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The news would have you

Believe that shark attacks

Are devastating

The human race –

 

Shredding our limbs,

Bloodying the ocean waters

With their appetites

And pointy teeth, but

 

Statistical data

Proves otherwise.

The number two

Animal killer of

Humans is humans.

 

The savagery of a large dog,

The venomous bite of a snake,

Are threats, I suppose, but

 

Nothing compared

To the angry young

Man with a semi

 

Automatic rifle

And a great white

Ego to sooth.

 

This is Poem #49 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

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bigfoot_20lodge_20sign.0

So, Big Foot walks

Up to you in a bar –

Says, “First, I’m real.”

 

You sip your beer,

Trying to be nonchalant,

Keeping your amazement

Under wraps. “Second,”

 

He says, “Climate

Change is real. Just

Ask my cousin, the Yeti.”

 

You imagine the melting

Ice cave – the slop

on the kitchen floor –

 

The rising sea

Levels drowning

Miami, Hawaii,

 

Odiorne State Park.

Big Foot, it seems,

Was here the whole

time and laughing.

 

But, no more. “What

Do you choose to believe

In and who

informs your choice?”

 

This is Poem #48 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map above, and write from there.

 

 

Real-Dino

The dinosaur bones

Are fake, they say. Nothing

Lived before the timer

Started at 6,000 years

 

Ago. If a Pterodactyl 

Shows up in 1860

Wearing a navy or grey cap,

 

What madness sparks?

The world is divided –

The Civil War – oxymoron

To end all oxymorons –

Has never ended, really.

 

Nothing was solved

by the the deaths of thousands

On fields where

Reenactments are played.

How close are we to a

Half-revolt again?

 

North rebels against

South. Makes a flag

Of tolerance and acceptance,

To convey disdain

At the Confederacy.

 

What colors convey peaceful

War to bring unity? What

Ancient beast needs

to fly above – giant

Wings flapping

And blocking

Out the sun?

 

This is Poem #46 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

 

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map below, and write from there.

Crypto Map 1

The back page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

monarch__1_

It is like heroin,

This need to know how

The Universe really functions,

 

And why our world

Is dying. (Who will care

about these words

 

when we’re all dead?)

Little girls chase

Monarch Butterflies

Around the yard with nets

 

Once released from classroom

Tanks and penguin

Videos rule the world.

 

(She hates science,

now we know. Can’t

have anyone thinking

critically when it disproves

her false truth.)

 

The man behind

The podium tries

To lie with an honest

Face, while fat

Checks from Koch

Brothers rot

In the bank and murder

Seven billion people,

And the Monarchs,

And the penguins.

 

This is Poem #45 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

What fuels our need

To know, to seek

Out the answers

Through myth,

 

Or through science?

Humans have always wanted

To know from where

They’ve come. Theories

 

Abound. 6,000 years

Placed by a God or

Bangs that were

Big. Millions of years

Of fossils not

Enough evidence to convince

(or convict) some

That an ancient text

Might be inaccurate.

 

We live in a time

When (morons) choose

Not to believe in

Science. Life,

Method, reason,

 

Data, even, are all biased

And to be disputed.

 

Whose power of denial

Is so strong that

They’ll watch the

Earth die

Outside their backdoors

While marking the wrong

Vote with black pen.

 

This is Poem #43 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

 

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map below, and write from there.

 

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

relentlessly-gay

I am sure many of you have seen the resurgence of a two-year old letter making its way around social media in which a queer individual is accused of decorating her yard in a “relentlessly gay” fashion. Regardless of the legitimacy of this viral post, it can serve as a reminder of the ignorance and prejudice that is crawling out of hiding in the current political climate. Yesterday’s Republican confirmation of an unqualified, sexist, racist, and homophobic person  to our Supreme Court is a stark reminder of this. I am sure I am not the only person who felt physically ill when the notification popped up on their phone’s screen yesterday.

This is not, however, the time to sit back and give up. What we are experiencing is the backlash by the threatened, privileged group who have been in power for too long. It is evidence of the fear they have about the progress the rest of us have made. How else can we explain away the fact that they have sunk so low?

They are reacting to the eight glorious years of progress we have made by attempting to push women back into the kitchen, queer people back into the closet, and people of color to the back of the bus. We all must RESIST this effort and we must RESIST it TOGETHER as one group of relentlessly gay, femi-nazi, black panthers. There are more of us than there are of them, especially when we factor in all of our white, straight male allies.

Every morning as you drink your coffee, apply your eyeliner, lace up your Doc Martens, crank up Public Enemy or Ani as you prepare to continue to fight.  We cannot let the hope we had for two presidential terms die. We have to dust it off, hold it up, and #resist.

When you’re in between

And change is mud season,

Mucky, murky, and you

Are stuck at the side of the road,

 

Avoiding the ruts

Got you nowhere.

There is fear in the middle.

 

No one loves uncertainty,

And the risk to move forward

Seems grim. It requires

 

A shedding of the past –

The tire iron at the ready.

 

We have nothing to believe

In anymore. Science her very self

Is under the microscope,

 

And condemned a witch.

Burn her at the stake.

Her feet sway under a long, grey,

Flax dress. Tiny black

slippers pointed like a ballerina’s.

 

We should have listened

To her long ago. But denial

Is so easy to believe

When the world is dying.

 

This is Poem #34 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Crypto Map

This poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine.

Word on the street is that eventually

teachers will need to be versed in more

than lockdown drills and covering

classroom windows. Some schools are

already offering up PD in

active shooter response training –

What little old me would be expected

to do in the face of

a Dylan Klebold or Adam Lanza.

 

I’ve weathered events with my

Students. I was in the classroom

Tuesday, April 20, 1999, when Columbine

Became an event and not a city. How could

We not suspect every student in a trench coat

After that? I sat all day with my seniors

As the images of 9/11 blasted

Us through the box

Television sets suspended in each classroom.

 

And the news of Newtown

Came through on a student’s

iPhone Period 8. We turned to a

Screen again.  (At HDHS, clean, modern,

new, one floor of classrooms. Me near 

the main entrance, an easy target – my

first classroom – awash with posters, pens,

pencils, and peril.)

 

President Clinton’s Response to the Columbine Shooting

 

This is Poem #28 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

In English class

I teach two African

Girls who’ve experienced

 

Such trauma in their

Home country, they have

No memories of their childhoods.

 

It’s interesting that

Michonne wields a machette

as her weapon of choice

and skill

and grace.

 

How she dances

With her implement

of destruction

 

The beautiful beheadings

of zombies.

 

She spins. Her powerful

Arms, her smooth

And perfect skin,

 

A foil to the failing,

Falling, pallid

zombie flesh.

Maybe in this modern

world, we’re not meant

to be happy. Stop

drugging ourselves numb

 

to the world this is dying.

Sealions exit their sea –

for lack of food and

heated waters, enter

 

CA diners and beg

for cheeseburgers.

Not long until the food

chain infractions reach us;

but Soma makes us

 

wait and just see

what will be without

any effort to stop it.

 

These aquatic mammals

sent to assure

us, the world is dying,

but we’re too polluted

to care.

 

This is Poem #17 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.
This poem was a response to a news item that I’d recently encountered.  The drawing below accompanied the first draft.
zVbq2xSKQxy8x+GAo1nh7A
I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

 

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