Saturday, July 23, 2011

Google+....Let the Games Begin!

I was a little amused today at the response of many Google+ users when it was announced that Google would be adding a game component to the platform.  “Oh, no!!!!”  “There goes the neighborhood” and “That’s why I frackin’ left Facebook” all seemed to be the common refrain.  And I must admit, I was right there with most of the responders.  I mean, I’ve never even played Angry Birds or Mafia Wars, but if I got one more notification that Downtown Johnny needed my help to shake down a D.A., I was gonna scream.  Milk your cow???  Are you kidding me???

And I think that the powers-that-be at Google are fully aware that a large component of the current users of Google+ are here for just that same reason -- to escape from some of the noise and clutter and chaos of the other place.  While it started out friendly and fun, of late it had just become too much of a middle eastern bazzaar or downtown Atlanta sidestreet during the 96 Olympics.  I fully think that Vic, Bradley, and the rest of the Google-trust are going to be very careful and judicious with how they maintain games as an unobtrusive part of the Google+ platform.  Still, the outcry from the Plutopians -- the palpable gnashing of teeth --  was startling.

Which led me to consider:  Jeesh, people, relax...just how do you think the lights are going to stay on for this party, huh??  I mean, the very same day that games was announced, the Google Docs team announced that they just raised the max file size from 1GB to 10GB in Google Docs.  I wonder how many servers Sergey and Larry needed to buy to make sure that the Cloud was going to be able to handle that little entitlement for their million or so Docs users.  And Docs is FREE!  So, for that matter, is Google+.  

I mean, could you imagine if Starbucks rolled out all those comfy stores with their catchy indie music and never had the expectation that people would, oh, have to buy coffee and stuff in order to justify the existence of those sofas and Norwegian wood ottomans?  Oh, sure, come on in....hang out for as long as you like!  Commerce -- the transaction of goods and services -- is ultimately what pays the bills, whether we like it or not. So if there is a dime or two to be made from having Games somewhere on the Google+ platform, then it should come as not outlandish surprise that Google is going to try to leverage that potential revenue stream.  Same with advertising; it’s going to be there.  Everyone is just in a mad panic that it not be there on Google+ like a constant jackhammer while they’re trying to talk or read.  But we have to remember, it will ultimately be revenues from games and ads that provide the luxurious, beautiful, and user-friendly soap boxes for the rest of us to wittily dazzle our universe of circles. Hell, even the Four Seasons Maui has a game room.   In this case, though, I’m going to go out on a limb and trust Google with keeping the Game Room really nice -- and perhaps way in the back behind the ice machines.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

The Dangerous Rise of Public Charter Schools in Georgia


On Thursday, July 14, Governor of Georgia Nathan Deal unilaterally decided to provide funding for a group of public charter schools, promising them 10 million dollars this year -- 10 million dollars that is thus far nowhere to be found in the state budget. I venture to say that had Governor Deal decided, without legislative approval, to provide 10 million dollars for the state’s Indigent Defense Fund, I well imagine that there would be effigies of him burning in town squares throughout the state. But in this case not a peep -- no hue and cry about excessive executive authority. No, no....because in this case it’s what the majority in Georgia wants. And thus begins another chapter in what I see as the privatization of public education in the state of Georgia.

Using state funds, the governor has decided to support a group of charter schools whose existence had been jeopardized after losing their funding from the local districts they had previously been “attached” to by the state’s Charter School Commission. Remember, following the recent Georgia Supreme Court case the 2008 law creating the Georgia Charter School Commission was deemed unconstitutional -- the court ruling that local districts therefore did not have to provide local monies to those schools which the commission had approved. Before the court’s ruling, a charter school -- such as Ivy Prep Academy in Gwinnett -- could be approved by this commission without any input from the local district. Also, the local district was mandated to provide funding for this chartered school from its local school budget, despite the district having no authority for the structure, governance, or pedagogy of the charter school. Thus the lawsuit, which the local districts won. The issue, however, did not die there. There’s always, it seems, a way around pesky judicial rulings.

