Stop History Repeating

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Sunday morning was not some knuckle head popping off a couple of rounds in drunken celebration, but an intentional act to eradicate as many people as possible in a club of smiling, happy, dancing people for no other reason than the patronage of Pulse, where Sunday’s massacre happened, are known to be gay. It’s no coincidence Mateen’s attack took place where it did and when it did, he had been there before and knew he would find a lot of people there.

That he was on a federal watch list yet was able to purchase his assault rifle and handgun legally. This post is not about gun control. This nation still argues over the accessibility of guns and I will leave that there with them.

On its website, Pulse, describes itself as “a place of fun and fantasy.” It was anything but as Omar Siddiqui Mateen killed at least 50 people and wounded 53 others in what is the deadliest mass shooting in US history.  We have a history of attacks against the gay community – Roanoke, VA 2000, Atlanta 1997, New Orleans 1973, Stonewall 1969 – those are the major news making events, but there are countless others; some make the headlines, but the majority of the day-to-day-to-day conflicts do not.

The news reports are quick to report Omar Siddiqui Mateen’s Islamic ties; but his religion had nothing to do with his actions. They also report how he was born in New York – as though that should automatically negate his potential to hate gays; I wish. Omar’s father is quoted as saying he was shocked and saddened to learn that his only son is behind the carnage at Pulse. He does not believe his son was radicalized. Apparently, the final straw for Omar Mateen was walking along the street and seeing two men kissing.  So whether Mateen’s killings were a product of religious leanings or abject homophobia it is undeniably a hate crime. And that is where history repeats itself anew.

We repeat these histories through the generations in finding different ways to spread the same hates. Not always recognizing it for what it is until the damage is done. Still we try to do better. And for the most part we do succeed. It is why when the horrible things such as Orlando happen we do recognize it for what it is. We know that this is not our norm and we can/should do better.

That this attack occurs at a time when the country is celebrating LGBT Pride month, is another twist of the dagger in the collective hearts of those of us who mourn for Orlando.  In the wake of this, it’s a given LGBT venues across the country will be tightening their security in preparation for Pride celebrations.

While Mateen’s killing spree was focused on the LGBT community, it affects us all because what he did attacks what we hold most dear – the right to live freely, the right to live openly.  The right to go out and party without fear is a pursuit of happiness.

Whether one believes that the LGBT community is sinning against God or believes that people love who they love and it’s all good is not at the issue here.  Agree or disagree, that is fine.  We don’t have to like it, but we don’t need to hate it.

Omar Siddiqui Mateen damn sure did not need to repeat history, hating it to the point that he felt the only recourse is to murder these people:

Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old
Amanda Alvear, 25 years old
Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26 years old
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old
Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25 years old
Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old
Cory James Connell, 21 years old
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26 years old
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old
Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old
Frank Hernandez, 27 years old
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old
Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49 years old
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old
Kimberly Morris, 37 years old
Akyra Monet Murray, 18 years old
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20 years old
Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25 years old
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35 years old
Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25 years old
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24 years old
Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24 years old
Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34 years old
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old
Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old
Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old

#SayTheirName

“They are more than a list of names. They are people who loved and who were loved.”
— Anderson Cooper

“Love is love is love is love is love,
and love cannot be killed or swept aside.
Fill the world with music, love and pride.”

— Lin-Manuel Miranda

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#LOVEisLOVEisLOVEisLOVE

sol
Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

Pulse

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Midnight dawning
Pulse spills
Their beats and grooves
That dance from night
Into the morning

But where one man assaults 103 rights so dear
To live freely, openly and party without fear

When without warning
Pulses spill
Their blood and cries
That screams from night
Into the mourning
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#LOVEisLOVEisLOVEisLOVE

At dVerse De (aka WhimsyGizmo) wants us to “spill”.  All my muse could think of was yesterday morning’s mass murder in Orlando. Pulse is the name of the dance club where the killings happened.  103 being the confirmed number of deaths and wounded.

The hashtag above is my take on “Hamilton” creator and star Lin-Manuel Miranda’s heartfelt, original sonnet used as acceptance speech at last night’s 70th annual Tony Awards.

dverse
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille 11

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Real Toads | The Tuesday Platform

Dandelion Wishes

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Blown soft against the gentle bloom
Bloom of the most, tender of white
White fluff to fly, upon the winds
Winds soft under, warm summer nights
Nights just like this, where clouds are naught
Naught like true love, thought ne’er to find
Find just for her, but now she feels
Feels of that chance, once deemed declined

Declined to ones, money denied
Denied like her, of lower class
Class of poor – she, he – class of clout
Clout that declares love of the lass
Lass who now dares, to dream of life
Life like only, the rich have known
Known not by her, she felt ‘till now
Now with the prayer, she’s gently blown

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Today’s form? Chain Verse

Chain verse has two known forms: one repeats the last word or syllable of a line with the first word or syllable of the next line, while the other repeats the last line of each stanza with the first line of the following stanza.

