To Serve With Loath…

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Ah jury duty!

While I can’t speak for the rest of the country, or even the rest of the state for that matter, here in New York City a summons to jury duty seems to fall into 3 major camps:

  • Yay! I get out of work!
  • Damn! This shit again!
  • Whatever!

Then there is the subset cross twixt the Yays and teh Whatevers in which I fall. I do not relish jury duty, with glee, nor do I find it abhorrent or am apathetic to it.  I get the whole “what if it were happening to me” aspect of it and that it’s my civic duty. If I think myself to have the wherewithal to decide whether a candidate is worthy to be president surely I have the same to decide whether the average Joe is innocent or guilty. I merely hope if sellected for a case, I can serve with as little interruption to my life as possible, but I serve. Believe me when I tell you most NYCers report for jury duty with less joy than going to the gallows.

After herding us cattle, I mean joining us prospective jurors together in to  one large hall, the court clerk begins to read the rules and expectations of serving on jury duty. Clearly she s reading from a script so memorized that the sheets of paper in front of her is just a mere formality – it’s akin to watching a flight attendant who has done the Y M C A of flight safety nth times too many. Moreso, the clerk delivers her instructions with a monotone that would make a Ben Stein monologue seem lively and engaging by comparison.

Luckily, being allowed to use our phones as long as we were quiet I gratefully distracted myself from the acute boredom by snarking on facebook. Commentary from yesterday:

“Anyone who has a letter from their boss, explaining why you cannot serve jury jury, please bring the letter to the front so we can stamp it “Denied” to return to to your boss. You will not be excused.”

The “Aw fuck!” disappointed expressions around me are hilarious.

There was a woman a few seats from me who nicely took the tri-folded paper in her hand, put it in her purse, then not so nicely swore under her breath. Whoops. I can’t swear on it, but I am reasonaby sure I saw her get it stamped at the front desk later. Sometimes it bes liket dat – as the old folks say.

For the first couple of hours a max of ten names were called. For a bunch of peope who clearly did not wish to b there, I was surprised by the general chatter around me from those who names were yet to be called. It became repetetaive and annoying quickly. There were four or five people conversing around me being really whiny about the whole thing. I actually said to a guy trying to draw me in to the madness “Look. Very few of you actually want to be here. But you are here. You can’t get out of it. Constantly bitching isn’t going to get you out any sooner. Grow the hell up and shut the hell up.” 

I don’t think they are going to let me sit with them during lunch. I’m truly heartbroken over it.Speakng of lunch – another facebook comment:

The alacrity with which people hauled-ass out the juror waiting room for lunch is only going to be beat in humor by the comparative lethargy of these same folks upon reentry when the break is over. I could be grossly wrong in my assessment, but I don’t think my fellow jurors-in-waiting want to be here.

Suffice to say my facebook friends were amused.

Now we were warned from onset that if our name are not called, we may be realsed as early as 3pm, however, we may indeed be there until 5pm. When I looked uo at the clock at the front of the hall and saw 3:20pm, I prepared myself for the long haul. Minutes later Lady Ben Stein cle at the front desk announced “Ladies and gentlemen your service for today is concluded. Please return at 9:30am tomorrow…”. 

 Going by the speed with which many bee-lined for the doors. What was heard was:

“RELEASE THE HOUNDS!!!!”

As nearly all headed out as though the buildng were on fire. I say nearly beause some of us remained seated clearly observing this mad dash with bemusement. Then there was the cutie-pie who had not move at all because he was lightly snoring, about to drool asleep. His complete look of bewilderment as woke him to a near empty hall was priceless.

Today is day two – Let the games begin…

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

The Heat Is On

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And to think I once thought my PMS was annoying. The cramping, the headaches and downright bitchiness that was the bane of my existence these past decades was a cake walk compared to the hot flashes I’m having now. No articles, no discussions among matriarchs and friends – nothing had fully prepared me for the phenomenon of feeling my body go 98.6 to 689 degrees within the span of a single minute.

