in the news

                                                

                                                black fly lands on white    

                                                oval office wall, listens

                                                to hubris crumble.

 

ljb all rights reserved by author

                                               

 

A New Way to Say I love You

 Black

At the entrance

to the 

  black   hole

of the world’s colossus 

    fear and rage

has slammed the door

     to the way

I call my own name

 

ask  

do not misjudge 

this   dark

hued

skin

 

stop

 

we can’t go back

to basic black

or white anymore

now that these nights

are so vast – amassed

with the rattle and hum

of revenge not 

appeased and

 warnings  repeated 

that our dark dreams

 have been interrupted

 by the laughter 

 of the unforgiven.

 

red 

  eyed

we   

  rise stubborn with this pain –  

 that kindles hunger for an

  eternal flame to light the

  way through this ashen mourning

  where streams of I love yous

  never having been said enough,

  force their way through the troubled

  mist of horizons dawning

  perfect in their shameless light.

 

white

 

breath 

crushed

disappeared  by

engineers of fear and

galvanized

hate –

 

induced  

judgements  

leveled on monolithic nations 

make them learn to wait like the

oppressed who 

process 

questions 

raisedby the suspicious and

touch the

unwieldy visage of

willful

x – tinction of

yesterday’s

zenith.

 

blue 

 

prayers    

  spin  like dervishes   

 into  shields  which   

wrap  around children   

  too young to know

   about being wounded  

   by an desperate enemy

and then left behind.

black 

night still comes quick 

with autumn’s preparing

winter’s deep resting

place – quiet in the long

    descending flight

  of light

 

white  breath

feeds red

love the

blue  flame

 of  tikkun olam  burns.

 

Linda Joy Burke

October 5, 2001

 

*tikkun olam repair the world

 

This poem originally appeared in the anthology,

9/11 project - September Eleven Maryland Voices – 2002 Baltimore Writers’ Alliance www.the911project.org

 

    "Children, everybody, here's what to do during war:  In  a time of destruction, create something.  A poem. A parade. A community. A school. A vow. A moral principle. One peaceful  moment. "
- Maxine Hong Kingston

Other Arts Based Resources to Help in the Aftermath of Katrina

Sent by: Poets & Writers Inc.   Reply to the sender

Hurricane Katrina-- How Writers Can Help 

Dear Friends,

In addition to the important work being done by the American Red Cross and other relief agencies, there are a number of special efforts we thought writers might be particularly interested in:

• The Katrina Literary Collective has been created to collect and distribute books to victims of the hurricane. For more information, contact the Amber Communications Group at amberbk@aol.com.
• A Louisiana Disaster Relief Fund has been established to receive monetary donations to assist libraries in Southeastern Louisiana. For more info, visit the American Library Association at http://www.ala.org/
• The American Booksellers Association has created a Bookseller Relief Fund to assist independent booksellers affected by Hurricane Katrina. For info, visit http://www.bookweb.org/
  
• The Southern Arts Federation has set up an Emergency Relief Fund to assist arts organizations and artists in those Gulf Communities most devastated by Katrina. For more info, go to http://www.southarts.org/
  

Thank you for whatever help you're able to provide.

Up Rooted

Where to begin? I took the photo at the top of this essay at 2:00 in the morning one day last summer. I just developed the roll, after a wonderful though long drive up 95 to visit a friend in Martha’s Vineyard  in July. Fortunately, I went before the tremendous spike in gas prices. The picture is of a flower that blooms only once every 7 years, or something crazy like that. This particular plant bloomed twice in a week, and totally surprised and delighted me. It's called a night blooming Cereus, and is indigenous to the desert. I don't live in the desert, though the dirt in the pot is quite desert like, I'm not responsible for that. I inherited the plant from a friend who had give up her home here because she couldn't get social security benefits to cover her chronic rheumatoid arthritis condition, which had crippled her. She moved to her sister's house in Vancouver Washington (evidently the system is more compassionate there)and I and other friends took in her plant collection.  This particular plant isn't really that attractive, with its long, flat, spindly leaves. It’s a succulent and relatively hardy though, so it like many of my other plants thrives here. I've been told I have a green thumb. I just trust that everything that lives will grow as long as there is enough light and water and the roots are kept strong.  

