The Joby Chronicle

Who I Am--A New Poem

2012-01-30T00:37:00.000-08:00

I have forgotten more words
than I have written;
I have loved more women
than I have been with;
I've shed as many tears
as there are stars in the sky,
I am almost sure of it;
I've wanted more in this life
than I would know
what to do with
and have received more
than I have ever expected;
I have seen prayers answered,
I have seen prayers denied;
I have tasted the sweetest kisses,
I have felt the sharpest pains;
I have heard the most beautiful
of music;
I have seen things
that would break
the hardest of hearts.

Who am I?
I am the culmination
of everything
I have seen and heard,
touched and felt,
spoken and written,
breathed and smelled;
the accumulation
of everyone
who's ever affected me
and who I've been
blessed to affect;
I am the everyday;
I am sacred
and I am profane;
I am that
which is beautiful
and that
which is ugly;
I am my mama's son;
my sisters' brother
and the inbetween
of my two brothers;
I am the lesser half
of the woman
who calls me husband;
I am the fortunate one
whose daughter
calls him father;
I am a poet,
whose best words
have been written,
not spoken,
whether you've read them
or not;
I am a child of a God
I see in the mundane
and
the magnificent--
the homeless man
who asks me for a dollar;
the little child
whose laughter
is as sweet
as any music
I've yet heard;
the mountains I see
in the distance;
the trees I pass by
on my morning workout.

Who am I?
Someone who doesn't
want to be squeezed
into any of
your handmade boxes
or slapped on
by your erroneous labels;
someone who doesn't need
to be defined
by your narrow categories
and myopic sentiments.

I just am
and
will continue to be,
as long as
there is breath
in my body,
as long as I have eyes
to see,
and ears to hear;
as long as I can
continue to write,
continue to love
and be loved.
You have been duly informed.

© 2012 Joseph Powell

Because--A New Poem

2012-01-28T21:35:00.000-08:00

Because I'm still breathing;
Because I still have things to say;
Because my job does not satisfy me;
Because it's what I always wanted to do;
Because not doing it,
makes me very unhappy
and a little insane;

Because I still miss my friend,
and he was a writer too;

Because, in spite of what she'll probably say,
I'm still trying to make my mama proud;

Because, in spite of the seemingly
overwhelming evidence to the contrary,
there's still not enough
poetry in the world;

Because I don't believe my father did
and I'm trying,
very hard, in fact,
not to be him;

Because, I'm hoping,
in spite of the seemingly
overwhelming evidence to the contrary,
my words might
make a difference,
to at least one person;

Because, it was given me to do
and I'm trying to return the favor;

Because, my daughter needs to know
that she inspires me,
every day,
to be a better artist;

Because, my wife needs to know
that she inspires me
to find the right words;

Because,
there's a whole litany of reasons
that I could probably come up with,
that would fill up several more pages,
but I need to get to
the business of writing;

Because...

© 2012 Joseph Powell

Turntable--A New Poem

2012-01-23T09:30:00.000-08:00

Turntable

She plays me like a jazz record—
caressing my grooves,
fingering my edges,
making me sing
under the gentle touch
of her fine needle.

She can’t get enough of me,
playing me over and over;
she’s got me spinning
in ecstasy,
spinning in infinity,
spinning like
there’s no tomorrow;
and I,
powerless to stop her,
not even certain
if I want her to.

For I am the subject
of her devotion;
she shows me affection,
like no other;
and I am reminded,
that love is
a mixture of pleasure
and pain,
as my spinning gradually
comes to a halt,
and I await,
her attention,
her touch,
on my
black-as-vinyl body.

© 2012 Joseph Powell

MLK

2012-01-14T20:40:00.000-08:00

A man
Not divine,
But touched by
the divine;
A man,
born of a woman,
and a black woman
at that;
A man,
who was blessed
with a gift
to unite
and to divide;
to comfort the afflicted
and afflict the comfortable.

A man,
just one man,
who helped a nation
open its eyes
and lift its ears
to the cries
of its own people.

A man,
human,
like you,
like me--
no greater,
no lesser,
fallible,
flawed;
A man,
called,
chosen,
like so many
come before him;
like so many
who continue to come
after him.

Is that you?
Any of you?
Someone,
out there,
is waiting
for an answer.

© 2012 Joseph Powell

Not That It Needs Any Explanation

2012-01-06T20:43:00.000-08:00

This is my first poem of the new year--here's to many, many, more.

I am writing for my life,
trying to find the right word
or words
that will, somehow,
make it all make sense.
I don't wanna repeat myself
and I've grown tired
of explaining myself--
the time for explanations
is passed;
what you have before you
in word and in deed,
is someone
who is simply
trying to hold on,
just simply
trying to be
in a world
that seems to be,
more and more,
rejecting authenticity;
rejecting raw honesty
and naked truth.

I am writing for my life,
because i know nothing else,
because I don't want anything else;
the jobs I've had,
the job I now have,
they are not who I am;
even the education I pursued,
though an integral
and meaningful part
of my life,
is not the sum total
of my existence.

At the time of this writing,
these are the facts
as I understand
and accept them to be--
I am a poet,
successful,
not because
of monetary gain
or
wide renown,
but because,
I continue to be
able to
put word to paper
in some sort of
coherent sense,
regardless of audience
or venue;

I am a husband,
still struggling to,
on a daily basis
to figure out
how to do that;

I am a father,
still amazed
that I get to be one,
having never really
had one
and still trying,
on a daily basis,
trying not to
repeat his mistake;

I am a man,
black and proud
of that fact,
given
all that that entails--
blessed by a God
that I don't always
acknowledge.

I have loved much
and hurt more;
I have friends
from a long-ago
shared history,
and I have friends
who know me
as I am now
and count myself
fortunate
to say so.

These are the facts
as I know them;
as real as
any that can be expected
to be;
take them or leave them,
that is the only choice
allowed.
And, as for the entirety
of this poem,
the same choice applies
here as well.

End of story.

Draw curtain.

Fade to black.

Fin

© 2012 Joseph Powell

A Cry Made Flesh

2011-12-30T14:22:00.000-08:00

I want you to notice me--
I am not invisible,
I have so much love inside me,
you have no idea.
I want you to notice me--
I am made in the image of God,
so I know,
I am not ugly.
I want you to notice me—
so much heart,
I’m wearing it on both my sleeves.
Notice me,
please,
I am just like you—
wanting to be noticed,
wanting to be “got”,
wanting to be seen
as I am,
not as someone else’s projection,
someone else’s prediction,
dismissed by
someone else’s predilection
or prejudice
or misconception.
Please, please
notice me—
as I try to stay true to myself,
as I seek to give myself
to you
as I long to be received
by you.
Please, please,
please
notice me.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

this is a hate poem

2011-12-22T09:50:00.000-08:00

this is a hate poem—
in these interesting times
we live in,
it will probably be
the first of many—
no holds barred,
unabashed,
unashamed, unadulterated,
gloves off,
no more Mr. Nice Guy,
in your face,
unprotected poetry
(thank you, Mr. Jaffe).

first off,
I hate ignorance—
in this world we live in,
that covers a lot of ground
and describes
a lot of people
(you know who you are!);

I also hate hypocrisy—
this ‘do as I say,
not as I do’mentality;
the ‘what’s good for the goose
is not good for the gander mindset;
the inclination of those
who have money
and fame
and power
to tell those of us
without
how to live our lives.

I also hate the proliferation
of those who have no talent
being spotlighted
and celebrated over
those out here
with talent to burn,
struggling to create
their art
and
struggling to put
it out there.

I hate that
a very minute
minority of individuals
has far more wealth
than a very vast
majority of individuals
lucky enough
to just have
a roof over their heads,
if even that much.

I hate that
the concept of
love of neighbor
is defined by
sitting in judgment
of other people,
different than they are.

I hate that
poetry continues to be
looked down upon,
like it’s the bastard
stepchild
of all the arts,
when it’s one of
the few places
you’ll find
the truth.

I hate mediocrity,
in all the guises through
which it rears
its ugly head;

I hate that
there is hatred
in the world
and that people
are dying
because of it;

I hate that
there’s a need
for a hate poem
(if only in my mind)
and that,
having written it,
it’s most likely
not going to change
a damn thing,
in this world we live in.

I hate to bring
this poem to a close,
because I’ve only scratched
the surface of things
I hate about
this world we live in
(or maybe I don’t),
but my hope is
that,
having read this,
you might be spurred on
to hate
some of the same things
and led to
do something about it,
as I can only hope
I’ve done
by
the writing of
this poem.
‘Nuff said!

© 2011 Joseph Powell

love as thick as blood

2011-12-10T21:45:00.001-08:00

“we’re not bad people, we just come from a bad place.”

--Cissy to Brandon,
from the film, “Shame”

you’re my brother
and I love you,
and I want you
to love me too,
for that will be
enough for me—
that love will cover
over a multitude
of things
that were done
to us
and that we have done
to others.

we are not bad people,
the bad place we come from
does not define us,
will not define us,
if we choose
not to let it.
I want our love
to be as thick
as our blood;
let it wash over
the pain,
wash over
the shame;
make us free
to be
who we need
to be
for ourselves,
for each other,
even
for other people.

say you love me
and share your love
with me—
let us be
each other’s burdens,
bear the weight
of each other
on our backs,
on our souls;
together,
we can rise above
this crazy,
fucked-up world
we’ve been left
to live in
and
find our way through.

say you love me,
brother,
share your love with me
and that will be
enough.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

starts with a ‘t’ and ends with an ‘h’(can you handle it?)

2011-12-10T21:43:00.000-08:00

I’m gonna speak the truth,
the whole truth,
and nothin’ but the truth—
if you are easily offended
by colorful language,
taken aback
by raw, graphic detail,
or just can’t handle
bold, in-your-face,
naked truth,
you might want to
step away from the page,
close the book and
walk away,
because you’re not ready;
and for all that matters,
may never be ready.

because herein these words,
I’m about to come…
(let me finish)
correct:
I’m about to strip away
all the bullshit
(yes, he did!)
and fuck(oooo!)
with your preconceived notions
of what is true
and what is real.

so, if you’re not ready to deal,
if you’re incapable
(or unwilling)
to pay attention,
then go ahead and
turn on another episode
of “Jersey Shore”;
pop on that Katy Perry song
you have on your Ipod;
or continue reading
the latest issue
of InTouch magazine
to find out
what Charlie Sheen is up to
or,
if Brangelina
are on again,
or off again.

I will direct my words
to the 99%
who have a brain;
who have ears to hear
and eyes to see;
and aren’t subject to
force-feedings
of sugar-coated “placebos”
every 4-6 hours
between meals.

I have written far too many words
to stop now
and I have got
far too many more words
yet to write,

I don’t care
if you like it
(the truth is often unlikable);
I don’t care
if you find the words
beautiful
(I’d be happy
if you found them ugly);
I don’t even care
if they make you
laugh or cry
or angry enough
to do something
(that’s what poetry
is supposed to do!)—
the truth will out
and it will always
will out,
in every word
that I write,
in every turn
of the phrase
and every flow
of a verse.

Can you handle it?
Are you ready for it?
‘Cause if you’re not,
walk…
away.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

a blues for Nina(for Nina Simone)

2011-12-05T14:49:00.000-08:00

Sister, sing me a song
and speak the truth;
do not hold back,
because no matter what,
your story needs to be told;
and they won’t understand,
they never have—
because they don’t want to.
You still have to go on
telling it,
for the ones who have ears to hear,
for the ones who don’t have a voice,
for all the sisters
who don’t have someone
telling their story
or who are afraid to tell it
themselves.
Sing, sister,
and make it plain—
it needn’t be sweet
or
beautiful,
truth rarely is.
Sing, sister,
and pour your soul
into that song;
yeah,
let them see you sweat,
let them see you cry,
let them see you bleed,
for it’s not blues,
if there’s not
a little blood,
sweat, and tears.
Sing, sister,
for it may not ever know it,
but the world needs you
to sing.
Sing, sister,
sing your song.

© Joseph Powell

preach goes to Hollywood

2011-11-28T16:07:00.001-08:00

I wanted to be a writer--
just like that skinny,
four-eyed dude
in the movie,
“Cooley High”;
like him,
I too
wanted to make it
in Hollywood;
like him,
I grew up
in the projects,
without a father,
with a best friend
who got
all the girls;
at least
that’s how
it seemed.

But,
unlike him,
it would take
me a little longer
to make it
to Hollywood;
unlike him,
I’m still struggling
to make it
in Hollywood.
Like him,
my best friend
is gone—
but I don’t know
if he’s dead
or alive.
All I have
are memories of him;
memories of
walking
tough city streets,
of storefront churches
and backyard BBQ’s;
of fights with brothers
and wanting to protect
baby sister,
while older sister
had a life
of her own;
while trying
to stay out
of Mama’s way
of keeping it
all together.
Memories,
that I try to
incorporate
into my
writing
as I continue
to struggle
to make it
in Hollywood,
to be
a successful writer,
like that
skinny, four-eyed kid
in that movie,
“Cooley High”.
I’m gonna make it,
I got to,
because he did,
and others have
and are continuing to;
and because,
there’s likely
a skinny(or fat),
four-eyed kid
on some
inner-city street
somewhere
who needs
to know
that it
can be done.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

a poem for he who shall not be named (and no, I do not mean Voldemort)

2011-11-21T22:36:00.000-08:00

you think
because
you have
wealth, power,
and fame
that
you can
talk to me,
without
a modicum
of respect;
treat me
not like
the
human being
that
you probably
consider
yourself
to be.

fuck you
and the horse
you
rode in
on,
motherfucker!
you don’t
know me—
who I am
or
what I am
about;
what kind
of
day I had
or
am having
(not that
you’d
probably care);
the people
I have
to
take care
of
and support
(by which
means
would be
a drop
in the
bucket
for you,
by comparison,
if you
even gave
a shit,
which
I know
you don’t).

you don’t
know
my pain
or
the fact
that
I deserve
better
than to
cart around
your
lame ass
and
the bullshit
I had
to put
up with
for
the amount
of money
I made
that
wouldn’t support
you
for two days.

this poem
is
for you,
because,
you see,
I am
a poet
and this
is what
I do,
if
you had
bothered
to
find out,
other than
my name,
which is
Joseph
and
my last name,
which
you’ll
also need,
is Powell,
because
one day,
hopefully,
by the
grace of
God,
I too
might have
a little bit
of wealth
and
a little bit
of fame
and
you might,
in a
strange
juxtaposition
of circumstances
that
sometimes occur
in this
thing
we call
life,
look to me
for
a modicum
of respect
and,
like me,
the other
night,
find yourself
wanting.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

shelby lynne(a new poem)

2011-11-12T09:55:00.000-08:00

the blonde at the microphone,
with guitar in hand.
is making me
fall in love with her;
she's breaking my heart
with each song she sings,
cause she's singing my story;
each lyric, filled
with the cold truth
that is my life.

