Bits and Pieces: Poetry Month Continues

Okay, so Poetry Month is almost over and I really haven't been as faithful to my muse as I had hoped. Nevertheless, with a little determination and inspiration from one of my fellow bloggers, the very talented Shell of Swan of Dreamers (please check her out), I'm back with what I call Bits and Pieces, creative thoughts converted into stanzas of poetry, some short, some longer, some finished, some not.

The first one is an untitled "Bit" that came to me one morning as I was preparing to go to work. The other is a little more developed, and came to me while I was waiting at the bus stop to go to church. I'm not really sure if it's finished yet. I may revisit it later. It's called "This Gift Before Me."

I hope you enjoy and Happy Friday!

Untitled Bit

If not for the Lord,
I'd perish in a thousand storms,
tossed on the winds of despair...

This Gift Before Me

Place this gift before me
and I will unwrap it,
slowly, meticulously,
as not to disrupt its perfection.

Place this gift before me
and I will touch it,
deliberately and delicately,
to preserve its value.

Place this gift before me
and I will handle it,
with care and compassion,
for it is precious in its existence.

This gift that is before me
was flown on the wings of suffering and endurance,
has stood the test of time and trial.
It is worthy of respect, love, and admiration.

Place this gift before me
and I will treasure it,
for it is unmerited, unmatchable,
undeserved...wondrous in its place
inside my heart.

I cannot earn this gift that is before me,
yet it follows me, lives within me, transforms me,
and brings great wonder to this place
inside my heart.

Rediscovery

April is Poetry Month. I've been writing since I was 8 years old and poetry was a huge part of my creative self-discovery. Now, after a hiatus that lasted way too long (years, in fact)I'm trying to rediscover the poet that I once was. It's coming back, my writing that is, slowly but surely. I've promised myself that I was going to write at least 3 new works this month. In the meantime, I'm going to revisit some of my past work just to get off to a literary start.

Hope you enjoy.

HARLEM RENAISSANCE TIME

Had I been a part
of that Harlem Renaissance…
the creations of colorful
people of
COLOR
in this joint, that joint
and the other,
perhaps…
I would’ve run into Langston Hughes,
who I guarantee you
would’ve surely been my Lover.

We’d listen to
Songbirds chime, drink literary wine,
in this Harlem Renaissance time,
when Langston Hughes
would’ve surely been my Lover.


WHEN I PAINT MY DREAMS CARRIBEAN

When I paint my dreams Caribbean…
My palette holds such brilliant hues that dance
inside my head;
a spectrum of colors—radiant,
intoxicating—spread across my Caribbean Canvas.
The daylight brings a sky of pastel blue
so clear, where clouds of white are
speckled through…

Across my Caribbean Canvas,
the daylight brings the sun,
a golden medallion;
high above waters crystalline
reflections like golden jewels
sparkle atop my Caribbean ocean…

When I paint my dreams Caribbean…
my palette shows a land adorned
of hilltops plush; with colors
indigo and brilliant green
and mandarin orange
under copper skies at dusk…

Across my Caribbean Canvas,
are painted rooftops of burnt umbers
and rustic reds; yellow ochres
decorating shelters underneath,
sprinkled throughout villages
where laughter and warmth
and West Indian hospitality,
the sights and sounds of
rainbow people so rich in life, love,
and community,
they dazzle and amaze the senses,
are pleasing for eye to see…

When I paint my dreams Caribbean…
the night brings visions
of dancing ‘neath blue/black velvet sky
with stars that shine
a diamond’s brilliancy,
enticing and mesmerizing me—
my body aglow with silvery
illumination ‘neath the Caribbean Moon,
a heavenly pearl above my head…

Across my Caribbean Canvas
West Indian rhythms sing
to my soul within—seduce me
in my dreams Caribbean…

A Historical Love Affair

While Black History Month is almost over, the making of our history as a people continues every second of every minute of every day. I wasn't really sure what I was going to write about for this month, which is a dilemma I face every year. So I reached back into my own literary history and found a poem that was first published in 1991, in the anthology "Adam of Ife: Black Women in Praise of Black Men"(Lotus Press). I hope it stirs up the urgency for a restoration of unity and respect between black men, women, boys and girls everywhere. Enjoy.


To the Black Man
(From one who loves him, a Black Woman)

I.
I am not your enemy

Don't you remember…?