So now the governor’s office (apparently with the tacit approval of the majority in the state legislature) has agreed to fund these public charter schools with state money. The current legislative leadership of the state, as well as the state superintendent for schools, are apparently intent by any means necessary to implement a network of charter schools throughout the state. Interestingly enough, in an issue where one continuously hears calls for “local control,” the state has actually first tried to circumvent the local control of school districts, and is now just trying to undermine the local districts altogether. This type of big government is okay, evidently, as long as its the right kind of big government. The momentum of this growth in public charter schools, it appears, must be maintained at all cost. But why?? I, for one, think charter schools is just the camel’s nose under the tent.



First of all -- What is a Public Charter School?
Public charter schools are an interesting creation. They are funded with taxpayer money -- both federal and state -- just like ordinary public schools, but they set themselves apart by having a special focus, the nature of which allows them to operate outside the scope of regular public school, and thus they are accorded a separate, or even self-directed governance. For instance, GCPS set up the Gwinnett School of Math, Science, and Technology, which draws students from all across the county. It is a charter school because the district recognizes that it is a completely atypical institution unlike an ordinary Gwinnett public high school attached to a cluster. Thus the need for the special charter. Another charter school might be set up, say, specifically for the needs of autistic students or students with critical needs, and these schools can be set up through petition by private individuals. The founder of Ivy Prep, for instance, petitioned to set up a specific style of school just for girls, but she didn’t want it to be a private school. Of the many public charter schools not operated by local school districts, some are independently run, while others are actually operated by large education companies.

To my mind, though, many of these state public charter schools -- at least many of the ones not set up by local school districts -- are really just private schools masquerading as public schools. Before the 1990s, these schools would have been told they had to be private and that they just needed to find their own funding. But in Georgia, the state has given them a way to receive the majority of their funding from the state and the federal government (there’s the public component). Interestingly enough, though, the state seems then willing to cede the governance of these schools over to private entities or corporations (there’s the private component). Of particular note are schools operated by Charter Schools USA, Inc and the National Heritage Academies (visionary offspring of The Foundation for Educational Choice), the two largest charter education school companies in the United States. From these two companies stem much of the publicity and legislation driving the charter school and “school choice” movement. Some might argue that there is a very distinct and overarching political mindset to these organizations, one that intends to totally reshape public education in the state and even the nation.


Just how do we want our public educational system set up?
It is interesting to note that most of these corporate-run charter schools espouse a philosophy of “local control through self-governance at the school level.” I fail to see how any schools operated by national private education companies can call themselves locally controlled and self-governed. Ultimately, won’t these schools have to toe the line set by the corporations that manage them? That’s why they call it management.

Do we want our schools organized and led at the local, district level by entities such as GCPS, which have a certain level of local autonomy but are indeed expected to operate within guidelines set by the state dept. of education. Remember also that the state dept. of education is ultimately led by someone who is elected by the people, and the state dept. of education is ultimately governed by the full plural bodies of the elected representatives of the Georgia legislature. So in the end, the people of Georgia are still, for now the ultimate authority on how the schools are organized and run.

Or, do we want our schools to be led at some corporate level, where local schools really have no autonomy but are instead expected to maintain standards set by the business entity operating them. Yes, these charter schools do have local governing boards which set goals to maintain local “mission, vision, and values.” But other than that, the corporate management team is in control. The governance boards are essentially set up or approved by the management arm, which in the end is responsible for developing and implementing the ongoing operational procedures. Is this really local control?? I’m sure that if a local board became disenchanted with the operational level of the management company, they could go off the reservation and break their contract with the company, but what are the odds of that happening when the management company has itself been instrumental in getting the governance boards manned and organized?


Do we really want to do away with “public” (remember, publius means people) education and turn it into a commercial enterprise?
Governance of corporate-owned charter schools appears at the surface to be “public” and local, but it’s actually just like a corporation. For example, with a Charter Schools USA school, there are local governing board which “oversee” the work done by the management company at each school. The relationship appears to work like this: The Georgia Charter Educational Foundation Board of Directors has contracted with a professional education management organization, Charter Schools USA, to provide all necessary management and professional expertise. Charter Schools USA assists in developing, planning, and marketing the School, as well as finance, human resources, curricula and school operations. Is the management company there to actually do the bidding of the local foundation board (which was, after all, groomed and instituted by the management company), or is the foundation board there to simply rubber stamp whatever the management company tells it that it needs to rubber stamp? Remember, these boards are voluntary, and someone has to pick and approve the board members -- and yes, that someone works for the management company.