I seem to have a knack
for falling in love
with women
I can never have,
or,
who don't want me.

she and I
will most likely
never meet
and I'm okay with that--
which is why
I'm writing this poem--
it's my way of saying,
'I love you'
and
'thank you'.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

precarious(for Heavy D and Smokin' Joe)

2011-11-12T09:45:00.000-08:00

I didn’t know
this would be
goodbye—
if I did,
I would’ve rapped with you
a little longer;
told you a joke
or
a funny story
that you liked—
just to see you smile,
just to see you laugh,
if I had known
this’d be the last time.

if I had known
this was goodbye,
I would’ve listened
a little more closely,
because I know you had
some words of wisdom,
some knowledge
I could’ve used
right then and there;
even if it didn’t
come across that way,
I would’ve still
listened closely,
like a student
to his teacher,
if I’d known
this was the last time.

but one never knows,
does one?
tomorrow is not promised
and any word
could be the last;
any deed, good or bad,
would be the last one
remembered.

so now, I’m forced to say
goodbye,
though I hardly
knew you;
am compelled
to hold on to
some memory
of you
that one day,
will make me smile,
will make me laugh;

compelled
to pray for those
you left behind
who did know you,
but who also didn’t know
this was goodbye;
compelled
to make every word
count,
to make every deed
matter,
so that when
it is my time,
which,
quite possibly,
could be
as unexpected
as yours,
that I might be
remembered
in words
such as these,
not in tearful regrets
or sad goodbyes,
but in
lasting memories
of what once was
in the hearts
and minds
of those
I left behind.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

the art of not caring

2011-10-05T19:52:00.000-07:00

I don't care anymore,
for what does it really matter
anyway.

The wheel continues to go
round;
the sun continues to
shine,
and the rain eventually
falls;

the innocent are found
guilty,
and then executed,
while the guilty
laugh all the way
to the bank;

wives and husbands
cheat on each other
in the name of love;
priests and preachers
abuse children
in the name of God;

children have to become
their own parents
or parents
of their own children;

and today, it's ok to be racist,
because we call it,
social commentary.

and, why do I even bother
writing another
fucking poem,
because people
don't give a shit
about poetry,
unless
it's got a beat
you can dance to...
and not even then.

but I would dare
to put up any one poem
against any Hollywood
movie currently showing
on any screen,
for sheer audacity
in storytelling
and the conveyance
of hearts and guts,
for there is often
more truth
in one line of verse
than in 90 minutes
of utter celluloid bullshit.
and that's the double-truth, Ruth!

but like I said,
it really doesn't matter
anyway,
because nobody wants
the truth
in a world
of reality shows
and fake celebrities--
where you're only as famous
as the last crime
you committed.

and I don't even care
if anybody reads
these words--
I wrote them down
and now they're out there-
my job is done.

'nuff said!

© 2011 Joseph Powell

Melancholera--A New Poem

2011-09-29T23:58:00.000-07:00

There are feelings
for which,
words cannot express--
an overwhelming plethora
of sensations
so indescribable,
the mind reels
as to what to call it;
a mixture of heaviness
and sickness
so profound,
it's a wonder
anyone can endure,
that anyone can bear
the brunt of it;

the eyes go blind,
from the seeing of things
that no one else can see
and would be hard pressed
to understand;

the heart aches,
nearly to the point
of explosion,
so full it is
of a remarkable sadness
that almost
can't be contained;

the limbs are fraught
with palsy,
spastic-like
in their inability
to operate
with any reasonable
semblance of dexterity
or fluidity.

Oh, I imagine
that many
have been afflicted
by this amalgamation
of physical anguish
and mental
and emotional torment,
crying out to the heavens
for solace and mercy
and lucky to receive any;
searching near and far
for any modicum of respite
or relief;
or,
at the very least,
to be sated by
the knowledge of
what this seemingly foreign
ailment is,
and why,
and how,
it lingers so.

I,
on the other hand,
who has knowingly
been afflicted
and find myself
even still,
believe,
in my ever-present
misery,
I have conjured up
a word
that seems
appropos for this
nagging and
oh-so-insatiable ailment--
I choose to call it,
Melancholera,
and those
who have ever taken
a breath,
are susceptible to it
and far from immune
to its effects.

The best
that you can hope for,
my friends,
is to strive
and endure,
for as surely
as you are living,
you will never be
beyond its reach,
or free
from its snares.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

A Tree Falls (for Troy Davis)

2011-09-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

Last night,
a tree fell in the forest--
the sound it made,
is the cry of innocence
extinguished,
mixed,
with the collective cry
of those screaming,"no!";
of those pleading,"have mercy!";
of a family crying, "please!"

When a tree falls,
unbidden,
without warranted effort,
I believe even God hears
the sound it makes
and I think
it pisses him off--
the unnecessity of
an early uprooting.

When a tree falls,
it cannot be replaced,
no matter how many seeds
are planted;
no matter,
how much time is allowed
to elapse;
no amount of sun
or rainfall,
or careful nurturing
will bring this tree
back to fruition,
to bloom and prosper
where it was planted
to provide shade and comfort
for those nearby.

One can only weep
at the loss
and pray for the day
when innocence is acknowledged,
when mercy is given more freely,
and every tree is given
a chance to stand tall
and live.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

Hard Tears Are Gonna Fall

2011-09-15T01:40:00.000-07:00

She cried hard tears--
tears that seemed to say,
love hurts more
than the lack of love
and asking why,
why,
the hardest question
of all,
and the one least answered;
and I remembered,
remembered those same tears
streaming down my face,
remembered
the asking why;
and like her,
not receiving a satisfactory answer;
but the lack of said answer
is what drives me forward,
to try,
and try again,
because love does hurt
sometimes--
but the hurt,
like all pain,
lets me know
that I'm alive
and I can still feel
and I can still fight
through another day;
fight through
all the whys
that may
and will continue
to come,
and hope that
she,
and others like her,
will know
that hard tears
are gonna fall
and whys
will continue
to be asked,
and through it all,
the most important thing,
is,
you're alive,
you...are...alive.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

9-11 Redux

2011-09-10T10:30:00.000-07:00

As we approach the 10th anniversary of that fateful day, here is a resharing of my remembrance...

9-11 Redux

Echoes of F.D.R.
Ring in my head—
“A day which will live
in infamy”;
Ringing,
Like the phone
Which awoke
Me from sleep.
Asleep,
While somewhere,
Scores were dying.
And now I find it harder
To sleep
‘cause now I hear blood
crying from the ground.

People will ask,
‘Do you remember where
you were when?’
And I will say,
‘Yeah, in a state of shock,’
which turned into
a New York
state of mind,
wishing I could stop
the madness
that crashed into
the twin brothers
in this first year
of the new century
on the 11th day
of the 9th month—
a day whose numbers
are linked
with the number
for emergency;
a day when chaos ruled
and the news became
a liturgical obituary;

when my bloodshot eyes
were red, not from lack of sleep,
but from the carnage
that filled my TV screen;
when the local news
battled the world news
for body counts.

They say in space,
‘No one can hear you scream’,
But on this day,
I think I heard
The whole universe
Screaming,
A sound matched only
By the falling of teardrops
In a forest of humanity.

© Joseph Powell

the reasons why

2011-08-21T20:14:00.000-07:00

because she fought for us when I didn't think I had the strength to fight;
because a little girl needed to show a man that he could be a father,
when I didn't even know what that was;
because God works in mysterious ways;
because I needed two more muses to help me write;
because 2nd chances don't always come along, and when they do,
you got to grasp 'em and hold on to 'em with all that is within you;
because she chose this man(I'll say it again because I don't think you heard me),
because she chose this man, to be her husband;
because love really is that simple sometimes;
these are the reasons why.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

swimming to pass the time

2011-08-07T22:37:00.000-07:00

and so it goes--
life,
creeping ever onward;
a puzzle
wrapped in an enigma;
the knowing
and the unknowing,
thousands upon thousands
of small moments
and, of course,
large ones, too

I don't even like
these words
I'm writing;
just writing
to be writing,
because
it's too much time
that passes
between the writing,
too much
that goes
unwritten

I need to find
a stream of consciousness
to swim in,
its calming waters
soothing to my soul,
the freedom it allows
me
to feel,
the opportunity
to be as nakedly real
as can be
possibly allowed

right now,
I'm being distracted
by people walking by
and the disparate sounds
of flowing water
and 40's jazz
and honking horns
and the cacophony
of conversations
I could care less about

but,
of course,
nobody cares about
the words
that are being
put to paper
in a haphazard fashion
to pass the time
until I have to
go back to work

to pass the time
so I don't fall asleep

to pass the time
as I fill out
the remaining pages
of this writing pad
that has recently
become useful
to me

and how many pages
are there left?
do I have enough
words to
fill them all?
I should--
I would like to
believe that,
as long as
I have breath,
there will be
more than enough
words
to fill
a thousand pages
and
a thousand more after that

but for now,
I think I'll stop
because
this sun
is starting to
make me feel
like I 'll melt
and the words
are starting to feel
forced--
it's like sex,
you can't force it,
it has to come
naturally
(and yes,
I did say come)

but it's just
a temporary pause
in the proceedings
I will be back
with more words
that will allow you
to do more than
pass the time
as you read them.

a declaration

2011-07-11T15:21:00.000-07:00

if you can't
feel my heart
on the page;
can't read
my blood, sweat
and tears
between each word;
glimpse my soul
within each line,
then
I'm not doing
something right
and then
it might be
time
to stop writing,
to cease
and desist...
and I will
never be
ready
to do that.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

sunrise, sunset

2011-07-11T15:17:00.000-07:00

I have seen
the sun rise
and
I have seen
the sun set--
never aware
that somewhere,
in some part
of the world
I will
probably never see,
a man,
whom
I will
never meet
is wishing
for one more sunrise
with his son;
a mother,
one more sunset
with her daughter.

somewhere,
in another part
of the world
I will
most likely
never see,
Jesus is
still weeping.

yes,
for the loss of that son;
yes,
for the loss of that daughter, too;
yes, even,
for the grief
of the mother,
the grief
of the father;
but also
as much
for my
lack of awareness.

and now,
as another
sun sets,
I find myself
unable to look,
unable to see,
because now
I am
weeping.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

saga of the preacher man

2011-07-11T15:09:00.000-07:00

from the pulpit
to the street
the man
is making it plain,
making it sweet;
he wields
his bible
like a sword
preaching
like his life
depended
upon it,
like
a blues song--
this is
the saga
of
the preacher man.

He is
a preacher
and yet,
he's still
a man
consumed by God
and yet,
consumed by desires
beyond
his control.
He is
given to drink;
smokes incessantly;
beds women
other than
his wife.

and yet,
like
King David,
he is
probably
an apple
of God's eye,
if not
the apple.
for God
is said
to
work through
men and
women
such
as these.
like
a blues song,
the truth
is made
plain,
the truth
is made
sweet.
this is
the saga
of the
preacher man.

do not
judge him,
lest
you yourself
be judged
as well.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

in dreams begin...

2011-07-11T15:00:00.000-07:00

sometimes
my dreams
are better
than
my reality.
in my
dreams
begin
irresponsibility.
there are
no rules,
no judgments--
like jazz,
scenes
are improvised
and seem
disjointed;
people
I haven't thought
about
in years
become characters
in my
immorality play,
alongside
people
from various stages
of my
current life.
were these
dreams
to become
reality,
it would
not be
believed--
better left
to be
material
for a
graphic novel
or
an adults-only
movie...
now,
if I could
only
remember them.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

mofo' rises again--a new poem

2011-06-14T13:02:00.000-07:00

the beautiful
fucked-up man
is at it again:
having risen
once again,
he sits
at the keyboard,
writes another
poem,
peanut butter
sandwich
at his side,
his woman
nearby,
and a child
just this side
of womanhood
laughing
to beat
the band.

it’s another day
of ‘I love you’s’
and misbegotten
dreams;
another day
that the sun shines
on the just
and the unjust;
another day,
just to get
a few more words
down on paper,
just to
get
through
another day,
so as
not to feel
like another day’s
been wasted.

a mofo
will not be
beholden
to mundane
existences
and on-the-job
drudgery;
will not be
contained
by the whims
of others
who think
they know
better than
he;
like
a caged bird,
a mofo’s
gotta sing,
even if
it is
only on paper;
even if
no one else
sees it.
other than
the love
of a good woman
and a child
more talented
than he,
other than
perhaps
the camaderie
of a few good
friends
and the
acceptance
of family;
maybe even
other than
the unmitigated
grace
of a
silent God,
it’s the only
fucking reason
to rise
and face
another day.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

for your eyes only--a new poem

2011-06-14T12:59:00.000-07:00

your perception
of my reality
is an
overrated
underestimation;
you are
blinded
by the mote
in your left eye
and the
blurred vision
in your right;
you can’t
handle the truth
of me;
you need
to go
back to school,
where I will
be your teacher
and learn
you some knowledge,
cause clearly
you’ve not
been educated.

what you have
before you
is a
containment
of multitudes;
the culmination
of blood spilt
and wisdom
passed down
from centuries;
the sum total
of what
a village
can produce.

recognize,
son;
listen,
for truth will
only be
spoken once
and if
you miss it,
you have
no one
to blame
but yourself.
you’ve been
duly notified
and put
on record
for being
contacted
with
what should
be obvious.
if you
can
comprehend
the meaning
of these
words
you are
reading,
if in fact,
you are reading
them,
then
I will
give you
more credit
than
you deserve,
for this,
your
first lesson,
which hereby,
is now
ended
until further
notice…
stay
tuned.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

this is what's real--a new poem

2011-06-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

I haven’t given up the ghost
just yet.
I’m a poet
in an age
of fake reality
I’m more liable
to be killed
in an accident
on the 405
than I am
for speaking
truth to power
with the stroke
of my pen.
no one
gives a damn
about the beauty
in the ugliness
of poetry—
it’s a fool’s
quixotic quest;
and yet
here I still am,
wielding
my ink-ed sword
at windmills
both real
and imagined.
even fools
have to be
listened
to
some time.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

The Word Was And Still Is God

2011-06-12T17:11:00.000-07:00

"and you can't force the word
to do anything it doesn't
want to do.
you can't overwork it.
and you can't awaken it
when it decides to
sleep."

"the word will treat you well
at times,
depending upon what you
ask it to
do.
other times, it will treat
you badly
no matter what you ask
it to
do."

"the word comes and
goes..."

Charles Bukowski
from his poem, "the word"

"Anyone who says he wants to be a writer and isn't writing, doesn't."

--Ernest Hemingway

I am writing to save my life. The reason probably why I feel that I am suffocating is that I'm not writing. Writing should be as breathing to me. It's all about the word, stupid. Even God said it--"In the beginning was the Word." The word was and still is God. It's the lifeblood of any writer worth his or her salt. There is nothing else. There's no reason not to be writing. No one else is going to do it for me. No one else is going to push me to do it. I have to be the one to cut the vein; to puke out my guts; to exhale. Whether it takes me all day(what a glorious possibility I wish that was) or an hour or even 10 minutes, there is no excuse. None! I should be prolific. I could be prolific. Even if a lot of it is just crap, I should be utilizing every possible space available to get the word out. Whether it's in prose form or free verse. I should be consumed by the same fire that allowed me to make up three months worth of journal entries in a week and a half's time for a class project. Be reminded of the young man who frequently visited the student lounge of the University of Illinois-Chicago Circle campus just to jot down his thoughts and impressions. Be infused with the same inspiration that caused me to write such poems as "Apple and Rose", "A Hymn For Sister Maya", and "Resolved: To Be Seen And Heard". If not directly influenced by their genius, at the very least, motivated by the output and prolificacy of writers such as Baldwin and Bukowski, Hemingway and Shakespeare, et al. Compelled by the very notion that God in His infinite foolishness decided to bestow upon a wretch like me the talent to string together a few words into some kind of coherent shape. And even though I, like most writers, will continue to strive to make my words available for public consumption, that will not be the be-all, end-all for my writing. If another living soul never, ever sees my words, so be it. I am a writer, dammit! If I had a chalkboard at my disposal to write upon it 100 times or a billboard to post it, I would convey this truth. As much as I am a son, a brother, a husband, a father(the degree to which how good I am at each of these, you'd have to ask those who benefit from these roles), I am a writer and I sum up by humbly acknowledging that I believe I'm only as good as the willingness and effort to be one.