I was sold w/YOU
into slavery into bondage
I suffered w/YOU
the loss of family of identity
I forged w/YOU
a new identity of pride and dignity
I bled w/YOU
from the lash the whip
I toiled w/YOU
in the fields in the houses…
w/YOUR baby
strapped to MY back
I sang w/YOU
songs of freedom from bondage
I led armies of/YOU
to freedom on my railroad…underground…

II.
I went to battle for/YOU
to put an end to YOUR lynching
for the abolishment
of "Jim Crow"
I cried w/YOU
when OUR children
were stolen from MY body
for/YOU
when YOU were stolen
from MY arms
to/YOU
when I was stolen from YOUR body
YOUR arms
YOUR love…and raped…

Don't you remember…?



III.
I have always fought w/YOU
stood by/YOU
march w/YOU
My body was blown apart
by bombs
I went to jail
was shot at
beaten…
My eyes were gassed
I rioted…all w/YOU

IV.
I screamed
lamented in pain
when YOU tore away
from MY body
into a world I would spend MY life
defending you to…
I worked my whole life
to raise YOU
prayed for/YOU
sang to/YOU
healed YOUR wounds
gave YOU my body in support
of OUR cause
raised my fist w/YOU

Don't you remember…?

I am not your enemy

V.
When YOU choose to leave ME
to raise OUR children alone
it is YOUR future
YOU are hurting

I am not the source
of YOUR hurt YOUR anguish
YOUR pain and humiliation
I too am a victim

Don't you remember…?

I am not your enemy

I am not afraid of YOU
I have earned YOUR respect
YOU will earn mine
YOU will not frighten ME away

I will love YOU
care for/YOU
fight by YOUR side w/YOU
heal YOUR wounds
share YOUR pain
I will rise above the chaos
the systematic destruction of US
I will survive w/YOU
cry w/YOU
stand against a common enemy w/YOU
I will rise above w/YOU
if YOU will only let ME
I will rise above the chaos rise w/YOU
w/ME WE will rise

I am not your enemy

Don't you remember…?

© 1991-2009 Cheryl Pastor

This is Still America

Barack and Michelle Obama

As I write this, Teachers are escorting students in the High School where I work to the Auditorium to watch the Inauguration of our 44th President, Barack Obama. I can't help thinking how grand a historical moment this is for them, for me, for this country, and for the world at large. For we do not exist in a box, but everything we do or experience as a nation reaches the far ends of the globe in this increasingly small world in which we live.

This is indeed a great day for all Americans—even those who don't know it. In the midst of all the excitement, tears, waves of love, and admiration, I am reminded, that this is still America.

On the bus ride to work this morning, I was painfully aware of how polarized this country remains. I've been riding public transportation for a while, and remember vividly the spirited discussions of our last elections, between blacks, between whites, and between blacks and whites. Yet, today, the day that no one expected to see in this lifetime (me included, lets be real), not one discussion, not one comment, not one word was spoken or debated. As I looked at the faces of my fellow passengers, I noticed that no one was making eye contact. It was business as usual, just another day of heading to the 9 to 5 grind. However, the twist was that this most definitely was not just another day.

It was as though people were afraid to speak on the subject of the first African-American President, maybe for fear of saying the wrong thing. There was no conversing on politics of any kind. I mean, NO ONE SAID A WORD about this history-making event.

Personally, I was stunned. Moreover, I was almost ashamed for not sparking the fires of dialogue myself. Almost. Then I thought, what would I have said? Happy Inauguration Day? The sheer sound of that phrase seems so trite. I've never thought to say that before. Why now?

Well, maybe because it really is a Happy Inauguration Day. The test of how scarce this statement was before today occurred when a teacher brought a pound cake to work as part of her own little celebration. As she went to make the "Happy Inauguration Day" sign welcoming all who would indulge in a slice of cake, the teacher suddenly stopped and asked me how to spell Inauguration. Wow.

That aside, not only can you see the excitement on every television screen in American and the world, but you can feel the excitement as well. There is an air of hopeful anticipation of what's to come. While we are by no means fooling ourselves into believing that the new President is going to change the world in an instant, we must dare to believe that better days are ahead. How long has it been since we've seen this much unity among the races and classes? Too long.

