a letter from a homeowner asking for some help in avoiding foreclosure on his home of 16 years. Mr. Mozilo accidently hit "reply to sender" instead of e-mailing the following response to his staff, thus sending the following "here's what we can do to help our customers" message directly to the homeowner:

"This is unbelievable. Most of these letters now have the same wording. Obviously they are being counseled by some other person or by the Internet. Disgusting."

You think that's disgusting, Mr. Mozilo? I'll tell you what's disgusting:

According to congressional figures, in the third quarter of 2007 and in the fourth quarter of the same year, Mr. Mozilo received a $1.9 million salary. He also received $20 million in performance-based stock awards and sold $121 million in stock.

Now that's disgusting.

Entire article here

The Eratosphere Is Melting - Alternate Universe Address Here

Last time it was hackers who took the whole damn thing down - this time it's just slowly disappearing - one board at a time.

Global warming.

For those of you who need the alternate site address - here it is once again:

Eratosphere In Exile

Why I Miss Indiana

You'd never read anything like this in The Washington Post.

Trees - Trees Never Reject You

This is one of my favorite trees here in Virginia. I have no idea what it is - only that it lives outside the entrance to work, it flowers in the spring and it has absolutely no bark whatsoever. What kind of tree has no bark?

Poetry Rejections

Poetry Magazine doesn't want me. The New Yorker doesn't want me. Extremely curt rejections from both. Neither of them seem interested in having me submit again, either.

On the other hand, Bumbershoot, the light annual edition of Umbrella, DOES want me. They think I'm funny even though I totally misread the call for submissions and sent them a parody rather than a witty encapsulation.

The editor took it anyhow.

I'm good with that.

(New England) FANS FOR ACCURATE MEDIA

Otherwise known as F.R.A.M.e

Want the truth? Check it out!!!

What Black Cats Do

"What did I do to the chair? What chair? Wasn't me - I've been laying here all day. I didn't touch your stinkin' chair. I'm pretty sure the bird did it."

I've spent the day playing in my head with a haiku translation.

Blame Eratosphere and their attempt to revitalize their Translation Board.

This is what I came up with. Poor poor offering that it is.

Original Basho
Frog Haiku

Furu ike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

Literal translation

Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya,
ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into)
mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound)

My version

millennial pond
silent shore - back-flipping frogs
piano water

Many more famous (and accurate) translations here.

Very interesting "stuff."

To Workshop or Not To Workshop

Go here Young Poet, Young Workshopper, Young Crit, go here.

And what a blast-from-the-past for this ole workshopper!!

Children See. Children Do.

The Gospel According to The DMV

Ummmmm - do the words "separation of church and state" mean anything in Florida?

So far it's not law (or gospel) but it's a-comin' if some Florida lawmakers get their way.

Rep. Kelly Skidmore, who is a Catholic lawmaker who voted against it had this to say: "I believe the "I Believe" plate is inappropriate for the government to produce.

"It's not a road I want to go down. I don't want to see the Star of David next. I don't want to see a Torah next. None of that stuff is appropriate to me."

Personally, if they're gonna allow a Christian plate, they damn well better be prepared to allow Jewish plates and Muslim plates and Mormon plates and Bhuddist plates as well.

Because none of "their stuff" is appropriate for the likes of us, either.

Little Lies Don't Count When Hillary's Doing the Counting

Hillary says she's winning the popular election because............."as of today, I have received more votes by the people who have voted than anybody else, and I am proud of that. It's a very close race, but if you count, as I count, the 2.3 million people who voted in Michigan and Florida, then we are going to build on that."

Which would be well and fine if, several months ago, she had not entered into an agreement with Barak Obama, John Edwards and the entire Democratic Party that the cast-too-early-in-violation-of-party-rules votes in Michigan and Florida should not/would not/did not count. Hillary herself said "Michigan doesn't count for anything." Hillary was the only Democrat on the damn ballot in Michigan - Obama and Edwards having both had the decency to remove their names from an illegal primary election. Interestingly enough Demoocrats in Michigan had a choice between Hillary and "uncommitted" and "uncommitted" won 45% of the popular vote.

Read entire story here

Hopefully, it's going to be a moot point since Obama is projected to win in most of the remaining primarys and will not only maintain the correctly reported "popular vote" lead that he holds now but he will also overtake even Hillary's Michigan and Florida inflated count.

I just don't understand how, since she apparently has no problem breaking deals or going back on her word with her own party, people don't seem to think that she'd have a problem breaking deals or going back on her word with people/countries/governments in general.