A Poem For Bukowski--A New Poem

2011-06-12T16:44:00.000-07:00

A Poem For Bukowski

hey, Hank—
this is me
not trying;
putting one word
after another
after another;
keeping it simple,
shooting it straight.

maybe not
like you did—
I didn’t have
a whiskey bottle
or even a
beer bottle
next to me
as I write
this,
just the desire
to put it
all down
whether anybody
cares to read it
or not.

I don’t even know
if you would
have read it
or not
when you were
alive.
even then,
it wouldn’t have
mattered.
you always said,
it’s all about
the words
and as with you,
for me,
that is
enough.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

Not Just A Passing Phase--A New Poem

2011-06-12T16:42:00.000-07:00

Not Just A Passing Phase
(for Santi)

the girl-child
has become
a woman
right before
our very eyes.
it was expected,
but it still surprises.
that’s what time
does, even
when you’re not looking.

she has graduated
from one phase
to the next
and seemingly
unknown one.
soon,
she will put away
childish things;
but hopefully,
not the child
we’ve known
and loved
all these years
as she becomes
the woman
we will get
to know
and learn
even more.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

She Walks In Beauty by Lord Byron

2011-04-04T10:03:00.000-07:00

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

In Honor Of National Poetry Month 2011

2011-04-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

"Poems are like clouds on a June morning or two scoops of chocolate ice cream on a sugar cone in August...something everyone can enjoy. Or maybe poems are your cold feet in December on your lover's back...he is in agony but he lets your feet stay...something like that requires a bit of love. Or could it be that poems are exactly like Santa Claus...the promise, the hope, the excitement of a reward, no matter how small, for a good deed done...or a mean deed from which we refrained. The promise of tomorrow. I don't know. It seems that poems are essential."

"Poems know no boundaries. Poems fly from heart to heart, head to head, to whisper a dream, to share a condolence, to congratulate, and to vow forever. The poems are true. They are translated and they are celebrated. They are sung, they are recited, they are delightful. They are neglected. They are forgotten. They are put away. Even in their fallow periods they sprout images. And fight to be revived. And spring back to life with a bit of sunshine and caring."

--Nikki Giovanni
from the Introduction,
The 100 Best African American Poems

All In A Single Sitting

2011-03-18T09:52:00.000-07:00

I'm listening to birds chirping in the background
There's water falling in a fountain nearby
I'm surrounded by people sitting at patio tables
People walking about, going about their business
A slightly gentle breeze blows in
From the marina across the way
A U.S. flag flies at half-mast
I've just put the finishing touches
To a poem about the loss of someone
Life and death,
Considered in one sitting
I choke back the urge to cry
As I get up and walk away.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

A Black Man's Lament

2011-03-18T09:44:00.000-07:00

'My man, look what they did to my man'
I've heard this cry
Too many times to count
I've cried it myself a few times
Another brother,
Somebody's son,
A child's daddy,
Felled by an assassin's bullet;
Felled by a cop's bullet
"Bang","bang",
"Bang","bang","bang"

Too many streets have been covered in blood
Like a ballroom's stage
Or a motel's balcony
And the mothers cry
And the wives and sisters moan
And the whys are hurled to the sky
Screamed in anger,
Screamed in grief
Only to go unanswered
And the silence is deafening
Outdone by weeping
Drowned out by sorrow

I write this as a man,
Somebody's brother,
A mama's son,
A father
And a husband,
A man troubled,
A man searching,
A man hoping
And praying
That no one has to endure
Me being taken away unjustly,
Taken away violently,
Taken away senselessly

Maybe someone will read these words
Maybe someone will heed these words
Maybe God will hear my cry first,
...maybe.

© 2011 Joseph Powell

A Review Of Joby, Uninterrupted: Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies

2010-11-15T20:06:00.000-08:00

This is a new review of my book, Joby, Uninterrupted: Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies, taken from The Poetry Market Ezine, Vol.10, Issue #2, written by LB Sedlacek.

POETRY REVIEW

"Joby, Uninterrupted -- Bittersweet
Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies
(1989-2009)"
by Joseph Powell
ISBN 978-0-557-10424-6
Copyright 2009
133 pg.
To order:
http://tinyurl.com/2br6mol

Review by LB Sedlacek

Poems taken from his past poetry books
"Mofo' Risin'" and "Blood on the Page"
plus new selections make up this new
collection from Joseph Powell.

Powell's subject matters range from
personal heroes to writing poetry or
being a poet to love poems. Mostly
free verse, Powell's poetry reflects
his own probable reverence for life
and, of course, writing.

Powell's poems are written in such a
way that most readers can get what he's
getting at or they can impose their
own perceptions and possibly arrive
at the same point. I read at least
one poem by a different poet nearly
every day and to me the straightforward
ones with something to say are the ones
I remember.

Joseph Powell definately has something to
say. His works resonate with a local
prescence, a suburban habitat, and
grounded themes.

In "Blood on the Page," Powell laments
trying to get words down on the page
and to survive life as a poet.

From "Blood on the Page":
"...My pen's getting duller by the
minute/So I stick it down my throat,/
Hoping something 'll come that way/
But all I get are dry heaves...."

"Face" is a sweet delicate love poem:
"The sun rises/Just to greet your
smile." "Season of the Poem" is a
rhyming poem about writing that
plunges on into reading (or the
lack thereof) and other current events.
"Cut my finger on a razor blade/
My baby just ran out of Kool-Aid/
And I'm still waiting to get paid,/
or laid, which is better/ When it's
wetter./It's the season of the poem./
Don't mind me/or try to find me/lost
in a haze/gone for days/(or however long
it takes/to finish this poem)/this
poem is wack/but not for lack//of
rhyme or reason--/It's the season/
of the poem;..." The poem
"Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn" about
Gwendolyn Brooks is reminiscent
of something you might read by her.
From "Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn"
(for Gwendolyn Brooks)
"She real cool. She/ Old school.
She/Wrote truth. She/Fool proof..."

While Powell's poems may be too
contemporary for some, they provide
an opportunity for the every day
reader to see it, to get it, and
to most likely like it and that's
what you want if you want your
poetry to be read and heard. Powell's
got that voice that will stick in
your head, and linger a bit in the brain.

To Be Young, Gifted, And Black

2010-10-14T11:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I come across words or lyrics that speak for themselves. Those below are a case in point. Co-written by Nina Simone for her friend and fellow writer, Lorraine Hansberry(author of the classic, "Raisin In The Sun") and recorded by such artists as Donny Hathaway, Aretha Franklin, and even Elton John, it's one of those songs that will stand the test of time and continue to speak volumes for generations to come. 'Nuff said!

To Be Young, Gifted And Black
(Music & Lyrics by Nina Simone & Weldon Irvine, Jr)

To be young, gifted and black,
Oh what a lovely precious dream
To be young, gifted and black,
Open your heart to what I mean

In the whole world you know
There are billion boys and girls
Who are young, gifted and black,
And that's a fact!

Young, gifted and black
We must begin to tell our young
There's a world waiting for you
This is a quest that's just begun

When you feel really low
Yeah, there's a great truth you should know
When you're young, gifted and black
Your soul's intact

Young, gifted and black
How I long to know the truth
There are times when I look back
And I am haunted by my youth

Oh but my joy of today
Is that we can all be proud to say
To be young, gifted and black
Is where it's at

A Few Words, Some Tears, And Waiting For A Kiss That May Never Come

2010-09-18T16:53:00.000-07:00

The words never come fast enough
I want my fingers to bleed from typing them
My eyes filled to overflowing with tears that burn
My throat constricted with the scream that won't ever be loud enough

I want God to kiss me full on the lips
And tell me to my face that He/She loves me
I want to know why my father was never man enough to care
Why I had to learn on my own what I feel I still don't know
I want my dreams to be my reality and my reality my dreams
At least then I'll understand why I yell during the night

I want to live in a world where truth is not based
On what side of the tracks you live on, or
How much money you have, or
which party you belonged to, or
what label you choose to wear.
I don't give a damn what you want to call me,
unless you want to call me by the name my mama gave me.
That's all I will allow you.

I would love to live in a world where poets commanded the same respect
As presidents and heads of state, kings and queens.
Where their words were considered in decisions that affected our societies.

These are just some of the words I have
I'm sure there are more but
They don't come fast enough
It probably doesn't matter
Because the right people will probably never read them
And even that doesn't matter.
But for now, I'll continue to try to make my fingers bleed
And let my tears fall
And let loose the loudest scream I can possibly muster
And wait for a kiss...

Thoughts While Sitting On My Couch On A Saturday Afternoon

2010-07-31T16:25:00.000-07:00

So, I'm sitting here on my couch, pen in hand, yellow notepad on my knee, blues playing in the background on the TV--the air is chilled and my mind seems blank. Actually, that's not true--there are words and images flowing through like a strong current, but they're muddled and blurry and I'm not sure which one I should grab and put down on paper. Writing, like a lot of things in life, doesn't come without at least a little bit of effort. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that I am, more than anything else I could possibly be, a writer. It would probably help tremendously if I adhered to that old adage--that a writer writes. Probably just as much if I remembered what a TV producer added to that statement at a screenwriting conference I attended some years ago--"assholes talk about it." I think I'd prefer to be the former rather than the latter, though I'm sure at one time or another, by at least a few people, I've been considered to be the latter. Not that I care to know. Probably safe to say that any one of us, at some point in our lives, has been an asshole.

But...I digress, though from what I have no idea. Right now, I guess I'm just stream-of consciousness-ing it, which can be fun and sometimes produces some really good stuff. I know it's been difficult of late to sit down and write much of anything, because my focus has been on trying to find a job, which is also frustrating, not to mention soul-draining. I'm of the mind that there's nothing more taxing on the soul than to be able-bodied and willing to work and not being able to find work, regardless of how much effort has been put into securing a job. Talk about the blues!

I find myself living vicariously through the writers I read and the works they've produced, whether in the newspaper, magazines, books, and/or the Internet. Although, I continue to aim for the reverse to be true. It would be gratifying to know that there are people out there who are living vicariously through my work or, at the very least, are being inspired and entertained by it. But again, this leads us back to the earlier point that writers write and, though I've produced some work of note, I hope, I could and should be producing more. But then again, the impetus of such an action should be, first and foremost, to my satisfaction and fulfillment of the desire to express myself, before I consider anyone else's benefit from it. As noble as the concept of producing art for the masses is, the artist has to be able to find contentment in the expression and the fruits of that expression before it is subjected to an audience.

So, as I sit on my couch, pen in hand, yellow notepad on my knee, blues playing in the background on the TV, surrounded by the chilled air, my mind starts to fill, along with the words and images swirling to and fro like a strong current, with the notion of me--the writer, the artist--in his daily struggle to create art, to express himself, to live, vicariously, through his own work. 'Nuff said.

A review of Joby, Uninterrupted -- Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies [1989-2009] by Joseph Powell :: The Compulsive Reader :: A Haven for Book Lovers

2010-06-18T21:52:00.000-07:00

A review of Joby, Uninterrupted -- Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies [1989-2009] by Joseph Powell :: The Compulsive Reader :: A Haven for Book Lovers

Joby, Uninterrupted:Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies(1989-2009) Redux

2010-06-13T11:22:00.000-07:00

A Letter To My Father, Whom I Never Really Knew

2010-05-21T15:46:00.000-07:00

Dear Edward,
I am writing this letter with the understanding that you will most likely never see it. It's been over 25 years since the last time I saw you and it wasn't, if memory serves, under the best of circumstances. You were chastising me, if I remember correctly(I am at an age where my memories aren't as clear as i would like them to be), for ditching school. It might just as well have been for something else--our relationship, such as it was, was such that the only times I ever saw you fell into two categories:(1)when I needed money(for movies, ball games, etc.), and (2)when Mama was either too tired or beside herself to punish me and felt that you needed to be involved. Which brings us to the irony involved in said relationship--that other than being able to provide money when I needed it, the fact that you felt needed or responsible enough(or whatever) to be involved with my disciplining, but yet, didn't have the same urgency or leanings to be involved with me at any other phase of my growing up or my development into manhood.

You probably never knew this, and I've since only ever expressed it to a select few people, but because of the infrequency of our times together, I thought you were my uncle. I think I was around 10 or so, when during one of my frequent visits to the clinic, Mama had written your name on the line marked "Father" on my medical history form. I wish I could say I was shocked, surprised, dumbfounded or at the very least, curious enough about this bombshell of information to broach this subject with Mama. But I wasn't--I don't know why--and I didn't--again, I don't know why. Needless to say, I wish I had been and I wish I had. But more to the point, and central to the reason that I'm writing a letter that will probably never be seen by its intended audience, I wish with every fiber of my being, from the vantage point of a man still struggling to find himself all the while trying to be a father himself, that you had been man enough, gave a damn enough, to reveal yourself to be the father that I needed, at the time that I needed one.

Looking back, I wonder what could have possibly gone through your mind all those years, through your heart, developed in the very pit of your soul, that led you to not being there for me. Never teaching me about sports or playing catch with me; never being present during any of my school functions--the times I won certificates or awards; being there when I started being interested in girls, to tell me how to treat them and how to be confident around them; to be there for many of the crucial decisions I would have to make in my life, including where I went to school and what I wanted to be.

Actually, I do remember a rare outing with you and your family, but again, my memory gets cloudy when it comes to filling in the details and, truth be told, it obviously didn't leave a lasting impression on me--the way the aforementioned key points and your presence therein would have.

You know, for the life of me, I don't even know what you did as a job or for a career. What your interests were, your likes and dislikes, what your growing up was like, how you met my mother. You see, I mention these things because they're some of the things my stepdaughter knows about me--she knows me so well that she can draw me from memory and place me in any context to where it is unmistakable. Because I made it a point from the first day that I started dating her mother to get to know her, from our first game of Clue to watching cartoons, to going to most of her school functions, and getting to know her friends. I know I haven't been perfect and probably made many mistakes, but you know what. The fact that she was able to stand in front of over 125 people at our family commencement ceremony three years ago and express how I stood out over the men her mother has dated(which to this day is remembered as a highlight of the event)and how she sees me as a father, over the one, like you, helped to bring her into this world, leaves little doubt in my mind that I must have done something right, in spite of my lack of knowledge and experience.

