I once believed
there was a truth
I stood for
My soles are worn
from months of walking
this promise
My voice hoarse
from speaking
my convictions
my family fragmented
from the burden
of my vision
I once thought
it was all worth it
until tonight
this vote
this moment
Rationalization caresses
my conscience
words from colleagues
swirl in my head
enough
to push
me
there, here
to this turning point
I drive for hours
home
on these familiar roads
feeling half a man in this darkness
alone
I made choices to get elected
I made others to stay elected
When will I make choices
for the people
who brought me here?
Monday, February 26, 2007
The 17-Year Itch
I wrote this in 2004. For some reason, it's my husband's favorite...
The 17-year cicada emerges from the earth
ascending to the trees, to the sky
All for the purpose of finding one mate
a moment of passion before they die
I awake to the sounds of their frantic call
The voice of the males' desire
Which female will choose to engage
and set his soul on fire?
Their dizzying bodies crash against me
Their dead bodies scattered on my path
Some fly aimless as if drunk on love
Some still desperate for love's bath
Many complain about these pesty creatures
Yet I'm enchanted by their quest
Their continuous buzz excites me
And I long to reach their crest.
The 17-year cicada emerges from the earth
ascending to the trees, to the sky
All for the purpose of finding one mate
a moment of passion before they die
I awake to the sounds of their frantic call
The voice of the males' desire
Which female will choose to engage
and set his soul on fire?
Their dizzying bodies crash against me
Their dead bodies scattered on my path
Some fly aimless as if drunk on love
Some still desperate for love's bath
Many complain about these pesty creatures
Yet I'm enchanted by their quest
Their continuous buzz excites me
And I long to reach their crest.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
a dreadful night
I glance at the clock
each time she cries for me
it comes in 15-minute increments
the clammy pale face
wih sunken eyes
looks at me with desperation
"goodbye, Mommy" she says
sure that death is upon her
red flushes accross her face
as her body wretches out this sickness
i rub her back or hold
her warm hand in mine
until exhaustion overcomes her
and we both begin to drift
only to be awaken
15 minutes later.
each time she cries for me
it comes in 15-minute increments
the clammy pale face
wih sunken eyes
looks at me with desperation
"goodbye, Mommy" she says
sure that death is upon her
red flushes accross her face
as her body wretches out this sickness
i rub her back or hold
her warm hand in mine
until exhaustion overcomes her
and we both begin to drift
only to be awaken
15 minutes later.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Molly Ivins Shook the Walls With Her Clarion Call
Molly Ivins Shook the Walls With Her Clarion Call
By Maya Angelou
Special to The Washington Post
Friday, February 2, 2007; Page C01
Up to the walls of Jericho
She marched with a spear in her hand
Go blow them ram horns she cried
For the battle is in my hand
The walls have not come down, but they have been given a serious shaking.
That Jericho voice is stilled now.
Molly Ivins has been quieted.
The writer and journalist, dearly loved and admired by many, hated and feared by many, died of cancer in her Texas home on Jan. 31, 2007.
The walls of ignorance and prejudice and cruelty, which she railed against valiantly all her public life, have not fallen, but their truculence to do so does not speak against her determination to make them collapse.
Weeks before she died, she launched what she called "an old-fashioned newspaper crusade" against President Bush's announcement that he was going to send more troops to Iraq.
She wrote, "We are the people who run this country. We are the deciders. Every single day every single one of us needs to step outside and take some action to help stop this war. We need people in the streets banging pots and pans and demanding, 'Stop it now!' "
Years ago there was a fundraising gala for People for the American Way in New York, and Molly Ivins was keynote speaker. I was a loyal collector and serious Ivins reader, but I had not met the author. Another famous journalist, who was to have introduced her, had his flight canceled in a Southern city. Norman Lear, founder of the organization, asked me to introduce her. I did not hesitate. I spoke glowingly about Ms. Ivins for a few minutes, then, suddenly, a six-foot-tall, red-haired woman sprang from the wings. She strode onto the stage and over to the microphone. She gave me an enveloping hug and said, in that languorous Texas accent, "Maya Angelou and I are identical twins, we were separated at birth."
I am also six feet tall, but I am not white. She was under 50 when she made the statement, and I was in my middle 60s, but our hearts do beat in the same rhythm. Whoever separated us at birth must know it did not work. We have been in the struggle for equal rights for all people since we met on that Waldorf Astoria stage. We have laughed together without apology and we have wept when weeping was necessary.
I shall be weeping a little more these days but I shall never forget the charge. Joshua commanded the people to shout and the walls came tumbling down.
Molly,
I am shouting,
With two voices,
Walls come down!
Walls come down!
Walls come down!
Poet Maya Angelou is the author of "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings."
By Maya Angelou
Special to The Washington Post
Friday, February 2, 2007; Page C01
Up to the walls of Jericho
She marched with a spear in her hand
Go blow them ram horns she cried
For the battle is in my hand
The walls have not come down, but they have been given a serious shaking.
That Jericho voice is stilled now.
Molly Ivins has been quieted.
The writer and journalist, dearly loved and admired by many, hated and feared by many, died of cancer in her Texas home on Jan. 31, 2007.
The walls of ignorance and prejudice and cruelty, which she railed against valiantly all her public life, have not fallen, but their truculence to do so does not speak against her determination to make them collapse.
Weeks before she died, she launched what she called "an old-fashioned newspaper crusade" against President Bush's announcement that he was going to send more troops to Iraq.
She wrote, "We are the people who run this country. We are the deciders. Every single day every single one of us needs to step outside and take some action to help stop this war. We need people in the streets banging pots and pans and demanding, 'Stop it now!' "
Years ago there was a fundraising gala for People for the American Way in New York, and Molly Ivins was keynote speaker. I was a loyal collector and serious Ivins reader, but I had not met the author. Another famous journalist, who was to have introduced her, had his flight canceled in a Southern city. Norman Lear, founder of the organization, asked me to introduce her. I did not hesitate. I spoke glowingly about Ms. Ivins for a few minutes, then, suddenly, a six-foot-tall, red-haired woman sprang from the wings. She strode onto the stage and over to the microphone. She gave me an enveloping hug and said, in that languorous Texas accent, "Maya Angelou and I are identical twins, we were separated at birth."
I am also six feet tall, but I am not white. She was under 50 when she made the statement, and I was in my middle 60s, but our hearts do beat in the same rhythm. Whoever separated us at birth must know it did not work. We have been in the struggle for equal rights for all people since we met on that Waldorf Astoria stage. We have laughed together without apology and we have wept when weeping was necessary.
I shall be weeping a little more these days but I shall never forget the charge. Joshua commanded the people to shout and the walls came tumbling down.
Molly,
I am shouting,
With two voices,
Walls come down!
Walls come down!
Walls come down!
Poet Maya Angelou is the author of "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings."
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