Let me tell you “Flash” as a descriptive of this is sorely misleading. Flash evokes the idea of something “short”, or “over with quickly”. Alas, except in relating to the intensity and speed of its onset, that is rarely the case. I’ve had flashes that lasted for 15 minutes or more where all time slows and each minute of that flash feels like an eternity in Hades’ personal sauna.

I have semi-jokingly called it “my own personal summer”, however it is considerably less amusing in the stifling heat of actual summer. I’m at the train station this morning furiously wiping at my face with a wash cloth, for mere paper towels cannot handle this, barely able to keep my sweat from stinging my own eyes. Being in air-conditioning hardly helps. Even within the, usually only slightly warmer than Siberia, confines of the training room, I watched helplessly as my students tried hard not to watch as beads of sweat form and drip down my face and neck as I conducted my class.

At home I’m feeling trapped, often too hot to move out of the blast from the Dyson fan in directly front of me. Dinners have sometimes turned into pints of ice cream and gallons of ice water in desperation to quickly cool off when my internal thermostat goes wonky.

Yes, and this too shall pass, I know. And I’m likely to have even more fun things to look forward to…

But in the interim, seriously – if I no longer have any buns left in the oven to cook, why is the heat turning on?

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Let’s hope my fellow slicers are having a cooler time of it – check ’em out:

sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

Sevenling: (That entry)

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That entry with stately Neo classic columns of two centuries ago
This courtyard with intricate Moorish tile work showing past Spanish influence
The balcony with geometric bas relief of American mid-century modernism

All coexist on a block hinting at the beauty of what it once was
On a crumbling calle of poverty and dilapidation of what it is
Within sight a renovating neighborhood of what will be again

Means nothing to those in a one room shack out in the back country

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Today’s form: Sevenling.

A Sevenling is a  7-line poem (two tercets and a one-liner as the final stanza) with these parameters:–

– Three lines that contain an element of three. This could be three connected or contrasting statements, a list of three names or details, etc. The three things can take up all three lines, or be contained anywhere in the stanza.

– Three more lines that contain an element of three (can relate to stanza one directly, as a juxtaposition, or have no connection whatsoever).

– Final line: a punchline, strange twist, narrative summary, or punctuation mark, of sorts.

No particular rhyme, rhythm or meter are required. Titles are also not required. If you do decide to title it, the title should be “Sevenling:” followed by the first few words in parentheses. The tone should be mysterious, offbeat, or disturbing, and the poem should have an atmosphere that invites guesswork from the reader.

Everything

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You

Never said

What I wanted to hear

Show

What I wanted to see

Gave only

What I needed

So they said

It wasn’t enough

But I knew

It was

Everything

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Posting a belated for yesterday’s interview Catching Up with Samuel Peralta at dVerse.

A Twitter poem  is the challenge of writing poems within the limit of 140 characters (including spaces, line-spaces etc.) of a tweet.

The Beholder

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Beauty: sells tanning lotion in one area and lightening creams in another
Is: the TVs, magazines and runways of thinness attainable
In: a land where the curvy is passable, yet too fat is unacceptable– too? 
The: rhinoplasty done to make noses look smaller while
Eye: get surgery to make them look wider. 
Of: braids deemed unprofessional or locs truly dreaded in
The: root of – the problem?And if it can’t grow is it clip, glue or sew to a
 Beholder: in the mirror who wonders…

But who is the beholder?

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At dVerse an interview with Anthony Desmond, and Gayle hosting, prompts us with beliefs; pondering what we might believe in, or had believed in.