Maybe you and Mama didn't get along; maybe you weren't meant to be together; maybe...maybe...there's a lot of possible maybes. The maybe that stands out in my mind is that maybe, in spite of any ill or hurt feelings, of pride, of whatever the hell it was, that maybe you could have been the man I needed and the father I wanted and not the man I'm trying so desperately not to become and the father I never really knew.

I can't honestly say if, after all these years, I want to see you. I don't even know if you're still alive(which, if you're not, some would say would render this letter a moot point--I'm inclined to think otherwise, because, if nothing else, I needed to write this letter, for catharsis as well as giving me something to write. Not to mention the lost art of writing letters, but that's neither here nor there). I almost wish a letter was unnecessary, if it could be replaced with the memories of a father who was there. But if I've learned anything in this life is that wishes are for fairy tales. There is more I could write here, but it wouldn't scratch the surface of what I feel any more than what I've already written here. So I will close this letter, with neither forgiveness(don't know if it's warranted or if I have it in me) or forgetting(which I know I can't). This will just have to be. 'Nuff said!

Your...son?,
Joseph

cooley high - part 1of 12

2010-05-02T11:50:00.000-07:00

A clip from one of my favorite films, "Cooley High", written in 1975 by Eric Monte and the inspiration for the TV series, "What's Happening?". I'm still inspired by and seek to aspire to the dream of the lead character, Preach, played wonderfully by the great Glynn Turman, to be a successful Hollywood writer, which is what happened to Monte, the writer and creator of the film.

Re: Passing Strange

2010-04-10T22:58:00.000-07:00

When film meets theater, enhanced by rock and roll, it becomes a uniquely magical experience. Such is the collaboration of filmmaker Spike Lee and musicians Stew and Heidi Rodewald in the theatrical film version of the Tony-Award winning, Broadway musical, Passing Strange. Highly recommended! Check it out for yourself.

In Honor Of National Poetry Month...

2010-03-31T12:20:00.000-07:00

In honor of National Poetry Month starting up tomorrow and running through the entire month of April, I am recommending(actually, begging and pleading!) that those of you who read my blog, order a copy of my book, Joby, Uninterrupted:Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies. It's 79 poems, written over the last 20 years and running the gamut of topics from love, jazz, family, faith, doubt, death, and how I've seen the world during the course of that time frame. They range from whimsical to intense and intensely personal--I can't do it any other way. The poems are inspired by and influenced by my literary muses including James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, Marvin Gaye, Langston Hughes, among others. I can say, with almost absolute certainty, that you will not be disappointed and it will be a welcome addition to however you celebrate National Poetry Month, if you celebrate it at all and I hope you do. If there are any artists in our nation that should be celebrated, it's poets. They are literary filmmakers, whose words are mini-movies for the mind and soul(God knows, it'd be nice to be compensated like most filmmakers!). So, do yourself a favor and those in your sphere of influence who may also love poetry, and direct yourself to the attached link and buy my book. And if not me(WHY NOT?!), then celebrate a poet, any poet, this coming month. Check out a local reading(there's literally one almost every day of the week at any coffeehouse or bookstore in any major city); borrow a book or two from the library; and there's plenty to discover via the Internet(hint, hint). In any event, happy National Poetry Month. Accept some verse into your life--you'll be the better for it. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was life. Peace, shalom, as-salamu alaykum, shanti.

But You Still Call Me...

2010-03-23T14:48:00.000-07:00

This is a new poem, just written this morning, and inspired by recent events. It may be revised or retained as is. Let me know your thoughts. They might be taken under advisement....might be.

But You Still Call Me...

I fought for your right to freedom of speech,
But you still call me nigger;
Fought for the right to live in your neighborhood,
But you still call me nigger;
I’ve taught and raised your kids,
Cleaned your houses,
Mowed your lawns,
Made your lives easier to manage,
But you still call me nigger.

I’ve fought in all your wars,
Sacrificed myself on the battlefields,
So that you could live,
But you still call me nigger.

I’ve marched in the streets for freedom—
For yours and mine, and our children’s children;
Been stoned and beaten, spit at and cursed,
Without fighting back,
But yet,
You still call me nigger.

I’ve brought laughter into your homes,
Entertained you on stage and screen,
Given you reason to cheer on the fields of play,
And you still call me nigger.

I’ve discovered advances in medicine
To help prolong your life;
Fought for health care for those of you
Who don’t even have it;
Even attained to the highest offices in the land,…

But you…

Still…

Call…

Me…

Nigger.

© 2010 Joseph Powell

Man Of A Certain Age

2010-03-18T17:34:00.000-07:00

I'm trying very hard not to become that guy. You know the one who wakes up one morning and realizes that half his life is gone and he has nothing to show for it. That the dreams he once had and the goals he had planned have fallen by the wayside and become all but distant memories. You know, that guy. Maybe one of you is him. But I know I don't want to be, in spite of the seeming path leading in that direction.

I'm four years shy of 50; almost 23 years have passed since my college graduation, where I was supposed to have the whole world in front of me. Like many before me, I had bought into the whole dream of going away to college(of which I was the first in my family to do so), meeting the woman who was going to be my life-partner, raising at least 2.5 kids in a beautiful suburban home, outside of a major city, working several years at a job I loved, was qualified for, and couldn't imagine not doing. But, as fate would have it(or, as was often said in the churches and the Christian college I attended, "it's all part of God's plan for your life"), the dream gave way to certain realities of life. Like John Lennon so eloquently put it in song: "Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans." Job instability, unemployment, a succession of dissatisfying jobs in three different states, missed opportunites, a series of failed relationships including one that ended in divorce, the fatal loss of a best friend--the list goes on and on, leading me to where I sit now.

Yes, there have been a few bright spots along the way--a second marriage to a woman who wanted to make a life with me; a young daughter who, though she was spawned by another, could've been of my own making, and who, in spite of the evil that's called "teenage", makes me proud and swells my heart everyday; I just recently released a complete volume of 20 years worth of poetry. These are things that I do not take for granted or consider lightly.

But I hunger for more and I'm not talking about wanting to belong to a certain class or attain to a higher status. I've rekindled my dream of wanting to be a writer, full-time and successful, like so many of the ones that I look up to and whose works have inspired me. I would love to see something of mine on the big screen(and it wouldn't even have to be a blockbuster--just knowing that people are watching and enjoying something that I created--there's nothing like it). I've even dreamed, from the time I was a child, of walking the red carpet at the Oscars, nominated for an award that everyone has buzzed I was certain to get.

I still would like to get that house, though maybe not necessarily in the suburbs, but maybe close enough to walk to the ocean. I'm envious of people who get to do that. And I've always wanted to be the son, who having attained success, is able to parlay some of that into the form of a house for his mother. I'm also envious of those who get to do that.

I would love to travel more--there are scores of places that I've never been to, that I would love to visit--Africa, Paris, Rome, Australia, the Holy Land, just to name a few. I'm envious--you get the picture.

To boil it down, I would love to be able to live beyond my expectations and my life experience up until now. To have my life account for more than what it has at this point. There has to be more to my life than working jobs that I hate, paying barely a living wage or one that can hardly sustain a family, and never being able to venture beyond one's parameters or environment. To know that people, other than your family and friends, are benefitting from the fruits of your creative labor. To live a life worth celebrating and remembering. To become that guy, who at a certain age, is able to look back and say, what a life I've lived and what a difference I've made.

Re:Joby, Uninterrupted...

2010-02-14T10:50:00.000-08:00

If any of you have bought a copy of my book, Joby, Uninterrupted:Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies(1989-2009), please leave a review at the site of purchase(whether Amazon, Lulu, or Barnes & Noble). I'd certainly appreciate it. And for those of you haven't purchased a copy...what are you waiting for?!

We Are The World 25 For Haiti - Official Video

2010-02-13T11:15:00.001-08:00

This is as amazing as it was 25 years ago, with a few additional twists and changes. 'Nuff said!

Joby, Uninterrupted:Bittersweet Symphonies and Bohemian Rhapsodies(1989-2009)

2009-12-29T12:03:00.000-08:00

This is my baby. The culmination of 20 years of blood, sweat, and tears. Of words found and lost; of love found and lost and found again; of lives lived and lost. Just shy of 80 poems depicting my ever-evolving worldview; my love of jazz and black history; celebrating the dichotomy and paradox we call life, in all its beauty and ugliness--in all its truth. I would even be so presumptuous as to call it my masterpiece. If I never wrote another book, and I hope that won't be true, I would be satisfied with this one.

I'm hoping as we say goodbye to 2009 and hello to 2010, that this book will be the start of something big, not least of which, my goal of becoming a full-time writer and not a slave to people who want to work me to death, yet pay me so little for busting my ass doing the best possible work that I'm capable of. While I hope to write more poetry, I also want to venture forth into writing screenplays, short stories, and maybe even a novel or two... Not to mention continuing this blog, which I realize, given the date of the last entry here, I've been rather lackadaisical in doing. But anyone who knows me, knows that I've not always been the most disciplined when it comes to this sort of thing. As always, I hope to be become better at this, as with other areas of my life.

In a society where seemingly anyone who draws breath can become a celebrity for doing virtually nothing, I at the very least want to put myself out there as trying to contribute something meaningful into the ether--something profound and creative and inspirational; in short, art, that will hopefully stand the test of time. An unobtainable goal? I don't know--those who we consider to be great artists, thinkers, etc., all started out with a dream and the desire to be something greater than themselves--many of them never getting to reap the benefits of their work before they passed on. I at least want to try; I at least want to become more prolific, like some of my favorite writers, both living and dead. To get to the point where I am able to write something, anything, every day, even if it's crap. To continue spilling my blood and guts on the page; to create characters that come alive in people's minds as they read my words; to hopefully inspire kids and adults alike to create and to dream bigger than themselves.

I'm not one for resolutions--they never seem to be kept anyway. But my goal for the new year is what I've just written and I hope whoever reads these words(and-- shameless plug--buys my book) will encourage and spur me on to continue putting words to paper--to speak truth into the wilderness; to show us ourselves; provide a different way of seeing, which is what great art does. If I may one last time, please consider starting your new year off by getting a copy of my book of poems. I can guarantee that you won't be sorry.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Thought For The Week

2009-08-03T13:00:00.000-07:00

"...As I grew older I questioned a great many of the things that I knew very well my grandmother who had brought me up had taken for granted. And I think I might have been a quite difficult person to live with if it hadn't been for the fact that my husband once said it didn't do you any harm to learn those things, so why not let your children learn them? When they grow up they'll think things out for themselves.... And that gave me a feeling that perhaps that's what we all must do--think out for ourselves what we could believe and how we could live by it."

--Eleanor Roosevelt

Thought For The Week

2009-07-13T10:07:00.000-07:00

"The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just."

- Abraham Lincoln

Thought For The Week

2009-07-07T09:10:00.001-07:00

"God has made of one blood all nations under heaven. No man can suddenly become my enemy just because he happened to have been born on the other side of a river or a boundary line, and his government has issued an ultimatum against mine. Is it not time that we refused to fight?"

- Muriel Lester,
social reformer and pacifist (1883-1968)

Prodigal--A Poem

2009-06-09T10:17:00.000-07:00

I remember the sound of joyful noise
When I cried out your name,
The smell of your perfume;
The tears I shed
As I laid my head
At your feet.

I remember the smile on my face
As you spoke my name,
As if I was just hearing it
For the first time.

I remember,
Lord, do I remember,
Though your name rarely crosses
My lips anymore;
My eyes are dry,
And your fragrance,
A distant memory.

And the noise I hear now,
Are the voices,
The voices,
Coming at me from all directions,
From within
And without,
Deafening,
Deafening.

And yet,
And yet,
They do not drown out
What I remember
Of you;
That which has brought me,
Stumbling,
To your doorstep,
For another whiff of your perfume,
To hear you say my name,
To lay my head at your feet;
Because I’m afraid,
I might not remember
For long.

© 2009 Joseph Powell

Thought For The Week

2009-05-15T08:42:00.000-07:00

"If to be feelingly alive to the sufferings of my fellow-creatures is to be a fanatic, I am one of the most incurable fanatics ever permitted to be at large."

- William Wilberforce,
British abolitionist and social reformer (1759-1833)

Manifesto--Why I Write (A New Poem)

2009-05-12T10:17:00.000-07:00

Because I must;
Because I can;
Because it's akin to breathing
And the alternative is unthinkable.
Because the love of Christ compels me.
Because the love of mankind compels me.
Because, sometimes, I can never say what I feel.
Because the truth needs to be read
And newspapers are slowly going out of business.

Because a 10-year old black boy,
on the South Side of Chicago,
wearing glasses, chubby and
with crooked teeth,
needs to know it's possible.

Because a 40-ish white writer I met
at an art show near downtown L.A. the other night,
needs to know it's possible
and needs to give a shit
and come out from his shell.

Because I'm getting better at it, even though
no one pays me a dime for it.

Because James Baldwin did it.
And Langston Hughes did it.
And Gwendolyn Brooks did it.
And so did Maya Angelou.

Because it's the closest I'll ever come
to singing.
Because it's the closest I'm ever going to come
to playing jazz. And I love jazz!

Because I still have stuff to say, even if
I don't know what that is just yet.

Because being a writer
is the best thing in the world,
second only to being a teacher...
Or maybe a firefighter...
Or maybe even a cop...
Or a doctor, but that's it.

Because, aside from never recognizing
another person's talent, it's a damn shame
to allow one's talent to be squandered;
for one's light to be hidden;
a gift to be kept to one's self;
for words to never be written, even if
they've been written before.

And that is why I write.

© 2009 Joseph Powell

Thought For The Week

2009-05-03T11:31:00.000-07:00

"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it."

– C.S. Lewis

Lo, How Two Roses Not Yet Blooming(for Martin and Marvin)--A New Poem

2009-04-07T19:11:00.000-07:00

On this day in April
I saw two roses,
not quite in full bloom
just yet,
fall to the ground.
And cried
blood-red tears.
Screamed,
'What's going on?'
Wailed,
'How long?'
Why do the good
always die young?
Always at the hand
Of those who don't understand
or who have not ears to hear
or eyes to see
beauty
and truth
in flesh beholden.
Even God must weep,
I hope,
for creation yet incomplete,
interrupted,
is most assuredly
a tragedy,
for which
there are never enough tears,
blood-red or otherwise
and all we are left with
after the crying and the weeping
is the remembering
and wondering
what might have been?

© 2009 Joseph Powell

Thoughts For The Week

2009-04-06T18:49:00.000-07:00

"My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He once wrote: "Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."

"What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black. "

--Robert F. Kennedy

Thoughts For The Week

2009-03-27T08:50:00.000-07:00

We are afraid of religion because it interprets rather than just observes. Religion does not confirm that there are hungry people in the world; it interprets the hungry to be our brethren whom we allow to starve.

- Dorothee Sölle,
German theologian and writer, Death by Bread Alone (1975).

When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.

- Dom Helder Camara,
former Archbishop of Olinda and Recife, Brazil.

Thought For The Week

2009-03-18T08:33:00.000-07:00

"When peoples care for you and cry for you, they can straighten out your soul."

- Langston Hughes

Thought For The Week

2009-03-09T11:51:00.001-07:00

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."

- Martin Luther King Jr.