This column is not about flowers though, it is about being uprooted.

All of us thinkers, and writers, and compassionate healers, and rescuers and spiritual souls and artists and regular folks and politicians are being forced to look at our fragile humanity once again in the wake of a mighty storm, this time "in the land of the free and home of the brave ". We have to come to terms with the cold hard truth that man's might is no match for nature's fury. We have to come to terms with the cold hard truth that something could have been done to make this disaster less terrible and it will take a whole lot more than money to make things right after all the damage that has been done.  

Bob Herbert: A Failure of Leadership
http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/090505X.shtml
Bob Herbert writes: Neither the death of the chief justice nor the frantic efforts of panicked White House political advisers can conceal the magnitude of the president's failure of leadership last week. The catastrophe in City New Orleans billowed up like the howling winds of hell and was carried live and in color on television screens across the country and around the world.

Across the world, international communities wonder how America  with all her riches and power could be so slow to come to the aid of so many.  In   America the sense of incredulous realization that there is indeed a portion of the country that is terribly marginalized and invisible is startling, and frightening to those who would rather "the problem would go away". 

To the rest of us, that is those who do not choose to close a blind eye to the reality of poverty in  America we feel anger. Many have equated the treatment of those evacuated to the Superdome in as similar to the slave experience on the Middle Passage. What a sad and horribly accurate analogy. Too many people, confined to a dark structure, with no food, water, air, sanitation, in stifling heat, with people dying in the dark around them. Historical memory in this Southern environment is easily awakened.

So many had their physical, mental and emotional foundations shredded. Some show resilience and the capacity to change their lives and move on bravely into a strange new world. Others lack the physical or psychological capacity and life skills to make the transition from the way things were to some place and something new. It is so hard to fathom having to leave somewhere that has been home for generations. It's also hard to fathom clinging to the only home you've known, with your animals, and loved ones to try to ride a storm out, only to loose one or two of those loved ones their bodies lingering, the guilt must be overwhelming.

American's have been doing everything they can think of to bring aid. The world should know that we Americans are more brilliant, compassionate, responsive, pragmatic, and altruistic then the slow fumbling leadership that portends to represent us.  Americans wonder  how all those displaced will be able to grow again after such devastation and have mobilized in every community both religious and secular to rush to aid  of the distressed. Now we are hearing the stories about how the valiant tried to defend the rights of the weak and vulnerable and how heroes of all colors, shapes and sizes are doing whatever they can to keep others alive, even while they watch helplessly as people die. 

With each new catastrophic disaster in the world community, we as humans are being called to a singular awareness of the fragility of our existence. We are told we must prepare ourselves in case of emergency, have our battery-operated radio, water, flashlight, cash and spare clothes packed just in case. We need to have a meeting plan for family and friends. We need to make sure to look out for the elderly and those without means. 

With each new disaster, we are also called to understand that there is a fundamental need for building and sustaining neighborhoods and communities where people feel a sense of interconnectedness, no matter the economic status of the community. 

Surely, that idea sounds outdated, and impossible to the cynics that have thrown up their hands in despair at the loss of  America 's heart, or suspect to those who are “just trying to survive”.  This latest disaster and each preceding one asks for not only kindness and sacrifices from strangers, but also awareness of social conditions outside of our microcosmic worlds. It is true that one action can effect many.  I wonder how many will heed these calls. 

**********************

CD Baby has invited artists to donate all profits from any sales through
their site directly to the Red Cross. go to www.CDBaby.com and choose "for
charity" on the homepage. this will take you to a list of CD Baby artists
who have donated all monies from sales of CDs/DVDs directly to the red
cross relief fund. you can also just go directly to an individual artist's
page by searching their name.

 

****************************

Americans for the Arts staff are working hard to connect with our members in the affected regions and to offer help in any way possible.
 
We can report that the damage Katrina inflicted on our members in  Florida when it was a much less powerful storm, was relatively minor. Our members there are moving forward with an assessment to determine the damage to other arts organizations in their region. Greater concern is for those in the gulf states Louisiana, Mississippi,Alabama. We are attempting to reach our members there, and we will keep you updated on any information we receive from our state and local partners.
 