Are her supporters that trusting or are they just that naive? Anyone who ever winced at the pity being poured upon a victimized Hillary when Bill finally 'fessed up, anyone who ever wondered how on earth a spouse could be so blindly unsuspecting, anyone who ever wondered how one person will not/cannot see their own betrayal coming - they all better be ready to not just sympathize with and/or admire Hillary's strength in the face of disgrace, but to BECOME Hillary.

Because if by some miracle she gets elected - it'll be her supporters turn in the dupe-chair.

LATE POST: More about the amazing flip-flopping, vote-mongering, mind-changing Hillary on Slate.

The Moran Church and Mass Stupidity

Ok, I admit it, I am an elitist snob when it comes to grammar and spelling. Not so elitist that I can't deal with the occasional misspelled word or the inevitable typo (Lord knows I make them with amazing regularity) - but enough of one that it makes me cringe to read most of the "reader responses" which are attached to news-stories on The Internet.

Example:

Stupid is as stupid want to be. How sad to be so wanted to be looked at that you will damn neer kill your self hope you got your look at me fix.

33 words, right? And without even trying hard, I count 3 really simple-word spelling/compound word errors, 2 missing words and 4 missing punctuation marks.

That's 9 mistakes in 2 (should be 3) sentences. I'm not a math whiz but jeez - that's a lot!!

Here's one more -
Some body pissed in the gene pool...kids here all the crap and lies abaout drugs and religion....so they stop beliveing adults what is right and wrong.....so they get more stupid...Did youlisten to the stupid women who are so brainwashed in the MORAN CHURCH Polygamy cwenter...they are in mental out space........religion really is the cause for mass stupidity

Some body? Kids here? Abaout? beliveing? youlisten? cwenter? Mental out space?? MORAN CHURCH?

And this person is railing about mass stupidity??? Kinda makes you wonder what church he goes to, doesn't it?

It's so sad to think that these opinions and remarks are made not by 3rd graders but by adults....and most likely they are adults with decent jobs and what passes for reasonable intelligence in an oral setting. It's even sadder to think that the people writing these things believe that they may have a chance at swaying public opinion with their crudely spelled, badly worded and poorly punctuated pronouncements.

It's even sadder when you remember all of these remarks are being made on a computer - and all computers have a common function.

It's called spell-check. Learn it. Live it. Love it.

And with that - I am off for Passover in New Jersey.

Presidential Passive-Aggressive Behaviour, Anyone?

Cokie and I, we agree on something.

Picking Up the Red Phone

The Excuses According to Bill:

" Hillary, one time late at night when she was exhausted, misstated and immediately apologized for it, what happened to her in Bosnia in 1995. Did y'all see all that? Oh, they blew it up..............
And you woulda thought, you know, that she'd robbed a bank the way they carried on about this. And some of them when they're 60 they'll forget something when they're tired at 11 at night, too."
Yep, Bill, you got it - this is surely the woman I want to be picking up the dreaded Red Phone at 3AM.

Poor Poor Tired Old Hillary. It's a damn good thing she's got Mr. Bill to look out for her.

Hell, he's so gallant he'd probably even answer the phone for her if it came to that.

Hopefully it doesn't.

Because, honestly, I don't like him any better than I like her.

Which is to say - not at all.

So much for the midwestern, middle aged, uneducated, blue-collar white woman theory.

Clintons, Lies and Videotape

Well, they've done it again. It's Bill backing up Hillary this time - just in case we'd forgotten the original Hillary-esque lie about her "war zone" experiences.

In spite of numerous rebuttals to Hilary's claim that her visit to Bosnia was the first visit made to a war zone by a presidental spouse since Eleanor Roosevelt's day - Bill Clinton once again "misspoke" the following: "And I think she was the first first lady since Eleanor Roosevelt to go into a combat zone.

How 'bout the only thing Hillary and Eleanor have in common is a propensity to trust untrustworthy men - and Eleanor was smart enough to establish another residence once she found out about Frankie's affair with her staffer. The implied comparison stops there.

Besides that, does the name, Pat Nixon ring a bell?

How 'bout Viet Nam?

How 'bout "Pat Nixon visists Viet Nam" for those of you too young to put it all together by memory?

For that matter, how 'bout "Barbara Bush visits Saudia Arabia" a few weeks before Desert Storm hit the fan?

How 'bout comparing some "war zone" pictures?
















How 'bout voting for Obama?

Or maybe even Pat Nixon.