Do these boards have any teeth, or are they ultimately responsible to the managers that put them in place? To me, a charter school board is more like corporate boards of trustees -- ostensibly there to set guidelines and vision, to provide oversight of corporate management, but usually there to rubber stamp whatever the corporate CEO wants them to say yes to. In a corporate system, even when the entire body of stockholders votes there is usually a recommended slate of board members -- a slate recommended by, you guessed it, management.



Is “local control” really local control??
Similarly, I liken this relationship between these “self-governing” schools and their education management companies to the relationship of the small, independent poultry farmer who has contracted with Tyson, Inc. to raise chickens for Tyson. Yes, he’s designed his business plan for the ideal size and scope he would like his operation to be, and he gets to be a local businessman with strong ties to the local community. But he has to follow some rules and benchmarks set up for him by Tyson -- type of grain to use, inoculations to use, target delivery dates, and (importantly) accept recommendations by Tyson inspectors. Yes, if he doesn’t like how Tyson micromanages his affairs, he can break his contract with them (and get sued) or wait until his contract is up and raise chickens for competitor ConAgra, Inc., or go totally independent and hope he can find someone to buy the chickens he raises. But if the poultry farmer starts just willy-nilly doing things his own way -- refuses hormone protocol, refuses to feed marigold petals) -- then Tyson can simply dissolve its partnership with him, and he is left to totally fend for himself with no support. Likewise, in a lot of cases these supposedly local and independent education boards may be more answerable to the distant management team than they would actually like to let on.
Charter Schools and an ultimate drift towards vouchers
Again, I see the evolution of these public charter schools as being the camel’s nose under the tent. Eventually, I feel the conversation will turn from the method of governance to the method of funding -- and here developments would have another set of implications. I think that with the further development of charter schools, public schools will ultimately be faced with competition for funding in the form of vouchers for education.

Admittedly, there is a large section of American society that feels public education, in its current form, should not just be reformed but pretty much done away with -- and replaced with a privatized system where schools, managed by education companies, would compete for students. And to keep the impression that these would be “public” schools, students would receive vouchers (basically an allotment of money to attend school) somewhat equivalent to the per pupil expenditure which the state uses to formulate its annual education budget (currently around 9,500 dollars in Georgia). Indeed, I foresee the day when an ever-growing network of charter schools will ultimately force implementation of a voucher system to enable a system of market driven school choice.

Over time, more and more students will enter these charter schools, and some of these schools will gain traction and enrollment, while others may remain relatively small. It will be very hard for the state to manage an equitable level of funding for all of these different types of schools with their different levels of enrollment. Parents will eventually demand vouchers from the state so that an individual packet of state funding for education can be targeted to each individual student, rather than provided to the systems of schools as it is now. What one hears today is that Money for education should follow the student, and let the parents decide what school is best for their child And from a strictly fiscal viewpoint, this makes pretty good sense. But from a philosophical standpoint, is this good for society as a whole?? This is certainly a debatable point.

Sadly, and perhaps a little cynically, I see the rise of such publicly-funded charter schools as a definite drift towards the total eradication of today’s public school system -- at least in how we’re used to seeing public schools organized, governed, and funded. This drift, very politically conservative in its nature, is not so much to reform our current pluralistic model but rather to do away completely with the current model and replace it with a market-driven model run like businesses and guided by carefully selected corporate boards rather than by elected representatives of the people. This drift is taking place not just in Georgia, but across the country in states like Florida, Ohio, and Wisconsin. My question is this: will this question of school organization and funding ever even come up for debate?? Or will the powers that be seize the political moment and opportunistically let charter schools and vouchers become the norm for public education.