WHAT YOU CAN DO:
Members we have talked to in the affected regions have expressed a desperate need for information. In response, Americans for the Arts has set up a bulletin board on our website to gather and disseminate information. If you have heard news about how arts organizations, cultural facilities, and artists are faring in the aftermath of the hurricane, please don't hesitate to submit it for inclusion on the bulletin board. If you know of any initiatives to assist the arts, please feel free to share them as well. Eventually, we hope also to share news and ideas about how arts agencies, organizations, and artists are themselves helping to ease the human suffering that has literally engulfed the region.
 
If you would like to make a contribution, our regional partner, The Southern Arts Federation, has established an EmergencyRelief Fund to assist arts organizations and artists residing in those  communities most devastated by Hurricane Katrina. A donation form can be found on our website at http://ww3.artsusa.org/pdf/get_involved/membership/emergency_relief_fund.pdf 

We also recommend that our members consider making a contribution to the Craft Emergency Relief Fund (CERF). CERF's Disaster Relief Fund, interest-free loan programs and staff, are prepared to respond to professional craft artists who have suffered significant losses. To make a contribution to CERF, please visit their website at www.craftemergency.org.
 
Lastly, we have been in touch with our colleagues at the National Endowment for the Arts and they are preparing a formal statement, which we will post on our website upon its release.

Americans for the Arts is committed to helping those affected by this devastating disaster. We will keep you informed about additional ways in which you can help. If you have any questions regarding our efforts, please contact Mara Walker, chief planning officer, at 202.371.2830 or mwalker@artsusa.org.

***********

 

My prayers go out to all those who have been affected by Hurricane Katrina, which is all of us.

One Joy 4 You

                  

In dream, I was having lunch with Potential,

she was offering me a life that I'd only imagined.

I was stirred by what I perceived

in those brief blurred images.

My well bloomed  with a sweetness

that I swelled to hold.

My curious mind seeks beyond longing, to

allow Potential to embrace me, this waking day.

Linda Joy Burke

All Rights Reserved by Author.

 

 

 

 

If you are reading this for the first time welcome and if you are a regular welcome back. This is the first year anniversary of The Bird Talks  Blog(which I recently renamed) and I’m looking forward to seeing what will come forth in the coming year.

 

Generally I will post a column at least once a month, or bi-monthly. For new readers, what you will find here is both poetry and prose. You will not find  minutia about my personal life, though if there is a good story to tell about something that I’ve experienced I will share it. Some of the poetry that you’ll read is original work that I might have  published in an anthology, book or lit magazine (and credited), or work in progress and under consideration for submission and publication. I have historically written op-ed columns, feature articles dealing with art and culture, and profiles. I will continue to do that kind of work here, and invite you the reader to post comments or ask questions. This year I will include my picks for interesting links on the WWW. Stay tuned for updates to the links section.  Permission for  use of any material presented here should be directed to me through this Blog .

Enjoy-    

     ï

 

Contemplating Issues of Tolerance In Modern Day Society  

 

Part I

 

I’m an information junkie. I read everything, pamphlets in the grocery store, brochures in the acupuncturist’s office, obscure local newspapers, neighborhood newsletters, lit zines from foreign countries and memoirs, novels by people who might not be the next big thing, and some who are. I also have the privilege of reading the books of poetry, stories, and essays by friends, local poets and writers, and listening to the young spoken word scribes speak their truth into the world. 

 

People often ask me when “do you have the time to do all that reading?” I tell them that reading feels as natural as breathing to me, and feeds my desire to find out as much as I can about what people are thinking, doing and trying to express.  As I read I wonder about folks who live in neighborhoods, just like mine, give or take a few trees and blades of grass.

 

 Do they take in the information that comes their way or are they just tuned into the nine to five grind, the children to feed, the spouse to love, the bills to pay...  Do they see beyond their four wheel drives, beyond their immediate circles, beyond just the eleven o’clock news world, to q larger synthesis.  