Cats and Dogs and Pretty Trees

We've spent the last 3 days in Massillon, Ohio attending the funeral of my last remaining paternal uncle. Until this past Thursday, I'd not been back in the area since 1976 or so. It's so strange to revisit a place where you spent a good deal of growing time. I thought I'd be totally lost, but I found myself recognizing things like churches and gas stations and spontaneously remembering how to get to my grandmother's old house where I'd spent two weeks of every childhood year.

I've changed - all of my relatives have changed - the landscape has changed - but the house, the house remains the same.

Maddie, St. Paddy and Dom

Eating Crow and Box Kitties

Oh hell, if I quit blogging, I've got to quit taking cat pictures....and then what would I do for fun?

Besides, once I calmed down, I found I HAD saved my sidebar information - just in case I lost it in the upgrade (which, of course, I did.) So, I spent a few hours converting hard-learned HTML back to plain English and eliminated a whole bunch of links and TA!DA!! a sidebar of sorts.

So - here's box kitty and I guess I'm back.

Thanks to everyone who wrote here or emailed me.....I appreciated your support.

Closing

This blog is closing.

I'm tired of "Updates" which wipe-out my sidebar. One of the only reasons I kept this going was because I liked having all those favorite links in the same place.

Once again, Blogger has destroyed them. I've replaced them numerous times over the years and I just can't seem to find the time or patience necessary to do so once again.

And so - I'm outa here.

Thanks to everyone who's ever read or commented here and I'll miss you.

It's time to move on.

Love ya,

Lo

An Eye For an Eye

An Ear for An Ear.

It's That Time of Year Again

Welcome to Washington - home of hundreds of Cherry Blossom Trees and millions of tourists - and no place to park for those of us forced by love and circumstances to actually live here.

Box Kitty

Upside Down Cat

Eratosphere In Exile

There is a Temporary 'Sphere here for those who can't live without it.....sign-up is quick, easy and free.

There is a recently published poem by Dan Halberstein here and if you like your poetry bloody-well rare and oozing satire, this is the kind of meaty stuff you can really sink your teeth into. (Read the poem and you'll understand.)

There is a newly-found poetry blog by G. H. Palmer here with all sorts of interesting opinions and links.

There is a contest winner announcement here but, alas, it is not me. I did make the first cut but lost it in the home stretch. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. (Which is only metaphorically true. The truth is, I've never been a bridesmaid and I've been a bride three times....which just goes to show you that I make a better wife than I do a poet.)

I recently noticed that Jessica Smith's Look/Touch blog which I used to link to and occasionally read before it went "private" has now gone semi-private (for lack of a better word) with a twist - the "private" parts are now available to the general public for a yearly fee of $6.00. People are puzzling over it here. Jessica herself explains it here although in the first link she does say that it's mainly for her "friends and fans." My question is - who charges their friends to read their private thoughts? I thought that's what made them friends in the first place - the fact that they are willing to listen to us rant about our problems for free. She also says she needs the money. I dunno - when I needed money, I went out and got a second job....I may have driven my friends crazy whining about how tired I was but at least I didn't charge them for the privilege.

Interesting concept, though....any opinions on personal blogs created on a free web server charging admission?

Eratosphere Update

Since it appears that every other visitor here has been searching for information on "Eratosphere" I thought I'd perform a public service announcement for those people who, like myself, are lost without the old familiar Internet haunt.

The site was apparently hacked late Sunday/early Monday by someone calling himself some sort of Saudi-Hacker and serious damage to the server resulted from the attack.

There's much more detailed information available at Dr Whoop-Ass's Poetry Roundup. It's filled with technical terms like virus and corrupted and configuration and time bombs.

I have to admit, I understand viral entities like Ebola and SARS much better than I understand computer ones.

I understand enough, however, to know that both types are extremely dangerous and potentially deadly - and recovery from either is time consuming and filled with major difficulties and set-backs.

As of Monday evening, Alex sent word through an Erato-Mod that he was working virtually around the clock and had hopes of rebuilding the entire system and being back in business within a few days.

I have no idea what's involved in reconstructing an entire server but I don't imagine it's anything even remotely simple.

I have a new respect for Alex as well as for the word "addiction."

I'm jonesing.

The Consequences of Speaking Out Against Genital Mutilation

Am I think only one who's seeing an ugly connection between the death of this model and the disappearance of this one?

Two women, both former super-models, both childhood victims and well-known outspoken critics of female genital mutilation, and now one's dead, a victim of an unfortunate drowning "accident" (and this was a woman who lived, mind you, LIVED, on a houseboat - tell me she didn't know how to swim) and the other one suddenly gone "missing" - and both within mere weeks of one another?