Although I must admit, my experience with this prestigious moment in real time is somewhat bittersweet. Last night as I listened to the news, I heard the report regarding the security measures implemented for the new first family. My heart sunk when the anchorman mentioned the threats levied by White Supremacists Groups.

Then I remembered, this is still America.

The next statement really threw me for a loop. Am I wrong, to say that I've never heard of a president having to be fitted for a bullet proof vest to wear on the day of his inauguration? Is this precautionary extreme necessary even now, in this day and time? Apparently so.

This is still America.

I love my country. I really do. I am not so naïve to dismiss the great opportunities and freedoms that are unique only to these shores. But there are some things about my homeland that are gruesome reminders of the atrocities certain groups have had to face since arriving on American soil. Many of us did not come by way of Ellis Island. And while we should never dwell on the past, we certainly must never forget it, lest we repeat it.

I do not know how others view this day in the deep recesses of their hearts and minds. What I do know, is that we're experiencing a day that we've never seen before but most certainly hope to see again. Now, finally, we all can truthfully, with confidence tell our children that they can do and be anything they put their minds to. Even become the President of these here United States.

Because, this is still America.

Hello, it's me...again

Okay, so here I am again, trying to decide what to do with this blog. For those of you who happened to stumble upon its existence, you know it started out as an outlet for my writing and the writings of others that I like. But then, I thought I wanted to turn it into another style blog (to accompany FA'SHOE'NISTA), but that really didn't pan out.

So, now I'm back to the writing. How indecisive can you be, right?

Writing is something that I love to do but never seem to have enough time to do it as much as I would like. Working a full-time 9 to 5 grind puts a damper on my time and space and drains me of the energy needed to keep the creative juices flowing. That said, I realize that I need to stop making excuses and get to it.

I've decided to let this blog be a showcase of my writing--poetry, prose, articles, book reviews and the like, as well as a gallery of my artwork--children's illustrations for my books, etc.

So, thanks for coming along for the ride and if you have anyone you would like for me to review or write an article about, just let me know and I'll do the research.

Oh, keep writing and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

COUNTDOWN TO CHANGE

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Praise the name of Jesus—I have survived another week on the job. I work in an urban public high school and I am witnessing first hand the deterioration of our school system. Mind you, I am not some bitter, disgruntled employee trying to "get back" at the powers-that-be. It would be an insult to my own intelligence (and to theirs) for me to pretend that I had all or any of the answers. I am an employee, a secretary, a concerned African-American, and a woman of God who sees what ungodly behavior can lead to. What follows are one person's observations.

Just two weeks ago, we buried a young man shot because of a fight that took place a few hours before within the walls of our school. The shooter was a quiet student whose grades weren't half-bad. Even more unfortunate, the victim was not even the intended party; it was his friend. This happened on a Monday. Later that Monday, another teen suffered the same fate. He was a former student at my school who had just transferred a month before to another high school not far away. He held on from his injuries until Thursday when he finally passed way. That same Thursday, yet another shooting at a different school took place. This time the victim was a young girl. I found out about both the death and the subsequent shooting on that Friday morning.

We now have new leadership at the helm. We are undergoing what is being called a re-configuration of the district or as the memo put it, an Extreme Makeover. I don't really know what this means other than most of the administrators throughout the district have been 'let go' and now have a certain amount of time (a few months from the inception of the process) to re-apply for their jobs elsewhere within the district. No one is sure yet how this will affect the support staff (me, the custodians, food services, etc.). Even more disturbing, is that no one is talking about how to make our schools safer for students and staff. While I understand that life goes on, it should NOT be business as usual. Children are dying, and it appears that we are unable to do anything about it. I have worked in the system for 11+ years, and for the first time, I am confident in my decision not to return after summer break.

There have been many conferences, news reports, sound bytes, and the like, and I still don't know what's really going on. We had a number of meetings in our school about a week ago. Suffice it to say, I attended not one. You may ask, "then how do you expect to know what's going on if you don't attend?" Well, what I gathered from those who DID attend, is that their presence was of no consequence. They still didn't know any more than before they attended the meetings. Apparently, no questions were answered to anyone's satisfaction. We are still getting the run around and the passing of the buck continues. A

dministration charged the teachers (who may no longer have jobs, you see) to put together a workable program for the district's Extreme Makeover. The first meeting (before the other three) that I did attend felt more like a motivational speech than a forum for information, and quickly became a questions and answers knock down, drag out, free for all.