While not required, I created a complete chain where the last word of the poem is also the first word.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight #174

And It Has Come To This

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We once thought this was heaven, why are we going through such hell?

For now I find I’m opening myself like wound on skin
And on the cusp of everything at our beck and call
Feeling how deep the well that’s held within
I’m giving everything I’ve got , but is this your all?

And it has come to this, we’ve reach this bittersweet impasse
Too far gone to start over, not far enough to see a path clear
This could be all we’ve wanted, but now it’s so close to being trash
And from that I’m not sure we can recover, I fear
And it has come to this

One night we disturb the neighbors with the sounds of our passion
The next night it’s with the anguish of our fights
We nod like mimes faking life in our own fashion
Seems like we can never find a balance that’s just right

And it has come to this; can we keep our eyes on
The prize of happiness a magical love to bewitch?
We sit here hoping for a sign on this horizon
When the horizon looks as bleak as the execution’s switch
And it has come to this

Sometimes we look upon each other and we both know we can still feel it
But we’ve dealt each other mighty blows – is there enough left to heal it?

Knowing me all too well you exploit all that makes me weak
Knowing you even better, with a precision I play your game
Have we the courage to love the love of which the old folks speak?
The ring is in my hand, but I’m not sure if you still want my name

And it has come to this, you’re facing my white light
Am I here to let you in – or to get you out?
Am I warm, comforting? Or a sudden fright?
I could be your sinner or your savior; what is this about?
And it has come to this

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At dVerse  Mish wants the random song in us to come out.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics – The Music in You

 

The First Step

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Calf and tendon and shin

What used to be remembers
The road left behind
With an ease born and
Taken for granted

Muscle and sinew and bone

What cannot be learns
The path is the same
Only how I travel from
Here to there has changed

Plastic and wires and metal

What will be anticipates
the trail untraveled
the way ahead
I’ve yet to roam

Two wood beams

What is now knows
the first step is
the shortest I’ll have to take
the furthest I’ll have to go

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My muse takes the view of a person in physiotherapy, looking up at the balance beam, embarking on the very first step using artificial legs, learning to walk again.

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Today at Real Toads Kerry is encouraging us to pay a visit to to a Word Family. Using family synonyms or antonyms for that which is walked upon, parts of the appendages used to walk and the distance walking.

Real Toads | Kerry Says ~ Let’s Visit the Family 

Makes Me Want To Holler – Again

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zimmermanGeorge Zimmerman puts gun that killed Trayvon Martin up for auction

“I am honored and humbled to announce the sale of an American Firearm Icon,” Zimmerman wrote in his online description of the weapon.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

This man used that gun to take a child’s life. Clearly Zimmerman’s only remorse is the infamy the trial has awarded him because of it. And in case you miss my sarcasm, he has no remorse.

Every time I hear Zimmerman’s name I have to beg forgiveness for the thoughts that come into my mind.  The idea that someone will bid on it, will actually buy it – I cannot begin to express the rage that fills me anew right now.  I wonder what the jury that acquitted him must feel of their decision in light of this bullshit.

When people say Karma will get him, I generally nod in agreement. However, days like this, my faith in Karma and her twisted shenanigans wavers greatly and I doubt whether I will ever see that happen.  Should I be so lucky, I am not going to lie – schadenfreude will be on full force that day.

I also cannot help, but think that was Trayvon Martin a white teen, that Zimmerman would be seen as a Hispanic thug killing innocent kids in a family oriented community. Alas, a white man “defending himself” is how it goes down in the official records. Situations like this reinforce the idea of how little a black life is worth in some eyes, how Zimmerman’s auction devalues Martin’s life even further, to the point of blatant mockery.

What profit’s a man indeed.

The fact that Zimmerman is walking around a free man doing this. Yes, he’s an American. Yes, he is well within his rights to do this.

To the person who purchases it – if your intent is anything other than to destroy the gun so no one else will profit off Trayvon Martin’s life – you are par of the problem.

I wonder what the general mood would be if O.J. Simpson auctioned off the infamous glove.

 

senseless

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Nine and seven years
You abandon us here
In this world
Mad with anguish

Skipped to the words
Take them
Spoken in hate
Go away and die
Because of him

The need to spite
Mattering more
Than to live for us
Your own daughters

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A week before Mother’s Day. Trying to make sense of the senseless. She had been saying for months that if he kept pushing her she’d leave him permanently. We were all praying she would. None of us thought it would be like this. Leaving a note and two daughters.