Come on - give me a break. Where the hell are those guys from CSI when you need them? I hardly think this is all just so much coincidence, yanno? The question is - why aren't the police, or anyone else for that matter, questioning the possible link?

Never mind. What once was lost has now been found.

And the Baby's Name Is...............

MADELINE ROMA

I'm a Grandma and.......

Time of Birth: 5:45PM
Weight: 8 pounds 7 ounces
Length: 21 inches
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Bright Blue
Name: To Be Announced

Poetic Epiphany

I was talking with Dan last night and this morning and we were discussing what makes a poem work - or more specifically - what makes a "formal poem" work and I had the following epiphany.

It's not enough that the rhyme and meter kick us in the ass, the thought conveyed must also jump-start our brains and stop. our. hearts. at the same time.

All the mechanics in the poetry-world mean nothing without a thought behind it. It's something, god forgive me for saying so, but it's something many of the "New Formalists" don't always seem to grasp. It doesn't matter how many double-dactyls you can use or how clever your metrical substitutions, it's not enough if your iambic pentameter or your occasionally and casually introduced spondee is perfection personified, what matters is that you are able to use your metrical skills as a physical (and secondary) enhancement of your all-important cerebral ability.

A competent poem can say nothing brilliantly, but it'll be forgotten shortly after it's read - while the more memorable poem, the one which sticks in your head and haunts your soul, is the equally competent one which says something brilliantly.

Most poets today can master one or the other - but not both. The various free-versers (for lack of a better word) can sometimes conceive the most interesting thought and/or idea, but they cannot skillfully design the vehicle capable of transporting it to the final destination. The Formalists, (for lack of a better word) on the other hand, can design the most impeccable-appearing vehicles but they often appear incapable of filling the interior space with anything even remotely relevant or interesting.

The following poems and poets are proof-positive, though, that some poets are capable of doing both - and at least one editor, Kate Benedict, has an uncanny eye for recognizing it:


Prologue by Michael Cantor

It took me several reads to even realize there's not a word of true rhyme, internal or otherwise, in this absolutely stunning and metrically perfect poem - that's how perfect the metrics are and how strong the message. (There is, however, a brilliant use of sound in the ending words, stone, storm, bones and moon which may be what carries the melody so well.) The stand-alone ending line scares the crap out of me. It becomes an unforgettable line - which, in turn, makes the entire poem unforgettable.

In camera by Julie Carter

What can I say? The final image of a small, sometimes awkward little girl as a distant lone purple flower with arms just takes my breath away. The alliteration present in this poem is woven so skillfully that you barely see it happening - but Lord, can you feel it. Free verse DOES work. Here's proof.

Poor Dolores by Rose Poto.

Poor Dolores, indeed!! The imagery in this poem is both satisfying and striking - it hits you right between the eyes and almost blinds you. The rhyme is sparing but it's judiciously placed for maximum effect, the detailing exquisite, the last two lines, well, they're to die-for. We've all known Dolores - a few of us have been her, many more of us have been the girls crying in the stall. And that, my friends, is what makes this poem in particular stand out. A poem in which you recognize yourself is one of the greatest poems of all.

The Agnostic's Villanelle by Marilyn Taylor.

This poem was the catalyst for this post. When I first read this one, I was stunned enough to read it twice and then read it a third time - only out loud to Dan. It sparked a long conversation about what the poem meant or didn't mean. A discussion intriguing enough that I ended up enlisting Marilyn's help in "decoding" the poem. The concept here is simple enough - why would a god, any god, strike Milton blind and Beethoven deaf? Where is the mercy? What was the reasoning? Dan believes it happened for the same reason that Babel was destroyed - those that seek to attain perfection are bound to fail - but by God's design or by their own presumptiveness? Were Milton and Beethoven so stricken because God does not allow anyone to reach his own dizzying heights and they, perhaps, were getting dangerously close to perfection? Was it divine irony - or was it just that "simple twist of fate" that Bob Dylan speaks of? Regardless, this is one of the most thought provoking poems I've read in a long time. The form, the meter, the rhyme - it's well handled and finely executed - but the question it asks is what takes a complicated and difficult exercise in form and transforms it from the merely mechanical into the truly memorable.

If you think you've not got the time to peruse the entire Spring issue of Umbrella, peruse these four. I guarentee you'll want to read the rest.

One last thing - a word of warning to the editors and publishers of all online and print publications.

The bar has just been raised.

Umbrella

There's a new issue of Umbrella out today and I'm in it!!!