Uncomfortably Numb

2009-03-07T09:58:00.000-08:00

I wish I could allow anger to fuel my writing passionately and prolifically, the way that anger fuels Kobe Bryant of the Los Angeles Lakers to score 40+ points in a basketball game. Because I am angry and not a little frustrated at my current state of affairs. You see, I'm one of the millions of people dramatically affected by what's been going on in our nation's economy. Two months ago, I was laid off from a job that paid me less than $500 a week basically delivering packages and media-related items for one of the world's largest film studios( who I shall leave nameless, though they just recently made over $1 billion on the biggest hit movie of last year, which shall also go nameless). In the interim of those two months, I have had to contend with an unemployment office that has basically left me in the dark as to when I might receive my benefit checks, even after numerous phone and email attempts; having to seek alternative work whereever I might be able to find it(after about a month, I did finally manage to find a part-time job as a non-emergency medical shuttle driver); needless to say, also contend with the fact that my bills were going to have to be delayed or put off and that rent would have to be paid incrementally as I somehow managed to scrounge and scramble to cobble together enough money to put towards it; and also, along with my wife(who I'm supporting while she's in cosmetology school), have to apply for food stamps and accept donated food from a local food bank. And all this, after being laid off a year ago, for nearly five months, from the same job due to the WGA strike(which, as a writer who initially supported them in principle, seemed to me to be especially ironic!).

So, yes, I'm angry. I'm angry, because at 44 years of age and looking back at my life and the promise I believe I had both before I entered college and after I graduated, I certainly did not see myself here(which, I'm sure, is a sentiment I share with a lot of people in probably not dissimilar positions, though that's no consolation). I look back at a lot of poor choices and mediocre jobs; on avenues of opportunities that I should have pursued and now regret that I didn't. I also find myself wavering in belief in a God that I know has seen me through a lot of these things, both good and bad. I know that I have been blessed by moments of grace, especially during my college years, that left me with little doubt that there was someone watching over me who was more than just merely benevolent, but was and seemed ever-present. Even now, I have, on occasion, experienced not dissimilar moments of grace as well. But the little doubt has grown exponentially in spite thereof, which I try to fight against and find myself failing miserably--which scares me, because as I became an adult, I became constantly of the mind that believing in God was akin to believing in breathing and that the alternative was unthinkable. And yet...here I am, wondering if God still watches and listens, even in spite of myself.

I want so much in my life and out of my life that I can't see straight. I still harbor the goal and dream of being a successful writer. Of being able to provide my family a comfortable and suitable home and bills that are paid in full and on time. Being able to travel to see family and friends at will or take a vacation or two. Again, I wish that knowing that there are other people out there with similar dreams and goals and aspirations were a consolation to me, but unfortunately, it is not, though I do hope that they are able to see their dreams realized, as do I. And, lest I forget to mention, that I am also angry at those who profited on the dreams of millions of struggling and working people only to turn around now and ask us to support them being bailed out, mostly with money that was taken out that now we could ill-afford to live without(not to mention the fact that they blame us for this mess we're in!). And yet, when someone comes along to say that I'm going to try to fix this mess, that I want to do something about it so that everyone benefits, and then actually does it, they want to be the first ones to shoot that person down and claim failure even before they've enacted their attempt at rescue. It's like telling a firefighter--'no, thank you, sir, I'd rather you didn't go in and save my burning house; I'm waiting for someone better to come along to do it.' Give me a f$&@%#' break!

I'm not looking for a sunny resolution. And I'm not even sure what getting back to normal is or if I even want that. As a black man, I still celebrate the fact that this nation justly and rightly elected a black man to be president, even though that celebration is tempered with everything that I just wrote above. My mother and older sister continue to tell me to 'stay encouraged', and, as I've said, that continues to become increasingly hard to do. But I will try and I will continue to fight and kick and scream my way through my life, for however much longer I'm given to do so. Becaue the alternative... is unthinkable. 'Nuff said.

Thought For The Week

2009-03-03T17:14:00.000-08:00

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

- Eleanor Roosevelt

Thought For The Week--Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T08:13:00.000-08:00

"On the one hand, we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway."

--Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Quotes For The Week

2009-02-13T10:10:00.000-08:00

"Simplicity is always the secret to a profound truth, to doing things, to writing...Life is profound in its simplicity."

"The poem has some value, believe me. It keeps you from going totally mad."

--Charles Bukowski, Hollywood

"I will not take 'but' for an answer."

--Langston Hughes

It's Just Nice To Hear Someone Else Say It Better Than I Ever Could Have

2009-01-28T16:28:00.000-08:00

"Our future President ran not as a "lefty peacenik", but as a bipartisan candidate willing to compromise for the greater good rather than drown in idealism. This will no doubt lead to cries of hypocrisy, cynicism and sellout, as the months and years, pass by those who have pinned their personal hopes to his lapel like a three dollar American flag pin.

He may disappoint you at times, I am certain he will disappoint me, but that is what happens when you work in a collaborative setting like Washington. This does not mean that you should not get mad when you are disappointed. On the contrary, get fired up, speak out, organize and be heard!

The onus is on all of US who really care, to not just hold him to his promises, but to help him to achieve them.

He may not become all the best attributes of every president rolled into one, but at a time when we need it the most he has offered us the light, the glimmer, the hope, the opportunity, that things could get even a little bit better (hell, a lot better!). It’s up to all 6 billion of us on this planet to seize this opportunity and to do everything we can do to make it real."

--Michael Franti, of Spearhead
Taken From His Pre-Inauguration Blog

Thought For The Week

2009-01-26T22:48:00.000-08:00

"Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up."

--James Baldwin

Price of Silence

2009-01-23T11:31:00.001-08:00

This is what's up! A music video that brings together 16 of the worlds top musicians—some of whom have fled oppressive regimes—in a rousing musical plea to guarantee human rights for all.

This Is Why We Elected Him President

2009-01-20T12:25:00.000-08:00

Text of President Barack Obama's inaugural address on Tuesday, as delivered.

OBAMA: My fellow citizens:

I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.

Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because we the people have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebears, and true to our founding documents.

So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.

These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land — a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.

Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met.

On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.

On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.

For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.

Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions — that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.

For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act — not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. All this we will do.

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions — who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them — that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. Those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account — to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day — because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control — and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart — not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our founding fathers ... our found fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all the other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.

Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.

We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort — even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West — know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to the suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment — a moment that will define a generation — it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends — hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism — these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."

America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America.

Source: Associated Press

A Different Consideration Of The Man, Martin Luther King, Jr.

2009-01-19T13:00:00.000-08:00

On this day, the national celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s life, where so much continues to be made of his famous "I Have A Dream" speech from August 1963(as if this is the only speech he ever made publicly), I choose, once again, to consider some of his other words from other speeches he made, which prove, much to the possible chagrin of this nation's short-term memory, that he was more than just a dreamer, hoping that his children(indeed, all of us of a slightly darker persuasion) would one day be judged by the content of their character; but that he was also about addressing economic disparity and the injustice of war, here and abroad, respectively. Words which, more than 40 years later, and much more, I think, than the so-called famous speech, are still very relevant in these times and as we prepare to inaugurate the first African-American president of these United States.

From "Beyond Vietnam," April 4, 1967, Riverside Church, New York City.

As I have walked among the desperate, rejected and angry young men [in the ghettos] I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. I have tried to offer them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent action. But they asked – and rightly so – what about Vietnam? They asked if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of violence to solve its problems, to bring about the changes it wanted. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today – my own government. For the sake of those boys, for the sake of this government, for the sake of hundreds of thousands trembling under our violence, I cannot be silent.

... Now, it should be incandescently clear that no one who has any concern for the integrity and life of America today can ignore the present war. If America's soul becomes totally poisoned, part of the autopsy must read Vietnam. It can never be saved so long as it destroys the deepest hopes of men the world over.

... Somehow this madness must cease. We must stop now. I speak as a child of God and brother to the suffering poor of Vietnam. I speak for those whose land is being laid waste, whose homes are being destroyed, whose culture is being subverted. I speak for the poor of America who are paying the double price of smashed hopes at home and death and corruption in Vietnam. I speak as a citizen of the world, for the world as it stands aghast at the path we have taken. I speak as an American to the leaders of my own nation. The great initiative in this war is ours. The initiative to stop it must be ours.

In 1957 a sensitive American official overseas said that it seemed to him that our nation was on the wrong side of a world revolution. ... I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values. We must rapidly begin the shift from a "thing-oriented" society to a "person-oriented" society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. ... A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth. With righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa and South America, only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries, and say: "This is not just." It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of Latin America and say: "This is not just." The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just. A true revolution of values will lay hands on the world order and say of war: "This way of settling differences is not just." This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of people normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love. A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

America, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values. There is nothing, except a tragic death wish, to prevent us from reordering our priorities, so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war. There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood.

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From the Nobel Prize acceptance speech, Oslo, Norway, Dec. 10, 1964. King was 35 when he won the Nobel Peace Prize.

I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsam and jetsam in the river of life, unable to influence the unfolding events which surround him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality. I refuse to accept the cynical notion that nation after nation must spiral down a militaristic stairway into the hell of thermonuclear destruction. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality.

This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant.

I believe that even amid today's motor bursts and whining bullets, there is still hope for a brighter tomorrow. I believe that wounded justice, lying prostrate on the blood-flowing streets of our nations, can be lifted from this dust of shame to reign supreme among the children of men.

I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down, men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive goodwill will proclaim the rule of the land.

"And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together and every man shall sit under his own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid."

I still believe that we shall overcome.

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From "Strength To Love," 1963.

Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false and the false with the true.

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From "Letter from Birmingham Jail," April 16, 1963.

For years now I have heard the word "Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant "Never."

Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging dark of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your 20 million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your 6-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a 5-year-old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross-county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you no forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness" then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait.

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From "Birth of a New Nation," April 7, 1957.

The road to freedom is a difficult, hard road. It always makes for temporary setbacks. And those people who tell you today that there is more tension in Montgomery than there has ever been are telling you right. Whenever you get out of Egypt, you always confront a little tension, you always confront a little temporary setback. If you didn't confront that you'd never get out.

You must remember that the tensionless period that we like to think of was the period when the Negro was complacently adjusted to segregation, discrimination, insult, and exploitation. And the period of tension is the period when the Negro has decided to rise up and break aloose from that. And this is the peace that we are seeking: not an old negative obnoxious peace which is merely the absence of tension, but a positive, lasting peace, which is the presence of brotherhood and justice. And it is never brought about without this temporary period of tension. The road to freedom is difficult.

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King's response to death threats, June 5, 1964.

If physical death is the price that I must pay to free my white brothers and sisters from a permanent death of the spirit, then nothing can be more redemptive.

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From "I Have Been to the Mountaintop," delivered in Memphis, Tennessee on April 3, 1968. The following day King, 39, was shot and killed by James Earl Ray.

Now we're going to march again, and we've got to march again, in order to put the issue where it is supposed to be. ...We aren't going to let any mace stop us. We are masters in our nonviolent movement in disarming police forces; they don't know what to do, I've seen them so often. I remember in Birmingham, Alabama, when we were in that majestic struggle there we would move out of the 16th Street Baptist Church day after day; by the hundreds we would move out. And Bull Connor would tell them to send the dogs forth and they did come; but we just went before the dogs singing, "Ain't gonna let nobody turn me round." Bull Connor next would say, "Turn the fire hoses on." And as I said to you the other night, Bull Connor didn't know history. He knew a kind of physics that somehow didn't relate to the transphysics that we knew about. And that was the fact that there was a certain kind of fire that no water could put out. And we went before the fire hoses; we had known water. If we were Baptist or some other denomination, we had been immersed. If we were Methodist, and some others, we had been sprinkled, but we knew water.

That couldn't stop us. And we just went on before the dogs and we would look at them; and we'd go on before the water hoses and we would look at it, and we'd just go on singing "Over my head I see freedom in the air." And then we would be thrown in the paddy wagons, and sometimes we were stacked in there like sardines in a can. And they would throw us in, and old Bull would say, "Take them off," and they did; and we would just go in the paddy wagon singing, "We Shall Overcome." And every now and then we'd get in the jail, and we'd see the jailers looking through the windows being moved by our prayers, and being moved by our words and our songs. And there was a power there which Bull Connor couldn't adjust to; and so we ended up transforming Bull into a steer, and we won our struggle in Birmingham.

Thought For The Week

2009-01-12T19:06:00.000-08:00

"You need to know that you can go somewhere. You're not just like grass growing on the street. You're like trees, you have roots, and they've done wonderful things, and you need to know that, and by knowing that, you see how outfitted you are for these times. And that you really owe it to those who went before so that you can add to them for those who are yet to come.

"You need to know that you are in a continuum, and if you understand that, you realize that you are worthwhile. This continuum would be broken without me."

--Maya Angelou

Two Cents Doesn't Go As Far As It Used To

2009-01-10T16:50:00.000-08:00

With the ending of an old year, there always comes the inevitable plethora(a word, by the way, that should never grow old or lose its usefulness) of best-of lists, highlighting what that particular individual critic or pundit felt was the most newsworthy or awe-inspiring or can't-miss event of the year. So, with that in mind, I thought I'd throw in my two cents, for whatever its worth, though I will limit myself to just what I considered the best of the year in terms of what I saw on television and in the movies; heard on the radio; and read, when I thankfully had the chance. Starting off with movies--

Unlike most people and film critics, I was unable to see a lot of movies this past year, unfortunately, much to, I feel, my detriment and chagrin, because I love films and to hear others raving about movies that I have yet to see or probably will never see, especially around awards time, kills me. But I did manage to see a few, and thankfully, they were well worth the time and money spent, especially the one I consider to be my favorite of the year just past:

The Dark Knight--is there any more that I can say about this film that hasn't already been said, ad infinitum? Even if you took the Batman out of the equation, it made for one of the best crime dramas in quite some time. The fact that it was a Batman film just gave it an extra dimension. And needless to say, but I will say it anyway, Heath Ledger's amazing transformation as the clown prince of crime, just put the film into a whole other stratosphere--dare I say, one of the defining acting performances of our time. Taken along with the previous film, "Batman Begins"(who says it's impossible for sequels to improve on or surpass the original?), is there any doubt or question that Christopher Nolan should be the de facto director for any subsequent stories in the Batman ouevre? To quote from an icon of another comic book entity, nuff said!

Runners-up:

Tropic Thunder--two words, Tom Cruise! Though not to be outdone, Robert Downey, Jr.'s performance as an obsessed Australian method actor who undergoes a radical, transformative skin surgery, is a standout performance, among many in his career, including one in another runner-up, I'll mention later.(Is it possible for him to qualify for an NAACP image award or would that be asking too much? Just a thought.)

Forgetting Sarah Marshall--it is possible to be sweet, thought-provoking, and raunchy at the same time. Not unlike "Knocked Up", and to a certain extent, "Superbad", before it, we were treated to three-dimensional characters who you could actually care about in realistically funny and touching situations.

WALL-E--This film just took animation to a whole nother level. I would like to rewatch this film, because I wasn't able to give it my fullest attention, but I was absolutely amazed by the lifelike animation and the sweet story between two very different robots. It also showed that you can speak volumes in your film without saying a word of dialogue--there are certainly some live-action films I've seen which could take a note or two from this film in that regard.

