an editorial: To exhausted to open the refrigerator door this morning,

To exhausted to open

 the refrigerator

 door this morning,

I found this note

 getting swept up

 from the kitchen floor:

Aug. 10th 2020: Quar

       Politics has grounded up the idea that the ignorant  can become morons without learning un-biased information, even when their lives are in chaos, it comes to them through  a Piper’s flute, jumping off the cliff of the true principles they all  believe in… whether PhD., GED, home school, or on the job, life and work experience. They have nested termites under the floor of our Great Experiment. Good grief!

       Then, there are the American Patriots, rarely ever accepting a label other than they are Americans and believe in the same things all Americans agree on, and pledge Allegiance to our Constitution; without embellishment. They believe in the equality of our neighbor that makes a hood a home-town community; that excels in growth, in principle, that becomes a State with a balanced opinion by democracy and Justice. It has prospered, as a United States, the successful American Experiment that other’s said would fail. (They ask to silence the anger, demeaning slurs to our neighbor and live the American Dream, with logical dialogue. “…to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all…”

       Only an enemy of these principles, of this Awesome Country, can divide us into strife; systematically, until it implodes. Leaving the spoils for them and to enslave the people, for basic necessities. There will be no time to mourn luxury.

        The time needs to be reminded that “the times (as usual) are a changin’ …”; to correct our mis-steps going forward into the American Dream.

fog lifting the field

revealing dandelion

in execution

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The Tale of Angelica’s Bull Fight

“Within its small circle one finds life, death, ambition, despair, success, failure, faith, desperation, valor, cowardliness, generosity, and meanness—all condensed into the actions of a single afternoon or even a single moment.”   Conchita Cintrón, (matadora)

She climbed out of bed, shook her head, and stood steady.

Twisting her torso, tipping on her tippy toes,

Selecting her most colorful clothes,

She smiled at the sunlight through wide-open windows.

    Yesterday in school, never expecting her path to be blocked  by a very, very, large un-reeling bull, snorting words in puffs of curses and personal innuendos; of her color, her religion, her weight, her choice of clothes, her friends, and the painful statements of her heritage, mother, father, stepfather, stepbrother, uncles, and aunts.

    The bull pushed her mentally and physically with such ignorance and arrogance of stampeding shame, Angelica relinquished.

Feeling demeaned, gouged, her heart bleeding and sore

By the misunderstanding,

The miss-handling of life that allowed itself to snort,

To spit, to bare its teeth, and then, become completely,

Unbelievably cruel with pain.

    Rushing home, closing the door to her room, her head buried in a tear-dampened pillow, no longer able to cry, she fell asleep. On a small table by her bed, laid a dry red carnation taken down from above her headboard’s framed poster of “Conchita”

In her dreams, sitting in a wicker chair

Between the bed and her clothes, left on the floor,

Appeared Conchita “matadora.” Visibly aching, poked by a mean bull

They called “Chiclanero.”

    From situations to experiences, from the offensive to the pervasive, to mistakes made and recapturing sensibility, their stories and Conchita’s occasional swishing animations of a flowing red muleta, filled the room in the spirit of lifting anger and disappointment in gestures without conciliation, with the tip of her fingers, closing the door, revealing her struggling life, as a perfect Matadora. No, as a perfect matador.

Softly ending into dawn.

Their conversation subsided

In a night filled with excitement and adventure.

Conchita, whispered why they met

And what to forget, in a kiss good-bye;

Saying “what makes bleeding stop is within the strength of gentleness, perseverance and dignity, in one stroke of a kind, brave, and… in an unimaginable act”.

