The Only Words I Can Hear Are Sung

Maybe it’s living in a social media world, a world of reality TV shows, or maybe I’m just getting old (life experience) – lol! But I can’t take any more shouting from the world. And I’m about to go off on a rant about…

All the special interest groups speaking as if the rest of the world is “entitled.” In fact, I was just reading Write, Submit, Forget, Repeat and, sure enough, he started talking about “White Entitlement,” a phrase I, honestly, do not care to hear ever again. And not just because I’m white. It’s because it doesn’t solve the injustice.

I get it. In fact, I not only get it, I’ve lived it. I read Black Like Me when I was in high school and it changed me forever. I was a kid in Orange County, California when the Watts riots took place in nearby L.A. I moved to San Francisco in the late 70s, the hotbed of the gay community, unusual in its time. I don’t need to be “enlightened.” I don’t have “phobias.”

As a white woman, I dated Hispanics and saw how the cops treated them differently. I’ve been in a car with a white man and have been hassled and threatened by cops. I’ve been a woman alone and a woman in a group of women and have been mistreated by cops. Heck, I’ve been a woman on a bus, a woman in a doctor’s office, and a young girl in my home when I didn’t feel safe from a man in authority.

But saying other people are “entitled” is the wrong approach. In fact, that’s looking at the wrong end of the problem. Bullying people who seem entitled about being “entitled” isn’t going to change anything. That implies they have something they shouldn’t. Taking that away from them isn’t going to fix it when feeling less entitled.

Call a problem by its real name. Not pander, prop up, or politicize it.

And, for goodness’ sake, leave it out of a book on how to be a better artist, musician, writer, etc. Art is blind. Make the music, paint the painting, tell the story. Message received.

My ears only listen to the music.

 

A Lifetime (#lyric #poem)

A lifetime is a long time to never have known you
A decision was made without your consent
Birthdays and Christmas and favorite Sunday dinners
Counting the measures of unceasing torment

Photos displayed on a beachy white dresser
The cross prays for family unknown to the pastors
Strumming the coasts in search of heart’s answers
Mothers in hiding and cruel puppet masters

The child pays the price for adults who are wounded
The cycle must end in choices not taken
Letting go of love for what can never happen
Walking day to day with a soul deeply shaken

Triumph is yours when light faces dark
Staring the truth down a long lonely barrel
Companions who appear like angels of laughter
Are gifts you ignore to your everlasting peril

A lifetime is a long time to never have known you
Decisions made with or without our consent
Offer moments in hours of restless slumber
Awake counting treasures of unceasing relent

Questions (#Lyric #Poem)

If I asked mere questions, it wasn’t to gossip
But to fill in the air that poetry leaves
Like whispering trees or a dripping faucet
Rushing Hardy Falls where I once grieved

How can you know the buttons and the brass
Internally observed when cutting teeth
Sitting in Mr. Clukas’ poetry class
Deprived of your presence like the air that I breathe

If I seemed to you rude when I inquired within
It wasn’t to make a judgment of some mortal sin
I came to you with nothing but a clean, blank slate
Looking for you to fill it like your favorite plate

Fight for Me (#poem #conversationswithmyself #wip)

This is version 1, a work in progress

Give me honor, not pity
Give me justice, not excuses
Fight for me, don’t feel sorry for me
Stand up for me, don’t watch me fall
Assuming I won’t get up, that I can’t fight for myself
That I won’t claim the victory
And know this
That everything I’ve done has been out of strength, not weakness
Don’t assume
That I can’t stand tall
Or respect myself, most of all