Kung-Fu Panda and Bolt--Two more animated films, which like the live-action "Tropic Thunder", and "Forgetting Sarah Marshall", made me laugh harder than I've ever laughed in the movies in a long time. And the fact that they were animated says a lot, because too often, animated films are made to be too cutesy and are geared towards kids, without taking into account the adults who are inevitably going to be, and have to be, in the audience. And I can never say enough about an animated film that respects my intelligence while also tickling my funny bone--also an attribute that can be applied to the film, "WALL-E".

Miracle At St. Anna--This was an overlooked film by a lot of people and critics, and like a lot of Spike Lee's films, a very ambitious one, that seeks to provoke thought, as well as show a side of African-Americans we don't see in films. Especially in regards to those who fought in what's considered by American history(or at least Tom Brokaw), "the great war". There was a lot going on in this film, some of which I would put up against any foreign film; some of which reminded me of the scenes in Sicily depicted in "The Godfather"; a few things that may or not have worked(no film is perfect), but you can never accuse Spike of not at least trying to tell a good story, certainly one that needs to be told.

Milk--A lot of praise has been given towards this film and it's made a lot of best-of lists. I wouldn't say, personally, that it's one of the best films I've seen, though I wasn't disappointed in it and certainly not in the story it was trying to tell, of a little-known figure in our nation's history, one which, especially given the time we're living in, more people should expose themselves to. I will say, however, that the film, without question, is anchored by yet another transformative performance by an actor and that actor is Sean Penn, who as far as I can tell, and judging by the accolades he's been given thus far, I'm not alone in saying this, becomes the man he is honoring with said portrayal, San Francisco councilman Harvey Milk, the first gay man ever elected to public office. And if, nothing else, it's a reason to see this film.

Iron Man--Whereas "The Dark Knight" was dark and brooding, this movie was just fun and cool. And it certainly made a difference that it starred the aforementioned Robert Downey, Jr. in the lead role. I look forward to more outings of the oh-so metallic one(though I think the studio is making a huge mistake in recasting Terrence Howard with Don Cheadle--no disrespect!)

Moving on to TV:

Dexter--Who knew a series about a serial killer who kills for good would be, in my opinion, one of the best shows ever put on television? This show just gets better and better with each episode. It's like watching a mini-movie every week, one which you don't want to end, and for which, it's hard to muster the patience for each subsequent episode. This is a show, which I don't think gets enough accolades, like say, a show like "The Sopranos", and that's a shame, because I feel, the writing is some of the best there is--featuring some of the best characterization there is, and not just including its main lead, played brilliantly by Michael C. Hall. An extra special dimension was added this past season by the introduction of a character, played by the always excellent and dependable Jimmy Smits. If you have not caught this show, which is an excellent reason to subscribe to Showtime, you are missing out on what is truly "must-see TV".

The series finale of The Shield--Is it possible for a cop show to become almost Shakespearean in its telling? After watching the nearly two hour end of yet another groundbreaking police drama, I would answer with an emphatic yes. This episode, more than any other, featured some of the best writing and acting I've ever seen on television. Heart-breaking, gut-wrenching, edge-of-your-seat drama, with resolutions for each character that actually made sense and gave you a sense of closure, unlike some other series finales(at least one in particular, which shall go nameless here). Definitely one that should not only be remembered, but commended with full honors come Emmy time later this year.

True Blood--The title says it all. I wish there was as much furor over this particular vampire saga as there is for that other one(come on, do I really have to tell you which one?). Creator Alan Ball has added another winner to his already impressive resume, which includes his last HBO series, "Six Feet Under", and his Oscar-winning film, "American Beauty", one of my favorite movies. And as with both of those projects, we are treated to irrepressible human (and vampire, of course) characters who stick in the mind like some of the clothes that stick to the body because of the Louisiana humidity, which is the setting for this ongoing tale of vampires trying to assimilate into mainstream society. Kudos to an excellent cast, headed by the lovely Anna Paquin; but my high praise is reserved especially for newcomer Rutina Wesley as the irascible and very outspoken Tara--definitely one of my favorite characters from the past year.

Runners-up(and this, by the way, isn't to diminish their quality or my appreciation of these shows--there is no order here.):

30 Rock
The Office
Californication
Boston Legal(which also ended its series run in fine fashion--allowing us to say goodbye to one of the best onscreen TV couples in our time, Denny Crane and Alan Shore, wonderfully played by William Shatner and James Spader, respectively).
Chuck
Weeds
American Idol(thank God for David Cook giving this show some much needed fresh air!)
So You Think You Can Dance(hands down, the best dance show on the air right now, especially based on who the competition was and who actually won!)

And now we move to music, which I will keep brief, because as with movies, I missed out on a lot of album releases last year, but because of public radio(thank you, KCRW!), I was exposed to some really good music. I'll just list here two standout songs in my mind:

Another Way To Die by Alicia Keys and Jack White--My official kickass song of the year. It's the theme song from the latest James Bond release, "Quantum Of Solace", starring Daniel Craig(which, I'm sorry to say, is one of the films I missed out on from last year). I fell in love with this song well before the movie came out(again, thank you, KCRW!) and have it as my ringback tone for those who call me on my cell phone. This song just rocks and it certainly doesn't hurt to have the likes of Jack White, from the White Stripes and the Raconteurs, and the always amazing Alicia Keys. Again, nuff said!

And my favorite song of 2008:

Chasing Pavements by Adele--There must be something in the water over in Britain, at least as it pertains to women, because it's produced some wonderful female artists in the past few years--from Joss Stone to Amy Winehouse(yes, I said it! In spite of her troubles, she can still carry a tune. Ever heard of Billie Holliday or Etta James?!)to Duffy(who also had a great hit last year with the song, "Mercy"). And now Adele, who should well be on her way, at her young age, to be a major force in the music world. This song was just infectious from beginning to end and reminiscent of early 60's R&B, which is always a plus in my book, if it's pulled off well. And Adele certainly pulls it off well on this song--I can't wait to hear the rest of the album, which is simply titled, "19", for the age she was when this album was produced, as well as her subsequent work in the years to come.

And lastly, on to books:

Most of the books that I read last year were not released in the previous year, but I will list here two that stand out in mind as some of the best reading I've ever enjoyed this or any other year--

Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants by Kareem Abdul Jabbar--yes, that Kareem Abdul Jabbar. Aside from his very impressive record as an NBA Hall of Famer, he is also widely recognized as a writer and historian, particularly of the African-American experience. Both roles are brought to bear in this book, which he uses to chronicle the Harlem Renaissance of the 20's and 30's, and the many prominent members that came up out of that artistic and social explosion, as well as its effect on his life and career. Very readable and very necessary, for a period in our nation's history that should not be overlooked by any means.

Incognegro by Mat Johnson--Graphic novels seem to be the wave of the future or at least should be, especially in terms of literature. They certainly are when it comes to the movies, as evidenced by recent films like the upcoming "Watchmen", and "American Splendor", from a few years ago. This is one that should be added to that illustrious list and hopefully soon. As with the Jabbar book, it depicts, in a fictional, yet no less dramatic or poignant way, a chapter in our nation's history that should not be forgotten or brushed aside or swept under the rug--the epidemic of lynchings that were commonplace throughout much of the South during the latter part of the slavery era on past the turn of the century and well into, as recently as the 60's. It also deals with the very real phenomenon of those in the African-American community who accomplished what is called "passing", which many of those of the lighter persuasion partook of, some of whom for the benefit of the race in order to bring to light some of the horrors of said lynchings and other atrocities that were being perpetuated on blacks of this time. The central story of this novel revolves around such an individual, who as a reporter, is able to go undercover(incognegro, if you will, hence the title), in order to record the exploits of his findings. It is very possible to be swept away and into a story depicted in this graphic art form, especially with the benefit of brilliant illustration, which is why comics are still with us, and for that reason alone, should be, in my opinion, considered no less a part of literature than any traditional novel. Hopefully, you'll get to check this one out, especially if, and I think it's a strong possibility, this one gets picked from the pile of destined-to-be produced films.

And that, as they say, is a wrap. Here's hoping 2009 produces more quality and noteworthy artistic expressions, especially now with an artistic minded president taking up residence in the White House. If you need reminding, Marvel has already celebrated this fact in one of their recent issues of "The Amazing Spiderman", with a cover story featuring our president-elect. I also just saw recently Will-I-Am's latest video of his song, "It's A Brand New Day", which celebrates the recent victory. I'm hoping, at the risk of tooting my own horn, that my poem, "Barack Means Blessed", gets some momentum in the ether as well. On that note, nuff said!!

Lifetime Resolutions(A Work-In-Progress)--A Poem

2009-01-02T12:01:00.000-08:00

In a time of making resolutions for the new year(and I, for one, am glad the old one has passed, in spite of a historical presidential election, and in light of the worst economic crisis since probably the Great Depression), I submit the following poem, originally written several years ago, but one which I believe still applies in my life, and maybe even yours. I hope with the onset of a new and hopefully very different administration, with tough challenges ahead for all of us in this coming year and, with that, hopefully new opportunities for growth and creative possibilities, this will be a year that's a damn sight better than the one we've just said goodbye to.

Lifetime Resolutions (A Work-In-Progress)

Resolved:
To understand that which is still not clear to me.
Resolved:
To live the questions that will not be answered.
Resolved:
To dance to the music that plagues my soul.
Resolved:
To speak the bitter, unspeakable truth.
Resolved:
To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower.
Resolved:
To hear the whispers of a sometimes silent God.
Resolved:
To feel the unavoidable, painful embrace of humanness.
Resolved:
To touch the inner/outer extremities of my soul lover.
Resolved:
To know the why of the rage inside.
Resolved:
To quench the insatiable thirst of my heart and soul.
Resolved:
To walk a mile, maybe more, in my brother’s shoes.
Resolved:
To love beyond the limitations of my imagination.
Resolved:
To stand for something other than the reason to sit still no longer.
Resolved:
To read the words of those who probably know more than I do.
Resolved:
To write an end to this still-evolving poem.

© Joseph Powell

2008-12-25T09:04:00.000-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!

God bless us everyone, and I do mean everyone!!

Thought For The Week-A Short Manifesto Of Sorts For Writers

2008-12-16T21:15:00.000-08:00

Writers are weird. We're dysfunctional and insecure. We're childish and wise. Occasionally brilliant. We're stray cats, and we have the blues.

--Joe Donnelly,
Deputy Editor, L.A. Weekly

No Lame Duck Here

2008-12-15T20:00:00.001-08:00

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be sadistic, and I consider myself a nonviolent person by nature, but this video footage of the Iraqi journalist hurling his shoes at George Bush made my day and had me laughing throughout the day today every time I thought of it. It also speaks volumes of how Bush is perceived, not just in the Middle East, but around the world.

Words To Live By

2008-12-10T23:19:00.000-08:00

I think that if you're a creative person, you should just go about your business, do your work and not care about how it's received. I never read reviews because if you believe the good ones you have to believe the bad ones too. Not that I don't care about success. I do, but only because it lets me do what I want. I was always prepared for success but that means that I have to be prepared for failure too.

I have an ego, I have ideas, I want to be articulate, to communicate but in my own way. People who say they create only for themselves and don't care if they are published...I hate to hear talk like that. If it's good, it's too good not to share. That's the way I feel about my work. So I'll keep on communicating, but only my way."

--Shel Silverstein, from Publishers Weekly, February 24, 1975

Happy Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T10:49:00.000-08:00

Without meaning to downplay the origins of what this holiday symbolizes, which I won't go into here, I would just like to say that we should strive to be thankful, in these rough times, for what we have in our lives. Our families(dysfunctional, though they may be), our friends(dysfunctional, though they may be). The fact that we have a new president who already has changed the landscape of this country just by who he is. Thankful that there are still things in this world that can divert our attention away from the troubles of our world, if only for a moment--things like art and music, literature(anyone for poetry?!), movies and theater. Thankful that there are things that we can do to help alleviate the troubles of our world, like helping to feed the hungry or donating toys to needy children or even putting a dollar in the Salvation Army till at your local store( I use to man those things every Christmas,when I was in high school, in the cold winters of Chicago, so I try to make it a point to return the favor).

I'm also thankful for this blog and that I have its means to express myself any way I choose, whether its through my poetry, thoughts, found videos, etc. And I'm thankful for those of you who choose to read it(you are out there, right? Please! Anybody?!)

In any event, I wish you all a safe and sane(as much as possible) holiday with whomever you choose to spend it with, just as long as you are thankful for them.

Peace!

Another Bukowski Poem

2008-11-23T00:00:00.000-08:00

Friends Within The Darkness

I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
inside
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
as possible--
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.

the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.

finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
monotonous
jobs
by strange men behind desks
men without eyes men without faces
who would take away my hours
break them
piss on them.

now I work for the editors the readers the
critics

but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
Bee
some buddies
some men
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.

from You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense - pg. 139 - 1986

Something To Consider--Obama and Lincoln

2008-11-22T10:20:00.000-08:00

My brother emailed me this a few days ago, taken from an aricle by a staff writer in the Washington Post.

Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, November 19, 2008

He was a boy with a distant father, raised in a family of modest means. He had a curious intellect, devouring history and memorizing passages from Shakespeare. He became a lawyer and settled in Illinois, where he was elected to the state legislature. With relatively little political experience, he decided to run for president. Few believed he stood a chance of winning a primary campaign against the
party's heir apparent, a senator from New York. But the gangly, bookish Illinoisan galvanized millions across a country in crisis with his soaring rhetoric, speaking in
big strokes about transcending partisan politics and creating America as it ought
to be. He rose from obscurity to clinch his party's nomination and the presidency. The New York senator returned home deeply disappointed and bitter, having fallen to a shrewd political tactician.

Sound familiar?

The year was 1860, and Abraham Lincoln had narrowly defeated Sen. William H. Seward to become the Republican presidential nominee. After winning the presidency, Lincoln disregarded personal animosity and took the unprecedented move of tapping Seward to be his Secretary of State. He appointed two other political adversaries as well:

Salmon P. Chase, a handsome widower and Ohio's governor, who resented losing to
a man he considered inferior, as secretary of the Treasury; and Edwin
M. Stanton, a long-bearded Democratic lawyer contemptuous of Lincoln, whom Lincoln inherited as his attorney general but later appointed as secretary of war. Lincoln chose another foe, Missouri's distinguished elder statesman, Edward Bates, to succeed Stanton as attorney general. Bates had considered Lincoln incompetent but eventually concluded that the president was "very near being a perfect man,"
historian Doris Kearns Goodwin writes in her 2005 book "Team of Rivals." As the United States splintered toward civil war, the 16th president assembled the most
unusual administration in history, bringing together his disgruntled opponents and displaying what Goodwin calls a profound self-awareness and political genius.

As he has been for many of the nation's presidents, including the one now holding the office, Lincoln is a source of inspiration for Barack Obama, who will be
inaugurated Jan. 20. On a chilly morning 21 months ago, Obama launched his long-shot bid for the presidency from the steps of the Old State Capitol in Springfield, Ill. -- the same place where a century and a half earlier, Lincoln delivered his historic
"House Divided" speech. And now, Obama is contemplating Lincoln's particular model of
presidential leadership as he moves toward assembling his own team of advisers and Cabinet officials. His overtures to his former foes have suggested he may be mulling his own team of rivals, perhaps led by a certain senator from New York as secretary of state. Obama met with Hillary Rodham Clinton in Chicago last week.