For the greater good, or every man for himself? The Issue of Educational Equity
In today’s public education sphere, states and districts attempt as much as possible to have schools that provide fairly equivalent services and standards for instructional and behavioral management. Yes, it’s fairly cookie cutter. In GCPS, a middle school in Dacula is going to be pretty much like a middle school in Norcross or Suwanee or Lilburn. Now, is that to say that some cookies don’t turn out better than others? No, some cookies may be smaller than other and some may end up a little too crispy around the edges. Other cookies turn out great, baked in just the perfect spot in the oven. But the overall intent is to provide a fairly uniform and, ultimately, equitable level of education for the greatest number of students -- for, hopefully, the greater good. Is it always perfect? No. But are we willing to let the struggle for equity in Public Education cease, simply because it is a daunting challenge. Do we do what is right? Or do we do what is easy?

With an increase in charter schools, I foresee our schools becoming little more than a widely disparate collection of separate entities --- some independent, and some part of large companies -- very similar to what we have today with daycare centers. Every daycare center in Georgia operates as a business. Some are individual and stand alone, while some are franchised from larger “childcare development” companies. The state of Georgia “governs” these providers through some regulation and licensing so that the providers maintain a basic minimum level of safety and service. But not all day care centers are created equally: some market themselves with a Cadillac level of service and features...some are middle of the road.....and some are strictly budget-oriented. They’re just like cars or hotels, and you can get whatever you can afford. This is what our school system will look like if we allow charter schools to become the norm



What this means for our society
Ultimately, I feel, it’s not really about choice: it’s about money and an implicit desire to compartmentalize society. The wealthy students will be able to go to the Cadillac charter schools where the families pay a fairly luxurious add-on fee to augment the tuition amount that the state voucher does not cover. Middle of the road families will go to the middle of the road schools, and the poor will go to the schools that provide the lowest level of quality and service as allowable under state licensing and minimum performance standards. A market-driven school system will be nicely segmented between the luxurious, the haves, and the have-nots.

Once our educational system is re-formed into a completely market driven system, our society will be impacted by this balkanization. We will have removed from our society that one great institution which we could heretofore proudly display as a common, equitable service from The People to her people. Gone will be one of American society’s last means for providing at least an attempt at a level playing field. The rich will thrive with the rich....the middle class will muddle through with the middle class.....and the poor will struggle with the poor. No more will these groups have a place where they can go and experience each other, live with each other, and learn from each other. And our great society will be diminished because of it.

MM

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Rattle

Ain’t that a kick in the head, you remarked to those assembled
as the doctor explained the x-ray to you.
….and you see this right here, this big.....well, big dark spot

there on your pancreas.....


The options he presented,
and you frowned them away
as the immensity, the ultimate outcome,
settled in like ashfall upon the hushed room.

No, I don’t think I’ll do any of that.
I think we need to go take a trip, huh?
Yeah....that’ll be swell.

Your youngest daughter slips out to the hallway
to sob next to the cafeteria cart
and its plastic maroon lunch trays
heavy with roasted chicken, runny mashed potatoes (no salt),
pale green peas with a smattering of carrots diced into little faded orange cubes,
and teetering blocks of bright red jello, stacked as if for a child.

Oh, you were never one much for doctors or hospitals --
despite the open heart thing
and the abdominal aorta aneurysm thing
and the second open heart thing --
what with all their poking and prodding and temperature taking
when you were just falling to sleep.
Just leavemethehellalone, will ya?!?
And now this...
So we took you home.

And for weeks you were fine, as if nothing amiss.
You tended even to some backyard tomato plants --
I’m going to grow something.....just like George Bowen across the street --
and thus you held up the shiny red produce of your labors for all to see.
But mostly you sat in your recliner and tapped on the armrest,
worrying it for some solution to the unspoken dilemma.

Eventually, you took to the bed and never left it --
reliant upon you daughters to change you
and put you in fresh pajamas, grimacing all the while --
Just leavemethehellalone, will ya?!?
Like that time in the hospital when I had to point you to the toilet
but we missed and you hit the suture where they’d
removed your saphenous vein for the bypass.
-- Goddammit, Michael!!!