I was struck by a conversation among friends of the (in)constant state of beliefs in what is considered beautiful and by whom.

dVerse  Poets Pub | Part Five: Revisiting Anthony Desmond

Sevenling: (For two hours daily)

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For two hours daily my parakeet squawks
while my cat hisses as
my dog is howling

All in harmony with cars honking below
Planes flying above and the kid
badly practicing the cello next door

Earplugs are a thing of beauty indeed

claudia-music-1

Artist: Claudia Schoenfeld
Used with Permission

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Today at dVerse Victoria inspires us to use one of the paintings of fellow dVerse Poet Claudia Schoenfeld for our poems. As Claudia is also a musician we are further challenged to write a poem using the SEVENLING form with a theme of music.

The painting I chose clearly inspired me in an offbeat direction.

dVerse ~Poets Pub |
Poetry and Painting Embrace: We Can’t Forget Claudia Schoenfeld

¡Cuba Libre!

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what the books can’t tell,
the news can’t sell,
the senses imbibe –
aromas alongside stenches
vintage contrasts innovative
durable touching dilapidated
rancid against delectable
melodic rhythms divide harsh screeches
and the fierce pride of a people
who journeyed time
while standing frozen in it

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I recently returned from a trip to Cuba and fully understand why, among many things, it is called a A Country Frozen In Time.  A year ago today, Cuba and the United States restored diplomatic relations. It’s only been a few scant years since Cuba’s resurgence into the US’ consciousness as a restricted travel destination and while the times are indeed a’changing for the country as those restriction become more and more relaxed, it has a very long way to go. That which makes Cuba unique remains very much in place.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | 5th Anniversary Quadrille – Journey

 

Meter Down

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Oh, I’m lousy at meter
Unless it’s Demeter
Of she I can speak night and day
Iambic pentameter
Just doesn’t matterer
To my muse any way

Saw what I did there, eh?

And “da-DUM da-DUM”
Just makes me feel dumb
Strike that mouse in the clock I begs
For I will give the boot
To all who mention “foot”
When lyrics ain’t got any legs,

But will run for some green ham and eggs. Dregs!

Whether di-, pent- or Hexes
Oh how meter vexes
The voice when unnaturally dropped
On meter spanned then
With lines enjambed when
Ow! I think my poor brain has popped!

And now my watch is end-stopped

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popped
In a play against how cell phones now seem to take up so much of our time, Izy at Real Toads takes us “Out of Standard” and challenges us to pick up our cell phones for some “inspiredo”  by taking the last text received and use it in a poem. Luckily, my last text had no emojis.

real-toads-buton

Real Toads | Out of Standard – From the Black Mirror 

Meanwhile at dVerse, Victoria challenges us to pick a subject and write in meter to set its mood. Can you say ‘Ugh!”? I have never been one for formal meter.  If a word or phrasing comes naturally to my write, an errant “foot”, sticking out like a sore thumb, will happen. The message is more important. Thus,  I could not resist delightfully mocking it here as my subject, throwing in some poetic terminology,  Hickory Dickory, Dr. Seuss and a touch of Game of Thrones to boot.

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meter-Made Mood–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Every Way The Wind Blows

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They marvel at your skill
How lifelike I appear
As though I could fly
Every way the wind blows

They know not your dark secret 

A twirl in Sol’s gold
Coiling in Luna’s silver
Diaphanous and solid
Every way the wind blows

How your majik sealed me within

Lighter than dandelion fluff
Joyful wings ever airborne
Yet never take flight
Every way the wind blows

A statue admired as so alive

The ethereal made corporeal
To this post ever bound
In eternal dervish motion
Every way the wind blows

I scream unheard in living death

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Today at dVerse Lillian invites  us to pick a piece of art and tell a story from the view of the artist or the art itself.  I recently saw this wonderful piece of kinetic art and have been completely enchanted by it.

I promise this started out on a much happier note, wondering about the unknown artist who could create such a delightful thing. But as I watched the video again, I thought what if this isn’t the magnificent work of a very talented artist, but of magic, dark magic that trapped a faerie playing with a dandelion.

Perhaps the statue looks so alive because she is….

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : Chisel Me A Conversation