 

As I read about the myriad of perspectives on the planet, I question whether or not tolerance is a value one inherits or learns.  For example, I know I have learned to be intolerant of people who throw trash on the ground. I say I learned because I used to litter when I believed that there was always going to be some one to pick up my debris.

 

Of course when I was that callous I was a kid, living  in a world where other people did the work of cleaning up my mess. I do remember a nun demanding that I eat the trash around my desk one morning at the beginning of a school day though.

 

I don’t think it was this cruel admonition for my littering or  the anti-littering commercials of the time that changed my mind though.  For a while, when I was older I became one of those people who cleaned up others’ stuff. I learned that littering was part of the oblivious bliss of childhood. Now when I look around I see that there are so many people letting their inner child litter, and I really wish they’ grow up.

 

There are harder questions about tolerance though, especially now in these quickly changing times. In the news the headlines work into the psyche of the nation.  Keeping books and marginalized boys in inner city schools is not the top story, but what the boys do wrong around the world is. I’ve been told, by some teachers, that bad behavior and casual sex is rampant. I’ve been told, by some kids, that they are used to not be listened to, that yelling to get their point across is normal. This, explains why they find it unnecessary to appear as if they are paying attention. 

 

In a world where morality and “the culture wars” are part of an every day discussion on talk radio and talk tv from TV One to Fox, NPR to the stations of the Christian heartland, perhaps daily practice in curbing impatience, rage, fear and anxiety should become part of the public education discourse. 

Every day I wonder how we tolerate so much tension. Then I realize that If one uses reality tv and the daily news as a gage, we aren't doing to0 well.

 

June 28, 2005 -  All rights reserved by Author.

 

To be continued....

Celebrating Veriditas 

(for Hildegard von Bingen)

 

Spring Fever’s got me watching the 

wind direct microcosms

Pollen blows from here to there,

leaves scatter from late-shedding trees,

to mingle with man made debris.

 

Flies and bees awaken

to the sound of the greening,

in the calling, in the echo of the

departing night,

Chronus springs forward.

 

The white light winter nights

are melting away

and there seems to be

little time for sleeping

with so much to give breath to.

 

The season is changing,

is greening,

is turning over new leaves

and fresh blossoms of pink,

yellow and white,

 

and sending out its message

through the sound

of day long rainfalls,

through the scent of freshly – mown perfume,

and royal green blades upright glow.

 

Linda Joy Burke

 

All rights reserved by author

 

This Poem originally appeared in Quintessence, a publication of the Traditional Acupuncture Institute. It also appears along with 4 other nature poems  in the book Healing Design: Practical Feng Shui for Healthy and Gracious Living by Hope Karan Gerecht.  1999 Charles E. Tuttle Co. Inc. 

 

Why do some boy’s minds gotta die young? 

 

They want to show you, 

show you, show you,

that life has never been

so crazy, crazy, crazy,

don’t you know they

just want to

give you, give you,

give you a piece of

their prescious minds,

let you stare into

the echo of their worlds

they are

tugging text  messages

through to your

wandering ears 

and leaving them

littering the path to the

door of your thoughts

they have sought your attention.

 

                         Open

 

  They want to show you, 

   show you, show you that their  

   blind faith in immortality

keeps them from flying into

  the sun, 

  see their wings have

  already been singed by the starry

  eyed stares of evil,

    tinged with the bravado of no regret,

    their fragile egos wasted, 

   cause they thought all they had to do 

was dream

the bigger the better,

don?t you know

they want to show you, show you,

       show you  that dreaming isn?t

all it?s cracked up to be.

They gotta  show, show, show,

           see this sun isn?t all

          it?s cracked up to be

            we be craving the

           burn, burn, burn. 

Don?t you know, know, know? 

                  

Linda Joy Burke

For a Teacher  Friend, Working with boys in The Juvenile Justice System

 

 All Rights Reserved By Author

 

In an Instant

 

Everything Can Change

Today is St. Patrick's Day and my parent's anniversary, a day for celebration. I got a little distracted on the way to celebrating though. There was a major fire this afternoon, right around 3 o'clock, in the building next door to the one I live in . The ground floor apartment where the fire started is a total loss. The two above will be unlivable for months. The fire melted the wiring, scorched the front of the building, and sent smoke  billowing up to the rafters and across to both my next-door neighbor''s and my home.