Your room, your house,
but in a cold metallic hospital bed you lay,
eyes straight at the ceiling
staring at God only knows what -- some dot, a speck of dust, a memory.
A withering gaze.

The hospice lady is kind and gentle.
She explains the “comfort box” with the morphine
and the schedule 2 drugs….because he’s really
in a very lot of pain right now,
but he can’t really let you know,
so you can’t really give him too much....
It’s about making him comfortable.

Occasionally you would rally --
pissed, usually...
angry that someone was trying to roll you,
to change you, to clean you,
and we could see some life flash back in your eyes --
or when I held the phone up to your ear
and you struggled to make a sound, any sound,
for your youngest granddaughter on the other end.
….Hey, big girl.....but your eyes said it all.

Eventually, though,
the breaths became too labored for even that --
heaving swoops of air, then a pause,
then a gurgling exhale.

Congestive something or other, the nice hospice lady explained
.....fluid builds....lungs fill up.....slowly drowns.....

(Mother bites her knuckle and turns away --
back to the kitchen to fiddle with the spoons
and the papers....the arrangements.)

That awful gurgling sound --
like the last bit of water
struggling to drain
from the faraway end of a hose pipe.
It is a regular, constant rattle
as your daughters fuss around you
in their vigil --
smoothing the bedsheets
and holding your hand
and telling you that you don’t
need to keep fighting.

That awful gurgling sound,
gnawing at everyone in the room.
We come in with a rattle,
and so we leave with a rattle.

And then,
in the middle of the night

the rattle stopped,

--total silence--

and everyone wept.



--Michael McIntyre

Dacula, 2011

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Mother as a Little Girl


Mother as a Little Girl

You sit there
atop an old wooden bench.
A lifetime ago.

In anklet socks, puff sleeves
and a peter pan collar,
you hold a trio of rabbits
on some distant uncle’s dusty farm --
as it sidetracked, perhaps,
from your first Holy Communion.

Shy but certain
you look straight ahead,
skeptical but happy --
what with squirming props
on your lap
and wire rimmed glasses
that made you self conscious.

(Two older brothers,
you would tell us,
beat the snot out of anyone
who dared to call you four eyes)

Your skinny lips are twisted
noncommittally, as if to say
“I don’t really want to say cheese.”

I caught myself the other day
giving a mirror the same look.
And I remembered this picture
of you.

--Dacula
2011

Saturday, April 30, 2011

One last poem for National Poetry Month.....one from a few years ago

Autumn Viewing

The loud tone over the PA beckoned our attention –
punctuating the air, signaling an announcement:
A drill? A test? A reminder of a thing forgotten?
Must we go outside and pretend the school’s on fire?
The voice from above announced your passing,
and my heart groaned while the words
echoed through the silent, empty hallways.
The students shifted nervously in their seats –
and refrained from chewing their gum.

Later, I sat in the cafeteria
as a class filed outside to sketch an autumn day.
It was nice to see the woods ablaze –
crimsons and umbers and deep rusts
sprinkled together in a symphony of crayola chaos.
What a model to sit for these students,
who know nothing of a proper canvas –
only their iPod screens and Gameboys.
Even through the mess hall aroma of meatloaf and green beans
I could smell those leaves – the musty scent of dried apricot
with plum and a hint of overripe persimmon,
like those I used to throw as a boy
at my friends who lived across the street.

At the funeral home with the widow
a crystal chandelier hangs oblivious from its ornamental medallion
like my hands at my sides, not knowing where to go.
The adults shift nervously on their feet
and refrain to look but straight ahead.
In the corner under a crucifix
they have placed you, Bob Murphy.
You rest amid the flowers –
giant masses of asters, chrysanthemums, gerberas –
and there is a red velvet kneeler for the prayerful.

The box where you lie is simple –
solid, rich brown oak with a tight grain,
straight lines and no adornments.
Off to the side they’ve placed the pictures of you:
as a little boy grinning shyly,
in a football uniform, ruddy-faced at summer camp,
with your brothers, smiling on vacation, holding a new baby,
balancing two red-headed children on your knees,
and then in artful black and white
you stare into the eyes of your beloved the day you wed.