Since winning the election two weeks ago, he has been reading Lincoln's writings again, Obama said Sunday on CBS's "60 Minutes." "There is a wisdom there and a humility about his approach to government, even before he was president, that I just find very helpful." Offers Goodwin: "You can't find a better mentor than Abraham Lincoln."

"Lincoln said, 'The country's in peril. These are the strongest and most able people in the country and I need them by my side,' " she said in an interview. "At first, people wondered whether or not Lincoln would be overshadowed by Seward. But in the end, Seward ended up becoming his closest friend. . . . He went on in history in a more profound way than he ever would have had he stayed just a senator from New York."

If Lincoln is the president against whom all others are measured, it is in no small measure because he was the greatest politician to occupy the White House, said presidential historian Richard Norton Smith. "Lincoln is a crossroads of character and political shrewdness," said Smith, a scholar-in-residence at George Mason University. By appointing his former rivals, he "displayed a remarkable generosity of spirit. On the other hand, it's a very shrewd attempt to co-opt your potential enemies."

Obama may let it drop that his proverbial desert-island book is Goodwin's 916-page tome, and Garry Trudeau may decree Obama is "The Second Coming of Lincoln" in his
"Doonesbury" comic strip, and the president-elect may grace this week's Newsweek
cover standing in Abe's long shadow.

Thoughts On President-Elect Barack Obama

2008-11-08T09:30:00.000-08:00

Hell has officially frozen over. A blast of fresh air is about to blow into the White House. The dream that was proclaimed 45 years ago has reached its culmination. The 21st century has officially begun. That sound you just heard--was the collective cry of the men and women who died in the bottom of slave ships; in shackles and chains in cotton fields on Southern plantations; who hung from poplar trees after being beaten and maimed; who died from an explosion in a Sunday school and driving to help those who were never allowed to vote gain the opportunity and exercise the right to vote. So that this day could happen. A black man, son of an African man and a young white woman from Kansas, who rose up to become the first black president of the Harvard Law Review to a Chicago(say it with me) COMMUNITY ORGANIZER to a state Senator from Illinois to a United States Senator representing that same state to now, the first of his kind to be president of these United States. This is the equivalent of when the late Harold Washington became the first black mayor of the city of Chicago(I can't help but think that that may have partial inspiration for Mr. Obama); it's also the equivalent of Nelson Mandela becoming the first black president of South Africa.

Along with the Rev. Jesse Jackson and Oprah and the scores of men and women we saw on TV from across the nation, I wept openly after the announcement was made that Barack Obama was named President-Elect Tuesday night after an overwhelming landslide in the electoral vote. I wept for those men and women who hadn't even dared to dream that this day would happen. For those who thought it would never happen in their lifetimes, including myself. Who had shed blood and tears and sweat just so we could, at the very least, be invited to the table, if not given the seat at the head of it. I wept for Madelyn Dunham, Obama's grandmother, who died just one day before getting to see her grandson make history. I wept as a proud black man that I got to see a nation that has finally figured it out and is finally growing up, just a little bit. I also wept for the young black men and women, particularly of grade school age, who got to witness this moment, and who can, and without any hesitation, now say that when they grow up, they want to be president. And the young Hispanic and Latino men and women. And the young Asian men and women. And the young Native American men and women. The door has officially been opened. We are now allowed to sit at the head of the table.

I was glad that I was able to call my 76-year old mother, who after witnessing all that she has seen in her lifetime, including a World War and the debacle in Vietnam; Jim Crow and segregation; race riots and the assassinations of JFK, MLK, and RFK, among many others; I'm glad she got to see this moment and that I was able to share in that moment with her briefly over the phone.

This is indeed a new day. But yet, with the celebration of this monumental occasion, comes always, the cold water of reality. This most likely will not change the state of race relations in this country. At least, not overnight, or even during the course of Obama's first term in office. Neither will the problems that have beset us and which now he is being challenged to deal with after he is inaugurated on January 20th of next year. I honestly think that, given the nature of who he is, he will probably be under much more scrutiny than any president ever has been. And consequently, his safety and the safety of his family will be an ongoing concern--much more so now than it ever has been before. Now the real work begins. And not work that is merely on his shoulders. We elected him to be president of these United States. Our United States. As such, we need to stand by him, support him, long after the fanfare of this election and the upcoming inauguration has died down. We need to fight with him for those who don't have a voice or the ability to fight for themselves. To fight for better jobs and a stronger economy. To bring an end to an unjust and unnecessary war and bring our troops home to their longsuffering families and friends. To bring about universal health care for the millions who have gone without it for far too long. To save a disastrous educational policy that is doing nothing for our kids. To help those who can't help themselves, up out of poverty and hunger and illness and illiteracy.

I really hope that with the inevitable scrutiny, will also come, a willingness to let this man govern, as he sees fit, and be allowed to make mistakes, which is granted every human, and has certainly been granted to the previous 43 presidents of this country. I believe that he has surrounded, and will surround, himself with very capable people who will seek to move this nation forward and hopefully salvage the sullied reputation of this country, both here and abroad. But as I said, he will need the help of all of us. We cannot just sit back and take an idle approach to how things are run in this country. We must speak up and speak out and often. And we must pray--for him, for his family, for his advisors, and for his cabinet. For their safety and security. That they don't succumb to the pressures of this job. And that they'll be able to help lead this nation on the road to recovery that it so desperately needs.

President-Elect Barack Obama, you have been blessed. And you are a blessing to us, by God, to help lead a still very young nation onto bigger and better things. And to be a blessing to others, both near and far. I wish you Godspeed, health and prosperity, safety, wisdom and strength. And Peace!

YES WE CAN AND YES WE DID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-11-05T16:21:00.000-08:00

More to come later after I've had time to digest and get my thoughts together...

Daring To Dream Of A Black President

2008-11-04T09:04:00.000-08:00

This was a post from the Independent and since it includes thoughts from some of my favorite people, I felt compelled to share with you all. Here's hoping that after today, it becomes more than a dream.

The Independent. Posted November 4, 2008.

Some of America's leading black voices, including Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, Spike Lee and Tiger Woods share what it means to them.

With Obama on the brink of victory, America's leading black voices share what it means to them.

Maya Angelou, novelist: 'If he wins, it means my country has agreed to grow up'

I never thought I'd see a black president in the White House in my lifetime. I didn't even dare dream it. I feel like a child approaching Christmas, you can't believe election day is finally here. It's been so long since we've had people -- Asian and black, white and Spanish-speaking -- come together and say YES. Some did during the civil rights struggle but not as many as today. What it means if Mr Obama is voted in, is that my country has agreed to grow up, and move beyond the childish idea that human beings are different.

I'm talking to friends in the UK, in Italy, in China who can't vote, who cannot press anything other than the point home, so I know the world is watching. We have lain so long in the undergrowth of ignorance. Can we really be saved from the rage of consumerism where we identify ourselves by our spending: 'I'm a shopper'. What kind of stupidness is that? Buying things we cannot afford and do not need.

I'm no prophet, I'm no seer, I'm a beseecher -- so I have been out to thump the drum for Mr Obama. I started out in Senator Hillary Clinton's camp and I thumped the drum for her.

When it was proven that the majority of people wanted Senator Obama, she stepped out of the race and began to thump the drum for him, and so did I.

I think he has simply proven to everybody that he is very intelligent -- and by that I'm referring to what used to be called common sense, which is terribly uncommon these days. You can see him thinking before he speaks, which should be a presidential prerequisite but rarely is. Most of the candidates all the way back, save for two or three, seem to just punch a button. There's a question and they punch number seven and out comes an answer, which had been stored up.

Senator Obama has proven that he knows how to be a president to all the people, not just the rich and mighty, not just to whites, not just to blacks, but all the people. I'm so excited, the excitement can hardly be contained. How will I be spending election night? On my knees. Maybe getting off them to have a very nice Scotch and then getting back down on my knees again.

Toni Morrison, novelist: 'Things are different now. A lot of white people are different'

This election is critical, vital to more than just people in the United States. It's going to make a big, big difference which way it goes. The worst thing is not Senator Obama losing, it's who wins. I am encouraged by the polls and by him but I have lived long enough to know that elections have been systematically stolen. Luckily, I think everybody knows that and is sending about 5,000 lawyers to the polls.

I don't believe in the Bradley Effect -- there were a lot of reasons he lost. And this time is different. First of all the country is different. Secondly he's different. And thirdly a lot of white people are different. Several weeks ago I read about the Reverse Bradley Effect, where whites down in the south say they are voting Republican because of their neighbours!

I think the situation is dire, I cannot think of a large issue where things are going right, and Senator Obama will have an extremely difficult time. But there are two things that one should remember. The first is a cliché, but he himself has said it, 'It's not about me, it's about other people'. He cannot do it on his own, he needs the force of those who voted for him. The second thing -- and one of the reasons I really respect him -- is that he surrounds himself with really smart people, and not just smart people that say what he wants to hear. He likes the dialogue, the questioning, the one who tells him the truth as opposed to the one who strokes ego.

I think the promise with Senator Obama is that we return to an idea known as "the common good" and we have not had that in eight years. I mean, you can't get sick in America, you will be bankrupt. This administration has been very clear in its assumption that privatisation is best. There are jails where you have to pay room and board, you get into debt and when you get out you have to pay it back. And some people who do not have means to borrow go out and steal again. I know that the Democrats are more inclined to take the right position and not regard taxes on the extremely rich as some sort of insult to them.

What am I going to do on election night? I have three choices: I can go to some friends; I was invited to go on a TV show; but I think under the bed may yet prove the safest place to be.

Samuel L Jackson, Actor: 'There's been a warrior culture here. It's time that ended'

We have been through eight years of pretty much lunacy and madness. In America, we have tended to think that we are the greatest living things on the planet and our leadership has exemplified that. There's been a sort of warrior culture here, and it's time that ended. Obama is the president to take us to the next place. He's not part of the establishment, number one. He doesn't have that sense of entitlement that others have had. What he does have is a sense of empathy for people who are on the lower rung of society and he doesn't want to give the people with all the money all the breaks.

It's not just about what an Obama victory will mean to the African American community, it's for the nation in general. It means something for the little Asian kid, or the little Hispanic kid, for everybody of a different origin than Anglo-American. It actually means that the lie that they told us all these years -- that you can grow up to be anything you want to be in America, even the president -- might actually be true now. Until this election, it was just a fantasy -- you had to be white to be president. The closest we got to it was when Jimmy Smits was elected president on the West Wing or Morgan Freeman being president on screen.

I grew up in the segregated South, and there's probably still two generations who grew up next to "Whites Only" signs. We were part of that time in America when we were second-class citizens, so no, I didn't expect to see this in my lifetime. It's really wonderful and revelatory in terms of how far we have come so fast. And hopefully it will signify a major change in how we are perceived in the world community. Obama represents what we hope America can be.

But I will not be comfortable until 5 November. I was in the UK for the 2000 election. When I went to bed in Liverpool that night, Bush had lost, when I woke up the next morning Bush had won. Until I go to Obama's inauguration in January, I won't really believe it. And I'm definitely going, I've made hotel reservations already.

Jesse Jackson, civil rights leader: 'I just wish Martin Luther King was here to share the joy'

It will be the sixth time I've voted for Barack Obama. When he ran for the State Senate I voted for him in the primary and the general; when he ran for the US Senate I voted for him in the primary and the general; and in his run for the presidency I voted for him in the primary and will be voting for him in the general. I will spend election day on the phone, encouraging people to go out and vote. I will not be letting up until the polls close.

Our struggle in America for civil rights started out with the right to vote and now Mr Obama is on the doorstep of the White House. We got the right to vote in 1965, that's 43 years ago, and we have kept evolving over those years. America is a country that continues to grow, it's maturing. This election says to Europe, Africa and Asia that democracy is real and that we must rise above limitations of race and gender to achieve our purpose.

The people of America are ready for a black president now. Senator Obama's race is self-evident, he didn't make an issue out of it. He's reached out to people across the divide and had universal appeal by focussing on the real issues.

There's a great sense of joy. I just wish Dr [Martin Luther] King were here to share it. He would be overjoyed. But he would also know that we have challenges beyond the election. He would be proud of where we are but he would remind us that we are not all the way there yet, until we wipe out poverty and illiteracy and end these unnecessary wars.

Jay-Z, rapper

Rosa Parks sat so that Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so that Obama could run. Obama's running so that we all can fly. I can't wait until 5 November and I'm going to say 'Hello, Brother President'. I can't tell you who to vote for. All I can do is tell you to vote."

Spike Lee, director

I say it's very simple, we have BB, "before Barack," and AB, "after Barack."

This coalition that he's got: black, white, Hispanic, Asian, gay, straight, whatever. It's come together and this has never been done before and I think this thing is preordained or whatever we want to call it. I'm not going to say it's God, but this is not a mistake, this is happening now. He's here when his country is at it's lowest in many many years.

Even though I live in Manhattan, I still vote out of Brooklyn, so 4 November I'm going to be the first in line in Brooklyn. Then I'm going to get a flight to Chicago and I'll be there all day.

Tiger Woods, Golfer

I've seen him speak. He's extremely articulate, very thoughtful, I'm just impressed at how well, basically all politicians really do, how well they think on their feet. Especially those debates. It's pretty phenomenal to see them get their point across. But I just think that he's really inspired a bunch of people in our country and we'll see what happens down the road.

Alonzo Mourning, basketball player

I need to be part of this because this is part of the history of our nation and I do have a voice in the community -- I have a presence and it's beautiful to be able to use it on behalf of something I believe in. Some athletes worry something like this might affect their sponsorship deals, but I'm not afraid. Obama has given real leadership. I'm not ashamed to say I'm with him all the way.

Stevie Wonder, musician

He's a combination of JFK and Martin Luther King. With that, he can't lose. I see a time when we will have a united people of the United States. And that is why I support Barack Obama.

James Blake, tennis player

I am proud. I am very proud of Barack Obama. I believe in him and I believe that he will do good things for this country. I hope the country gives him that opportunity.

GO OUT AND VOTE!!!!!!!!!!

2008-11-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

Barack Means Blessed--A New Poem

2008-11-01T16:40:00.000-07:00

When Jesse said, "I am, Somebody",
He was talking about this one;
When JB said it loud...,
He was talking about this one;
The shining black prince, that was Malcolm,
And the gentle warrior, that was Martin--
Have come back to us
As this fortunate one,
This fortunate son;
The African diaspora and the American dream,
Clothed in this one man,
In this man,
Blessed by God,
For that is what Barack means.

This man,
Standing on the shoulders
Of those who came before,
Both great and small,
Black and white;
This man,
This human,
Jazzman,
Michelle's, Malia's, and Sasha's man,
Our man
For these times,
These interesting times;
Courageous,
Audacious;
Proud,
Yet humbled;
Black
And beautiful;
A leader
And yet,
A servant.

This one,
This man,
Renaissance man,
Helping us to see
What it means,
To be reborn;
Helping us to see
What it means,
As a people,
As a nation,
As these United States of America,
To be blessed by God,
For that is what Barack means.