 

[A Historical Note About Conchita Cintrón:

     She intended the final corrida of the 1949 season, in Jaén, Spain, to be the last of her career. She appeared in the ring together with the matadors Manolo Vázquez and Antonio Ordóñez. After performing on horseback with the bull, Cintrón rode to the box of the presidente and asked for permission to dismount for the kill. Permission was denied. This was her signal to leave the arena, and leave the killing of the bull to the novillero assigned to her for that task. Instead, she dismounted, grabbed his sword and muleta, caped the bull and prepared it for the kill. She actually went in for the kill and then dramatically let the sword drop to the sand. The bull charged. Cintrón stepped from his path and simulated the kill by touching his shoulders with her fingers as he rushed by. Pandemonium erupted in the stands and the audience threw hats and red carnations at her feet. ]

 

 

Angelica climbed out of bed, shook her head, and stood steady

Twisting her torso, tipped on her tippy toes,

And smiled at the bright sunlight through wide-open windows.

 She stepped out of her room in her most colorful clothes;

(Dressed with the sword of precision “La Diosa de Oro” left behind.

Rushing to school, that morning, she knew

Her famous day had just begun.

[Rev 14]

 

 

Show Me How (A Message From Joan of Arc)

 

In my need, why are you talking to me ancestral spirit?

Bringing me to my knees in guilt.

And now? —to graceful humility.

Yes, our resurrection is foreseen

In the light—of all our children’s

Friendships, courtship, and  dreams!

Yes, of course, why? — late we sleep

Sleeping through the night

And not awakened with history’s presence.

—Bringing us constantly to our knees

In guilt, in weakened humility? And now

In our need

Gracefully show us what to do

And show me  how.

***

Note: Thinking about the Churches, and all common belief  or non-belief  religions.                                               I grew up… with Jesuits giving me my early education, the Southern Baptists gave me my enthusiasm, the Roman Catholics gave me discipline, the friends Service Committee gave me peace, and Zen gave me enlightenment… I’m sure that is the same process for all families of their personal Faith and the path they take . I believe, we need to move into some ACTION … it should not be our surprise to submit our “Just” presence into injustice. Whether as a group, or as an individual. All the “me” (meeeez) become us.

 

Bonsoir Mémé et le Pépé, Bonsoir

 (curtain rises…both are getting into bed)

Mémé: I’m not asking you to cheat

            Only to tweak. (turning over, back to Pépé)

 Pépé: I refuse to participate, in the choices they make,

can’t you see, Just let it be!

(he does the same and turns over. now both are lying back to back)

Mémé: Get off your arse then, and turn off the light!

            There ain’t nothing right… left to be seen this night.

Pépé: I thought it was your turn

To turn out the lights, tonight.

Mémé: You want to fight?

(as a matter of fact)

            I still got a good right.

(giggling)

Pépé: What is it that you want me to do?

            Again. Before I lay down.

(slowly getting up)

Mémé: Go and tell the grandchildren

            To stop this, this… “Messing around!

…La vie ne est plus le pont de d’Avignon.”

Pépé:  

  (re-enters and gets into bed facing mémé)

            Bonsoir Mémé.

Mémé: Bonsoir Pépé.

(Both start humming  ‘Sous le pont de d’Avignon’)

(Curtain closes)

 

On the lighter side, in my “research”, I stumbled on this and if you have the time… [growing up with this song, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw this.]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1W1-hZQNdC4

 

I need to take this call: on Bullying at all levels

“I want to be judged by the innocent.” ~Note Found On The Refrigerator~

 

It is a source of humor,

a real knee slapper

targeted “faults”

spittle in the laughter.

specifications, whispered about.

Measured things of imperfection,

calibrated with latex glove

against the length of a snot.

Wine slurred dis-approval.

Tsk, tsk, between sips of West Coast grapes

and New York City Lattes.

 

I have to leave now.

Bushwhackers in the bush

throwing full beer can slurs.

 

when I think about it

Why would  I go without this upheaval;

shame, detaining progress of escape.

 

I need to leave now.

I cannot sit without a syllabus.

I need to prepare my right to prevail;

present my argument

for this incredible obstacle you present,

in knowing me.

Mimicked

like a mirror on the fun house wall.

 

I am leaving  now.

Excuse me,

but I need to take this call.