From some of the comments below I see I need to clarify something. The above poem is from my muse, taking the view point of the two daughters. The pain feels real to you, because it is real to me. This past Monday night/Tuesday morning,  I lost a friend, the girls lost a mother to suicide.

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille 8: Skip

daily-post

The Daily Post | Abandoned

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Real Toads : The Tuesday Platform

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers

Princely

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prince-graphic

It’s after 11pm, the train pulls in at 34th Street and two men get on. They were young, no more than 25.  One has his iPhone connected to a Bluetooth speaker, loudly playing Prince’s Little Red Corvette.  As the doors close behind him, the one with the iPhone turns the volume down. As the train pulls out of the station, it was clear he could barely hear the music anymore. Addressing everyone and no one he asks: “Ladies and gentleman, I don’t want to be rude, but my headphones are broken and I can’t replace them until tomorrow. But I really need to hear me some Prince right now. Is it okay if I turn  this up and share it with you?”

This was Thursday night, hours after the news of the death of Prince has shocked the world. From the outpouring of positively to the young man’s question, one would have thought the pastor  just asked the church for an “Amen!” after a good sermon. I am guessing most of us on the train were still reeling from the news, I know I still was.  The reaction was about the same, so he turned it up just as the opening lines of Let’s Go Crazy was coming on.

“Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life“

He wasn’t just listening to the music, but part quoting/singing along with it. Once it reached the part of “Go crazy”  a good portion of us on the train had joined in with him. It was an impromptu mini-concert/singalong for quite a few stops. It was continuously amusing as the unaware boarded the train and were thrust pell-mell into the ad hoc celebration. Luckily most joined the fun, or at the very least nodded agreeably with the contained madness.  And contained madness was exactly what it was until Purple Rain came on.

It seemed, as one, we all became quiet as the opening chords played. It was penance. It was salvation. It was redemption. It was church. It was a reverent moment of silence, just listening to him…

“I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to one time to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you
Laughing in the purple rain“

And again, as one, we came out of that reverent trance to sing the chorus together. Some with heads down, but hands waving slowly in the air, feeling it. Yes, there were some people crying and it was alright. I could not help, but think Prince himself would have liked that. He would have enjoyed that moment of oneness among strangers over his songs.

“Thinking about how we mourn artists we’ve never met. We don’t cry because we knew them, we cry because they helped us know ourselves.”

— Juliette (Elusive J)

In The Back Woods

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I’m raised deep down in the country dues
I’m all chicken and gravy and liquor and blues
Don’t trust no man who know nothing ‘bout muddy shoes
It’s all good, in the back woods

We still a got general store back here the sticks
With saw dust on the floor ‘bout a half inch thick
‘Cause if it’s broke ’round here, it’s ‘round here we fix
For it’s all good, in the back woods

Some of us work the farm, some work at the factory
‘Till sundown comes or the ol’ mill whistle set us free

Seems like from the first cries announcing my arrival
It’s been one hand on my work and one on hand my bible
Dusk to dawn working on the land and my soul’s survival
But it’s all good, in the back woods

Oh, I work somethin’ hard and hard’s how I play
Takin’ a roll in the hay, spinning wheels in the clay
Lord knows I wouldn’t have it no other way
Naw, it’s all good, in the back woods

With its skyscrapers, and noise, and streets all gritty
I tried the living, but I ain’t cut out for no city

So it’s tailgate down, under the stars, when my day is through
Or swinging on the front porch with the fam for a spell or two
I’m gonna drink me some cold ones, yup that’s what I’ll do
Yeah, it’s all good, in the back woods

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At dVerse guest pub-tender Stacy Lynn Mar invites us to write our own folk poem.

dverse
dVerse ~Poets Pub | Poetics : Folk Talk 

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National Poetry Month – Day 21

A Lil’l Dab A Doo Ya

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Ya needs you sumting fo’ dems chills
Yous lookin’ likes ya needs sum care
I’s jus’ da ting ta cures ya ills
Lemme put summa dis dere

Dis’ll warm ya likes a sweatta
Feelin’ real good to you, yah?
Imma makes it all betta
Jus’ open wide and say ah

When yous sick ain’t nuttin like Mama’s luv
Wid sum chikin soup and Vick’s vapa rub

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real-toads-buton

So today on Real Toads, we are asked to feel free to write a poem containing some kind of local vernacular, slang, or pronunciation. My poor, poor spell check!

Real Toads | Open Platform

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National Poetry Month – Day 19

We  we cure what ails you with the Ravenfly.

The Ravenfly is a nonce form that consists of two quatrains and a couplet
with syllable count of of 8/7/8/7/10/10. The rhyming scheme is abab cdcd ee

There are no metric requirements.