What most of us know, and what administration needs to realize is that there's a huge difference between visiting a school building to make a quickie assessment, and working in said building, living the day to day turmoil. It's not all bad—the people I work with help get me through the difficult times, particularly my office manager who is also my friend. There are good students as well as bad, and only a minimum number of the parents exhibit psychotic behavior. We laugh a lot in the office, most times, in spite of what happens around us. We manage to rise above the horizon every workday, much like the sun, bringing light to a dark situation. We deal with disrespectful students, irate parents, and less than understanding administrators on a daily basis and still come back for more on the morrow.

There are days of calm, but not many. Yet, we survive and we continue to stand in the midst of the chaos. No one really knows about what the support staff puts up with minute by minute; these team members usually go unnoticed by the news media. Rarely acknowledged, are the secretaries, and other support staff, curriculum leaders and everyone between the top of the totem pole and the floor underneath—except when it's pink slip time.

Please don't get me wrong, this is not some petty cry for attention, my job is done whether anyone notices or not. I work. However, it gets more and more difficult with each passing school day of mayhem, violence, and other disturbances. It's not every day, but its quickly becoming too many to number. I've changed because of it and I don't like what I've become, namely frustrated and cynical. While I don't normally allow the actions of others to heavily influence my day or my life, it's my responsibility to do what's necessary to keep my sanity and to maintain my peace.


The violence…

No matter where you work or what school you're assigned to, one cannot escape the violence—whether its inferred by student rumor mill or an actual occurrence at your school or someone else's, during or after hours.

This past week, my school had a senior event that seemed to go off without a hitch—until the end. Then, suddenly, it was time to fight. Many claim that the trouble started when the outsiders started arriving. Whatever the case, a riot broke out and security rushed everyone out of the auditorium and the building. When asked, the teachers who stayed after school said that the event itself was actually good, but the good wasn't meant to last. Of course, the following day was no better with angry parents calling and coming in, denying that their precious babies had anything to do with the disturbance (even at the word of eye- witnesses). Because antagonistic behavior tends to be contagious, I had to work hard to maintain my professional manner—I mean really hard.

It is painfully obvious that I no longer mesh with the system I've been associated with for the last 11 years. I will continue to pray for our children, our teachers, and our schools. I will attempt to develop programs and act as a consultant when needed. I have not abandoned the cause of better schools; I have merely found a new way to fight.

Still, again, it's not all bad. I leave with my integrity intact. I've learned some serious survival skills. Most importantly, I've been pushed into making a decision that will change the course of my life; to launch out into the deep, and to allow God to be God in my life. If I stay in His Will, He said in His Word that He would bless the work of my hands. Now its time for my hands to put forth the God given creativity instilled in them. I must reconstruct my days. Writing is my love. Now it must become my work as well. As I pray and say goodbye to the grind, it's my duty to find a happy medium. I won't be going back to a job, instead, I'll be going forward into a new way of life. A new opportunity has risen out of the ashes; the motivation to love the work that I do—and to do the work that I love.

OVER IN AN INSTANT

by Cheryl Pastor

I can't believe it. Polaroid has announced that it will no longer produce Polaroid cameras and film. For 60 years, Polaroid has been the staple of the fashion, art, and entertainment industries, from stylists, to painters, designers, casting directors, makeup artists, hair stylists and every other 'ist' in the culture of the visual. Polaroid's discontinuing of its manufacturing of all Polaroid film and cameras is a result of its endeavor to focus on the digital marketplace.

As a young, budding photog, I took many stop action memories of my old hood. Childhood friends, family, and strangers alike never hesitated to pose for my Polaroid lens. Hundreds of pictures carefully placed on sticky photo album pages with see through overlay have sealed my younger years and frozen in time long since gone acquaintances.

It's hard to fathom an end to the process of pulling, peeling, shaking, and blowing, in order to see that image appear instantly before your eyes, a memory created in the uniqueness of the moment.

According to ELLE.com's Style Report (03/27/08), there remains enough stock for continual sales through 2009 but don't expect a price freeze. An increase in costs is inevitable as Polaroid enthusiasts clamor to scoop up the remaining film. Wal-Mart is still considered, in most cities, to be the cheapest and most available source of the film. ELLE.com boasts a list of online sources for Polaroid products as well.


My memories