Before the fire engines arrived, people were asking if anyone was in the building. Someone asked if the fire alarm had been pulled. Even though I was dressed for taking my folks out for an anniversary dinner, I ran into the building and banged on what doors I could, smashed the glass for the fire extinguisher grabbed that, and on my way out the door I pulled the fire alarm. When I got outside the flames were burning the crisp bushes in front of the building. I quickly figured out how to work the fire extinguisher and sprayed the bushes praying that this was enough to keep them from catching fire all the way across. If they had, the big tree between the two buildings would have carried the flames to the roof. 

I never knew time could move so fast and so slow at the same time. It seemed like it took an eternity for the fire department to get there, while the flames burned so quickly. The extinguisher was only good for the bushes but it did the trick, and the fire was contained to just that building.

This was the second fire in a little over a year's time in the same building. The first one was not nearly as bad damage wise, but still brutal because it was on a dreadfully cold night. Then, stunned neighbors, many awoken from sleep, stood on the sidewalk watching the firefighters work. Some of them stood in bare feet, pajamas, no coats. Some of us brought blankets and spare coats, while others took barefooted ones into their homes. Then the firefighters were kind, solicitous, asking who lived where, and verbally reassuring us that we would be okay.

Today's fire, happened when most of the people were still at work. The firefighters brought the fire under control right when folks were arriving home. I noticed that this time, they avoided talking to any of the neighbors; they did not ask if we knew who lived where. I was anxious about a dog that I knew was trapped in an apartment on the second floor and Its owner wasn't home.  When I mentioned my feeling  to one of the people who takes care of the development, he said almost simultaneous to my observation, ?They didn?t talk to us?. He told me he thought this was strange too, and that they were not really very nice, almost surly with him when he asked them a question. He said BGE was great, respectful, and able to tell us what to expect next. I had noticed the same thing.The dog was happily rescued and reunited with his anxious owners.

I did see one firefighter working with some of the displaced neighbors. He seemed kind enough, and perhaps they just leave it up to him to handle the folks. After all people can get in the way. But, these people really needed someone to make sense out of what they were coming home to.  Some arrived to doors having been broken in, windows smashed or melted, and uninhabitable homes. All of us had to endure the invasion of men who needed to come in our houses to shut off the gas, replace valves, and then come back hours later to turn the gas back on and light the pilots. I had to leave so that I could take my parents to dinner, so I depended on the kindness of neighbors to look out for my stuff while these strangers were in my house. I hoped my cat wouldn't start climbing the walls; she really does not do drama well.

When I got back home, I arrived to find eight police cars in the parking lot, in addition to all the vehicles belonging to the various people who were dealing with the aftermath of the fire.  I was in sensory overload. I stopped one of my neighbors and asked what's up now? She threw her arms up in the air in frustration and told me she had just gotten here too and didn?t know. Her condominium was inhabitable. I asked another couple who was getting ready to move out of their condominium for three or more months what happened. They told me that the bevy of police was there to arrest a couple who lived in their building, for domestic violence. They told me these two fought all the time. 

Men were still going in and out of the buildings. One a large fellow with a big beard and lots of tattoos declared, "I could never live in a place like this. My house is going to be miles away from the neighbors." He said he did not want to have to worry about someone making the mistake of setting his home on fire or having roaches or paying fees. Then he started to talk about how dirty one of the condominiums was, so bad that his partner had to use gloves...It's a strange feeling hearing strangers  evaluating lifestyles in the middle of a crisis. 

We on this side are blessed with having just a momentary disruption of our lives. We have exchanged phone numbers and the pet owners are going to post notices on their front doors listing furred, finned, feathered, and scaled ones inside that should be rescued in case of fire or other calamities. All of us neighbors are reminded once again of the value of watching out for each other during a disaster. None of us wants to think about how much we could loose.

