When people are oppressed
it is the citizens’ duty to rise!
When rights are taken from one group
it is the citizens’ duty to rise!
When a government’s actions are illegal
it is the citizens’ duty to rise!
When faced with injustice
it is the citizens’ duty to rise!
For when one group is oppressed
You will be next.
When rights are taken from one group
You will be next.
When government acts illegally against one group
You will be next.
When faced with injustice you must fight or
You will be next!
The tiny vessel
zips around the floating logs
pushing them here and there.
Sorting them.
Guiding them to the mill piles.
Leading them to lumbering destiny.
And you,
zip around me
pushing me into order
sorting out my messes
guiding me to better decisions
leading into our future.
A candystriper’s duty:
that the hospital isn’t really a terrible place
*to smile in reassurance that the food isn’t bad
*to return a smile to a face that is sad
*to smile when we’re happy and smile when we’re not
*to leave our smiles with a lingering thought
*to smile all the time ‘til the end of our shift
and then when we’re done we can frown if we wish
But somehow the smiling we’ve done that day
keeps us smiling and we’re glad we smiled that way.
.
.
My father asked me to find this poem, because he’ll be speaking at a candystriper recognition evening this week in the extended care facility where he lives. I wrote it when I was 15 for a display. I volunteered at our local hospital and an extended care facility as a candystriper from grades nine through twelve, accumulating nearly 700 hours (close enough that I was given the charm for it). I worked surgical, medical, and pediatric floors, as well as admitting. We filled and distributed water jugs, distributed food trays, helped feed patients, ran errands, delivered flowers, etc. I was only vaguely interested in nursing, and my hospital time quickly informed me that I didn’t want to pursue a career in nursing, but I loved working at the hospital, helping people who needed my smiling face. I will try to scan in the photo of me with the display. I had to borrow a microscope to record the poem! lol
I dreamt of you
for eleven thousand
seven hundred
and ten nights.
You spoke in
waking dreams.
You whispered
in the blackness,
called across the miles:
Hold on.
I’m here for you.
Stay.
You have commitments.
But after
eleven thousand
seven hundred
and ten nights
you called
to tell me
those words did not
apply to you.
Hold on.
I’m here for you.
Stay.
You have commitments!
I said to you,
but it was too late by then.
I dreamt of you
for eleven thousand
seven hundred
and ten nights,
until I learnt that
you weren’t really there
at all.
She saw it in his eyes
and
tilted her head modestly
hiding her smile
while he tried desperately to
catch her attention.
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
extended her left hand
to accept the ring,
the sign of promise.
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
handed back the ring
letting him go
no regrets.
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
welcomed him beside her,
his fears conquered,
stood at the altar,
moved into the future.
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
held the babies close
while he gushed
about the woman he admired
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
let him grieve the loss
as they left behind
wishful thinking
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
embraced their passion
commitment
longevity.
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
each time he was broken
she brought out the glue
to piece him back together
held him tightly
.
She saw it in his eyes
and
let him be,
let all enfold,
and
it was
fine.
Number one
occupational
health hazard for
flight attendants
is falling
during turbulance,
for hair stylists:
hair slivers,
for teachers
it’s vocal damage.
Today,
my throat concurs
and longs for Ricola
and honeyed tea.
Today,
teaching hurts.
On shore watching
patiently waiting
for grey whales.
Scanning grey-blue sky
into grey-blue horizon
on grey-blue ocean
searching for a grey puff of breath
a fluke, sign of a whale amid the grey tipped waves.
Staring.
Scanning.
Watching.
Impatiently waiting for grey whales
in the blue-grey ocean
before the blue-grey horizon
under the blue-grey sky.
Staring.
Scanning.
Watching.
Waiting for grey whales
makes me
blue.
.
I’ve wanted to see whales since I read this book as a kid. 3rd trip to the coast during the grey whale migration, and still no sighting.
April 13, 2014. Diana Gabaldon trivia: Fred Phleger, author of the above book, was a professor at Scripps Institution of Oceanography from 1951 to 1977. Diana earned her MS in Marine Biology at Scripps in 1975.
Put it away
It’s past the time
for you to escape
the fear
the hoping
the wish
that it will change.
It won’t.
The drinking
The shouting
The hitting
The habit.
It’s routine.
Routines don’t change.
That dream
That picket fence
That reflection in your rosy shades
will never be reality.
The reflection behind your shades
will always be blue and black.
Walk away
Put away
that dream
and claim
life.
I wanna be
that person who is fit and trim
so I buy the health magazines and plan to get a gym membership.
I wanna be
that person who is literate and up to date with the latest trends
so I buy the literary journals and plan to read them.
I wanna be
that person who travels the world
so I buy the suitcase and send for the passport.
I wanna be
that person with the spotless house
so I buy cleaning products and sign up for email de-cluttering reminders.
I wanna be
that person
but until I actually take real action,
no purchase or plan can create the identity
I wanna be.
.
.
.
(Some of these are true desires, some of wishful thinking, and some are part of my real life. I’ll leave it to you to figure out which!) 😉
Shawn L. Bird 