This parlor is so pretty,
with its gilded mirrors and brass sconces;
the shining highboy once held table linens, perhaps,
and an immaculate sideboard stands
with no food upon it.
All I can smell are the lilies,
the damask upholstered couches,
a wisp of lemon oil,
and the woman in blue with too much perfume.

Your widow leaves the room to take some air,
and the room sighs, relieved at her exit.
Your brothers, with their freckles
and sharp Irish chins, work the room
shaking hands and saying hello and thank you
to people they do not know.
The eldest is rumpled—
the first shirt he found and threw in a duffel
as he raced to catch a red-eye.
Kind, polite, and nodding,
they look and sound too much like you
and it hurts to speak with them.

In a well-lit curio cabinet rests a collection of bells –
little dainty brass tinklers,
a miniature china bell with a winter scene,
some crystal fluted bells with etched lines,
one blue jasperware with a cameo,
a dented copper cow bell,
small brass school bells with wooden handles,
a porcelain tea bell,
and a reproduction Liberty Bell.
To call from a sickbed? To meditate? To warn? To alert?

I pause behind a winged-back chair
as your students huddle around you,
looking and wondering and whispering.
I watch them watching you, inspecting you.
And they just stare:
a sad curiosity, a curious sadness.
The slight girl sobs, and a boy snickers witlessly.

And me, I slide out the side door
under cover of their confusion.
The night air is chilly and dry;
a quick breeze clips my cheeks as I turn the corner
and head for my car in the parking lot.
The whirr of a streetlamp illuminates a swirl of leaves
trapped between a pickup and a minivan.

-- Dacula, 2006

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

A poem because it's National Poetry Month...

This poem I wrote a few years ago, but I still like it.............

The Man Who Had a Thing for Neko Case

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Neko Case,
all because I walked past a half shuttered farmhouse
with its scraggly forsythia and bottle-thrown windows.
I heard your seraphic high notes in the distance,
stuck in a canyon at dusk with nothing but sagebrush and tears
to scare away the coyotes.
I saw you shirtless and brazen at the microphone,
smoldering looks to the ushers and the college boy in row 12,
asking about their nightmares and if they love their mothers.
Your hair lights up the darkness –
a pile of glowing embers from some burned down cottage.

In the concert hall, Garth meditates on his Lowrey,
channeling Bessie Griffin like a teleprompter.
And you, Richard Manuel, what brings you here
to the sound stage? Was it you who passed along your muse
to her fifteen-year-old runaway soul?
Where will you take me, Neko, after the show?
Will we walk to the airport and watch the planes take off?
Will we touch each telephone pole, one after the other?
Or, will we run all the way back to Tacoma,
looking for battered front porches and empty swing sets
with rusted chains?

--Michael McIntyre
Dacula, 2008

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

On March...

The month of March a sorrow brings. Yes, around this time every year, the daffodils have outstretched their lanky green stalks, some adorned already with the bright yellow claxons of spring soon upon us. Gangly forsythia – yellow bells, your grandmother might say – shower front yards and roadsides with their tiny golden trumpets of the new season. Even so, as the middle of this month approaches every year, it is always with a tinge of melancholy or even downright sadness. St. Patrick’s Day, you see, was my mother’s favorite holiday.

Growing up in my house there were 4 holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, and St. Patrick’s Day. Oh, Halloween was tolerated – but really only as a marker for All Soul’s Day, and that meant an extra mass that we had to go to. St. Patrick’s Day, though, was eagerly anticipated every year—a major event: Boston Butt on the stove, potatoes, party at the Knights of Columbus, the whole shebang. By the 5th of the month, the shamrock-laden decorations would be out (some never went away, really, like the shillelagh that hung by the hallway door), and by the 10th of the month we children would begin to hear our mother addressing the books on the shelves in our family den – Keep away now, you! I’m not going to put up with any of your mischief this year! She was not going insane, though. She was merely anticipating Timothy.