© 2008 Joseph Powell

R.I.P. Studs Terkel, 1912-2008

2008-10-31T23:16:00.000-07:00

The city of Chicago and indeed, the nation, has long another one of its unique voices. An everyman for everyday people. A friend and defender of the underdog, who always managed to find a way to tell their stories as he heard them and as they needed to be told. A raconteur, a jazz man--whose instruments were his voice and his pen. He was the very definition of 'old school'--with his rumpled look and gangster-style voice, he was someone you wanted to have a beer with at the local bar and then have over for dinner to meet your family, because you knew he'd be interested and would be interesting. When one thinks of Chicago, if you truly know the city, you can't help but think of Studs. Like the Cubs and the Bears; like the river and the downtown skyline; like the Picasso in front of the Daley Building and the Art Institute, Studs was very much an indelible part of that city.

He's a reason why we can remember the Holocaust; a reason why we know the people who were affected by the Great Depression; a reason why the working man has been celebrated and his dignity has been esteemed; a reason why we can appreciate the people we meet; because he helped us to do that, through his long running radio show, broadcast from his adopted home in the Windy City; and also through his many books, including one of his most seminal, "Working".

He once said in an interview that he wanted his epitaph to say that "curiosity didn't kill this cat". Here's to one of the coolest and most curious of cats that ever lived. Take it easy, Studs, but take it.

Just In Case You Needed Reminding...

2008-10-30T20:52:00.000-07:00

This is one of the most thoughtful ' WHAT IF ' scenarios I have read. It was on a comment opportunity after people voted on who won the debate in a Colorado Springs newspaper.

WHAT IF the FACTS WERE SWITCHED AROUND?

Obama/Biden vs McCain/Palin, what if things were switched around?.....think about it. Would the country's collective point of view be different?(10/8/08)

Ponder the following:

What if the Obamas had paraded five children across the stage, including a three month old infant and an unwed, pregnant teenage daughter?

What if John McCain was a former president of the Harvard Law Review?

What if Barack Obama finished fifth from the bottom of his graduating class?

What if McCain had only married once, and Obama was a divorcee?

What if Obama was the candidate who left his first wife after a severe disfiguring car accident, when she no longer measured up to his standards?

What if Obama had met his second wife in a bar and had a long affair while he was still married?

What if Michelle Obama was the wife who not only became addicted to painkillers but also acquired them illegally through her charitable organization?

What if Cindy McCain graduated from Harvard?

What if Obama had been a member of the Keating Five?(The Keating Five were five United States Senators accused of corruption in 1989, igniting a major political scandal as part of the larger Savings and Loan crisis of the late 1980s and early 1990s.)

What if McCain was a charismatic, eloquent speaker?

What if Obama couldn't read from a teleprompter?

What if Obama was the one who had military experience that included discipline problems and a record of crashing seven planes?

What if Obama was the one who was known to display publicly, on many occasions, a serious anger management problem?

What if Michelle Obama's family had made their money from beer distribution?

What if the Obamas had adopted a white child?

You could easily add to this list. If these questions reflected reality, do you really believe the election numbers would be as close as they are? This is what racism does. It covers up, rationalizes and minimizes positive qualities in one candidate and emphasizes negative qualities in another when there is a color difference.

Educational Background:

Barack Obama:Columbia University - B.A. Political Science with a Specialization in International Relations. Harvard - Juris Doctor (J.D.) Magna Cum Laude

Joseph Biden:University of Delaware - B.A. In History and B.A. In Political Science. Syracuse University College of Law - Juris Doctor (J.D.)

vs.

John McCain:United States Naval Academy - Class rank: 894 of 899

Sarah Palin:Hawaii Pacific University - 1 semester. North Idaho College - 2 semesters - General Study. University of Idaho - 2 semesters - Journalism. Matanuska-Susitna College - 1 semester. University of Idaho = 3 semesters - B.A. In Journalism

Education isn't everything, but this is about the two highest offices in the land as well as our standing in the world. You make the call.

A Change Is Gonna Come

2008-10-29T21:52:00.000-07:00

It's the timelessness of a song that, I think, reveals the brilliance of that song. Its continued relevance, even long after its debut. Marvin Gaye's, "What's Going On?", and Bob Dylan's, "Blowin' In The Wind", are cases in point. As is the Sam Cooke song, "A Change Is Gonna Come". Is there a more appropos song, given the potential events of the upcoming week?

I was born by the river in a little tent
Oh and just like the river I've been running ever since
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

It's been too hard living but I'm afraid to die
Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

I go to the movie and I go downtown
Somebody keep telling me don't hang around
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

Then I go to my brother
And I say brother help me please
But he winds up knocking me
Back down on my knees

Ohhhhhhhhh.....

There been times that I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

Thought For The Week

2008-10-28T19:00:00.000-07:00

"There's a song that says, 'the time ain't long.' That song is right. Something has got to change in America---and change soon. We must help that change to come."

--Langston Hughes

Addendum:

The following was related to me by a friend who heard it on NPR today--

"Rosa sat,
So Martin could walk;
Martin walked,
So Barack could run;
Barack ran,
So children could fly."

--Anonymous

Somehow, One Of My Nightmares Was Captured On Film!

2008-10-22T22:28:00.000-07:00

Stranger things have been known to happen in this world. Let's just hope that this is one of those that will never happen.

But its message is clear:

GET OUT AND VOTE!!!!!!!!!! OBAMA '08!!!

TOP 5 REASONS OBAMA SUPPORTERS SHOULDN'T REST EASY

2008-10-21T08:28:00.000-07:00

1. The polls may be wrong. This is an unprecedented election. No one knows how racism may affect what voters tell pollsters—or what they do in the voting booth. And the polls are narrowing anyway. In the last few days, John McCain has gained ground in most national polls, as his campaign has gone even more negative.

2. Dirty tricks. Republicans are already illegally purging voters from the rolls in some states. They're whipping up hysteria over ACORN to justify more challenges to new voters. Misleading flyers about the voting process have started appearing in black neighborhoods. And of course, many counties still use unsecure voting machines.

3. October surprise. In politics, 15 days is a long time. The next McCain smear could dominate the news for a week. There could be a crisis with Iran, or Bin Laden could release another tape, or worse.

4. Those who forget history... In 2000, Al Gore won the popular vote after trailing by seven points in the final days of the race. In 1980, Reagan was eight points down in the polls in late October and came back to win. Races can shift—fast!

5. Landslide. Even with Barack Obama in the White House, passing universal health care and a new clean-energy policy is going to be hard. Insurance, drug and oil companies will fight us every step of the way. We need the kind of landslide that will give Barack a huge mandate.

We can't afford to let this one get away!! It's much too important, with a lot of things at stake, not to mention, the historic aspect of it all. Please do all that you can to make sure that two weeks from now, we'll be saying President Obama, and not Senator Obama.

$700 Billion Sellout?

2008-10-16T19:12:00.000-07:00

"It's extraordinary to me that the United States can find $700 billion to save Wall Street and the entire G8 can't find $25 billion dollars to save 25,000 children who die every day from preventable diseases."

- Bono, rock star and anti-poverty activist. (Source: The American Prospect blog)

"If you'll forgive me," he added, "your country is the ultimate triumph of corporate creativity, which means it is a country controlled by the group-thinking of corporations. These corporations are without humanity because there is no one personally responsible for their use of power; a corporation is like a computer with profit as its source of energy--and profit as its necessary fuel."

--Arbeiter, a German radical, The Hotel New Hampshire, by John Irving (1981)

"I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around the banks will deprive the people of all property until their children wake-up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered."

--Thomas Jefferson, 1802

'Nuff said?

Silver and Gold and Infinity

2008-10-11T15:30:00.000-07:00

The ego part of me would like to believe that my poetic influence and creative ability had something to do with the creation of the following poem, written by my stepdaughter, Santi Biondolillo, for her sophomore English class, a few weeks ago. But the truth of the matter is, that she's a talented and gifted artist in her own right--from the stories and essays that she's written for class and family, to the self-made greeting cards she manages to create for every known occasion, to the incredible anime drawings that are the equal of any professional animator out there. The poem, entitled, "Silver and Gold and Infinity", is an outstanding stand-alone piece that captures perfectly the teenager that she is and, I think, every teenager that currently exists in our society. I hope you are touched and moved, as her mother and I were, by this amazing poem.

Silver and Gold and Infinity

I come from stained pillowcases,
Apple-scented dishsoap,
And clinking dishes.

I am from paint already scraped from my walls,
And tiny particles of who knows what
Spread across my carpet.

I come from sunflowers,
The "jungle" that Malla had prowled,
And a tire swing(one that I was too afraid to ride).

Then I am from a pink playhouse,
My grandfather had built just for me,
And later I am from concrete, and a tree
That grew flowers, whose names I still do not know.

I come from chewed fingernails,
And the peeling skin around them,
Often covered in blue or red ink.

I'm from same hair since seventh grade,
My mole, and eyes, shaped like my father's.

I come from "Martin, are you walking home today?"
From I was like, and he was all.
I'm from Holy Beluga, "make good choices", and
I love you more than silver, and gold, and infinity.

I come from "bein' hip" with pocky, yanyan,
And empty Starbucks cups(plastic or cardboard depending on the weather).
From "faken" bacon, buttered noodles,
And the best tacos(that my mom just happens to make).

I am from a loving man's tears shed for someone great,
Someone he knew better than I,
And from the mattress and that phone call
That left me missing her cherry eye.

I come from deciding not to sleep,
Even though I am tired,
And from trying to close my stubborn dresser drawer,
As I stare curiously out a hole in the door where the knob used to be.

I come from just sitting,
My ipod playing, thinking back on my life, and what
I come from.

I lay my head on my stained pillow,
Looking forward to tomorrow, hoping
Not to miss a second of life,
But for now, I will take a short break
Until the morning, when I write, ready to make more memories.

I fall asleep...

© 2008 Santi Biondolillo

The Beast In Me

2008-10-01T19:10:00.000-07:00

Throughout my life, I've encountered songs that have not only spoken to me in deeply profound ways, but have captured, I feel, the essence of who I am and have been in various stages of my life. One such song is one that I discovered several years ago on the original soundtrack for the former HBO series, "The Sopranos". It is a song by Nick Lowe, entitled, "The Beast In Me", and I've transcribed the lyrics below.

The Beast In Me

The beast in me
Is caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night, rants and rages at the starts
God help the beast in me
The beast in me
Has had to learn to live with pain
And how to shelter from the rain
And in the twinkling of an eye
Might have to be restrained
God help the beast in me
Sometimes it tries to kid me
That it's just a teddy bear
Or even somehow manage
To vanish in the air
Then that is when I must beware
Of the beast in me
That everybody knows
They've seen him out dressed in my clothes
Patently unclear
If it's New York, or New Year
God help the beast in me
The beast in me

R.I.P. Paul Newman, 1925-2008

2008-09-27T08:35:00.000-07:00

We've lost yet another bright light and a class act, in every sense of the term. Paul Newman was an inspiration, both on-screen and off. Through his nearly 50 year career in film, television, and on the stage, he celebrated the underdog in us all, no matter from what part of this thing we call life. He also did the same through his "Hole-In-The-Wall Gang" camps for children and other charitable contributions. With actress and wife, Joanne Woodward, he maintained that rarest of feats, the so-called "Hollywood marriage". Even in light of the tragedy of losing a son, he continued to persevere and do some of his best and, what will continue to be, memorable work for years to come. I can't say that I've seen all of his films, not because I never wanted to, just haven't yet and hopefully will sometime--I can say, without hesitation, that he was always someone who delivered in his performances, whether it was one of a pair of outlaws on the run in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid"; or one of a pair of con men devising a major revenge scam in "The Sting"(both films he co-starred with another wonderful and handsome actor, Robert Redford); an alcoholic lawyer on a major case in "The Verdict"; or a much older version of his classic performance of pool hustler, Fast Eddie Felson, in "The Color Of Money". His work as an actor will and should probably be studied by every young and up and coming actor in a class somewhere; one can only hope that his philanthropy will enjoy the same scrutiny and hopefully, emulation, for there can be nothing better in this world, than to make sure that a child endures a little less suffering and is given an opportunity to see that there is beauty in this world and that someone does care. Paul, you were part of that beauty and that someone who cared and you will be missed.

Thought For The Week

2008-09-26T07:54:00.000-07:00

"They who live humbly have angels from heaven to carry them courage and strength and belief."

--Anonymous

I like to think that I try to live humbly, sometimes against my own will to live otherwise. I hope that the above statement, written by an anonymous poet, is true, because I certainly am fresh out of courage, strength, and belief.

Free Troy Davis

2008-09-20T08:21:00.000-07:00

An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

--Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Thought For The Week

2008-09-18T08:14:00.000-07:00

"I've had enough of somebody else's propaganda. I'm for truth, no matter who tells it. I'm for justice, no matter who it is for or against. I'm a human being first and foremost, and as such I'm for whoever and whatever benefits humanity as a whole."

--Malcolm X

This is an addendum to the above thought, speaking of propaganda and the truth. The following was sent to me by a friend, who wasn't aware of the author of this, but I post it here because I think it speaks volumes. Let me know what you think.

I'm a little confused. Let me see if I have this straight...

* If you grow up in Hawaii, raised by your grandparents, you're "exotic, different."

* Grow up in Alaska eating moose burgers, a quintessential American story.

* If your name is Barack, you're a radical, unpatriotic Muslim.

* Name your kids Willow, Trig and Track, you're a maverick.

* Graduate from Harvard law School and you are unstable.

* Attend 5 different small colleges before graduating, you're well grounded.

* If you spend 3 years as a brilliant community organizer, become the first black President of the Harvard Law Review, create a voter registration drive that registers 150,000 new voters, spend 12 years as a Constitutional Law professor, spend 8 years as a State Senator representing a district with over 750,000 people, become chairman of the state Senate's Health and Human Services committee, spend 4 years in the United States Senate representing a state of 13 million people while sponsoring 131 bills and serving on the Foreign Affairs, Environment and Public Works and Veteran's Affairs committees, you don't have any real leadership experience.

* If your total resume is: local weather girl, 4 years on the city council and 6 years as the mayor of a town with less than 7,000 people, 20 months as the governor of a state with only 650,000 people, then you're qualified to become the country's second highest ranking executive.

* If you have been married to the same woman for 19 years while
raising 2 beautiful daughters, all within Protestant churches, you're
not a real Christian.

* If you cheated on your first wife with a rich heiress, and left your disfigured wife and married the heiress the next month, you're a Christian.

* If you teach responsible, age appropriate sex education, including the proper use of birth control, you are eroding the fiber of society.

* If , while governor, you staunchly advocate abstinence only, with no other option in sex education in your state's school system while your unwed teen daughter ends up pregnant, you're very responsible.

* If your wife is a Harvard graduate lawyer who gave up a position in a prestigious law firm to work for the betterment of her inner city community, then gave that up to raise a family, your family's values don't represent America 's.

* If you're husband is nicknamed "First Dude", with at least one DWI conviction and no college education, who didn't register to vote until age 25 and once was a member of a group that advocated the secession of Alaska from the USA, your family is extremely admirable.

OK, much clearer now.

I Believe - A 9/11 Tribute

2008-09-11T19:30:00.001-07:00