 Linda Joy Burke

  All Rights Reservered,ByAuthor 

 

"Take Your Time"

 

     A couple of weeks ago I drove to Hagerstown.The last time I took a trip to this part of Maryland was nearly 25 years ago. I had to go to a little town just east of there called Boonesboro, because I'd found a screen-printer for tee-shirts, who used Soy Based Ink. I was young and harried and not very experienced in traveling out of the safety on my "hometown". I was so stressed, I don't remember the car I was in. I do remembering trying to get there in a hurry.  Back then that stretch of the road was pretty lightly traveled, and a trap for unsuspecting speeders. I got a speeding ticket. I'm sorry to say I didn't enjoy driving then as much as I do now. 

    I was working on this recent trip too, however I guess with age and experience, things like timing and levels of urgency get worked out.  I decided to leave a half hour earlier than I had originally scheduled. My car was covered with snow, however I was driving west, and Doppler said the snow was going to be more in the South East. I get a charge out of being out in drivable snow and I don't believe  all the hype about every snow storm being so much of a bother. I miss snow when it's not around in these parts. Snow feels healthy to me, winter as it should be.

     I really was going to try to stick to the main drag, on my little trip west, but as soon as I got to the commercial strip mall part of the drive, I veared off on the first Senic By-Way I saw.  I live an a "new" community with just a handful of  historic properties preserved amongst all the other 35 year old brick/siding and mortar constructions.  Large Box buildings and shopping compounds are plentiful here. I've heard some folks here talk about how old things are at 30+.  I guess if a thing is made to be disposable than it is old. There's not a lot of color here though. The whole idea was to blend into the environment.  However, at some point in the midst of development, the environment started getting in the way. Us "oldtimers" are still grieving the loss of forests we counted as familiar. 

     I have a friend who says that folks used to gather on the front porch and visit with each other years ago, and we don't do that so much anymore. We have our back yards and email, and private lives now. This is espcially true where I live, which is not a community of people with front porches.  I've passed a lot of amazing beautiful porches on this drive. The historic detail and colors of each set them in whimsical contrast to to the modern grey pavement. With the added snow, houses here are works of art to my mind's eye. I regret not having brought my camera.

     I've noticed, that every time I slow down the drive, and get off the beaten path I discover the color and imagination in what is old in Americana. This trip was no exception. Here I saw  architecture that was so beautiful and intricate and removed from the smooth cold lines of what shows up as new. Each house I saw was more destracting and delightful than the last.  This was the kind of stuff that makes me wonder about the hands that crafted, and what was happening in the world during the time that was invested to make these places, and the lives that benefited from those creations.  I see this old  Americana as "a take your time" kind of culture, a time of back breaking hard work, which reflects character, genius, mystery and longevity.

For more reflections on Americana, through poetic intrepretations, visit www.washingtonart.com/whitman/walt.html .

DC Celebrates Whitman: 150 Years of Leaves of Grass

 

 

  

       

    

   . 

How The Eyes See

 

I

A documentary about life in a

City far enough away to be like

A foreign planet, shows a boy’s

Sweet innocent face.

Speaking with defiant confidence he spits,

I want to be a martyr,

To go smiling, like the brothers

I’ve seen go before me,

Strapped up to his neck with enough

Mass destruction to get him where he’d

Been told he’d go,

He searched for infidels,

Saw children instead.

No words admonished - but

Looking through his own orphaned

Eyes, seeing children

Stopped him…

Soldiers and video -taping pedestrians

Watched him fall to his knees

Pleading to surrender.

II

How hard it must be

To live in the skin

Of a boy born into a world

Where the temptation of

Immortal grace’s promise

Is more seductive than a

Mind altering chemical;

Stopped him…

How easy it must be

To love the seduction

On the other side of reason,

To not think about

Loving another human body,

Or the soul sold.

Stopped him?

Seeing more lost children

Through his own orphaned eyes

Reminded him of what it was like

To be left alone and afraid

One too many times,

Stopped him?

Now hidden way

Behind the fences where

The enemy sleeps,

The boy no longer

Dreams of dying

But of living as a man,

Praying,

Allah is still smiling on him.

1/30/05

Linda Joy Burke

All Rights Reserved by Author-