Timothy, as you’ve likely guessed, is a leprechaun. Not just any leprechaun, mind you – but our leprechaun. He never visited anyone else. But, oh the mess he made of our house for most of that week. Books to the floor. Chairs tipped over. Toilet paper unrolled. Light bulbs unscrewed. All manner of tomfoolery we came to expect from him. And my mother took glee in every minute of it, screaming up into the kitchen cupboards as she prepared supper, with me on the stool by the counter eagerly anticipating whatever madness might ensue. Naturally, I would always just miss being able to see him, despite my mother pointing wildly to where she could clearly see him – but not quite quickly enough, for by then he had dashed off as I glanced his way. Oooooooo, Timothy!! You’ve ruined my soup!!!! And then she would look at me, mischief in her own eyes. It’s ok. I can fix it. I’ve got a few tricks that even a leprechaun doesn’t know.

And thus it would go, year after madcap year – a grown woman in a light blue housecoat chasing a leprechaun with a wooden spoon – all to the sheer delight of her children, and then to the delight of her children’s children. All until the chase eventually ended and we lay her to rest, a rest with no mischief but a blessing upon her casket, and in with the lilies some Bells of Ireland next to the freshly turned earth.

So with March every year, for me there comes a sadness. The gloom does not, however, persist. It never fails that come the 14th or the 15th or so, I begin to hear the scampering of little feet amidst the cupboards and bookshelves of my own house. And with the giggling of a little man – a giggling, yes, that I alone can here – comes the one true balm for that sad memory. Ah, yes – it is March. It is March, and there is still some mischief to be wary of, there are chairs to be righted, and books to be reshelved. Ol’ Timothy knows no rest, you see. And where there are children on St. Patrick’s Day, there are shenanigans to be had!

Friday, February 25, 2011

Work In Progress.....I think

The following is a poem that began when I was a junior in college taking creative writing with Tom O'Grady at Hampden-Sydney. From time to time I have taken it out an tinkered with it. I think it's getting there....but really not sure. Such is poetry, I guess. Let me know what you think.

Sprouse's Farm, After the Rain

Rusty tendrils of honeysuckle
weave their way up the pickets
of the front yard fence fashioned last May.
Sparkling refugees from a late summer shower
hang patiently off of bedraggled yellow petals
as if anticipating their release when I shut
the gate behind me to take my nightly stroll.

Thunder smudges pass on in the distance,
and a calm blue sky intercedes overhead
soft and agreeable in the twilight.
A solitary robin and a few vesper sparrows
stroll the wet firm grass, intently
searching out their evening meal.
Frantic squirrel dashes from tree to tree, and
an orange-tinted cloud ambles distractedly
overhead, as if tethered to the chimney
of the tidy brick bungalow next door.

A gaggle of children go back to their swing sets
for one last game of hide-and-seek,
as I whistle my way down Lucerne Drive --
Tripped over a dog in a choke-chain collar
People were shouting and pushing and saying...
Steam lifts lazily from half-cooled streets,
disrobing that familiar workaday exhaustion.
I wave hello to the old couple on the porch swing
and they nod in return--
lift up their countenance to me.

At the end of the subdivision,
where the permits and concrete curb ran out,
Sprouse’s farm --
the man who wouldn’t sell --
stretches back to the pine forest
beyond the praying mantis limbs
of the high voltage towers
that curve away in the distance.

Windows smashed out and paint peeling,
the old house sits there, remembering --
the wild eyes that turned a shotgun
on the upturned hands, the gingham apron,
then tossed a lantern into the hayloft
before one last trigger pull to the head.

Barbed wire on a half-rotted fence post
and a string of Confederate Jasmine
breaking free-- rambunctious,
tangled messily, but perfect
for the empty pebbled milk glass vase
on the kitchen window sill.

About face -- cracked black asphalt stretches on
as the sun begins its disappearance.
Vagabond children run for home
at their parents’ call;
crickets chirp in response
as the first evening stars begin their watch.

I walk on, no longer whistling,
attempting to outpace
nighttime's descending drop cloth.