Even if I wasn't, however, I'd highly recommend the magazine to anyone with a taste for fine poetry.

I've read the entire issue, cover-to-cover, and it rocks.

Throwaway

Who'll show her where to go tonight
when all the warm stores shut their doors?
When all the walkways roll up tight,
Who'll show her where to go? Tonight
she's being baptized by streetlight.
Her heroes will become the whores
who'll show her where to go tonight
when all the warm stores shut their doors.

Excuse Me,

but right now I've got the remote -
and I say we're watching The Animal Channel.

Poets

Are Wusses














Chicks dig the rock star.

Michelle Mis-speaks

Don't get me wrong, I'm an Obama supporter all the way.

But for Michelle Obama to have said this was just plain stupid - regardless of what they're going to say she really meant.

It's fast becoming that first little nagging doubt in the back of my head.

I, like many other people, perhaps even like the majority of the people. tend to read "America" as "the American people" and regardless of how disgusted I sometimes get with American government, there are daily reminders of our capacity to show true American spirit and remind us of how proud we deserve to be of ourselves and one another.

Methinks Michelle ought to not let the campaign managers "explain what she really meant" and just bite the bullet and apologize.

Of Babies and Boas

I dunno, call me old-fashioned and over-protective, but isn't a mom supposed to protect her children from things like snake venom and boa bites rather than take public delight in "baby's first bite"?

"All Is Not Light" - or "Why I'm Not in the Mella-Camp"

Occasionally people who know me, or who know my poetry, will ask me why I don't submit anymore. I've usually only got vague answers for them because I'm not really sure myself.

Today, though, I remember the real reason behind my lack of enthusiasm for poetry magazines and for the editors of poetry magazines wihch has, God help me, filtered all the way down to the way I feel about poetry itself.

It all started 6 years ago with the infamous Poetry.com, of course.

And then along came the now defunct Foetry with it's unending and irritating tales of poetry-publishing shenanigans, not the least of which was The Tupelo Press/Jeffery Levine (Send-me-$35.00-please) debacle and the Lehman/Best American Poetry Series with it's rather incestuous sounding selection process.

More recently, there's this and there's this just in case all that other stuff wasn't enough to convince us (meaning me) that there is very little honor and very much nepotism in the publishing world.

Just in case I was in danger of changing my mind, however, one of "the good guys" (in my mind, anyhow, since I had never heard anything bad about him or his publication - if fact, on the contrary, I had always heard very good, very fair and complimentary things about him) has now fallen from the clay pedestal I'd once set him and a very few other editors upon.

It all came to Light over on Eratosphere on this thread started by a poet from North Dakota named Timothy Murphy.

For those of you who don't want to waste an hour reading the whole thread, I'll do a quick recap:

The well-known Murphy said, about Tom Mella, the editor of Light Magazine,

,John Mella's been awfully good to a lot of us. He doesn't accept email, so I'll email this in.

This is true, of course. They do not accept email submission. If you read their guidelines, there is no email address for submissions given and all submission information is paper based only.

Please be neat, submit letter-quality typescripts or clean photocopies, and a stamped self-addressed business (# 10) or manila-sized envelope (no post cards). Submissions that do not have sufficient postage for their return will be destroyed unread. There should be only one poem on each page, etc etc
Send contributions, queries, subscriptions, correspondence to:
LIGHT
The Editors
PO Box 7500
Chicago, Illinois 60680

No email address or instructions for it's usage was given on the submission page - no where, no how, no way.

Five hours later, the following announcement was posted on the thread:


This just in from Light Quarterly:
INSTANT DECISION: I LOVE IT! AND ACCEPT IT.. I'm sorry about your wheelchair. I'm glad you can still keep the sight steady. Write when you will or can. Glad you like the facelift of the mag. Still kicking, the old girl.
John

And so, this is a rather long and tedious way of saying, "In order to get an editor's attention, it's not how you write, it's not what you write, it's not how carefully you follow directions or how neatly you fold each submission or how much blood and sweat went into your poem or your preparation - it's about how well you already know them."

I'll take the high road here and go out on a limb - editors like that, editors who have rules for one set of people which do not apply to other sets of people, I don't think I really want to know them or to waste my time submitting poetry to them......at least Poetry.com is quickly up front about the way they do business - and as far as I know, they don't discriminate - they read all of the submissions the same way and they take everyone's money the same way - regardless of who they are - and they're not afraid or ashamed to say so.

I mean, fer God's sake, if you're going to make a practice of favoritism, at least have the decency to be quiet about it.