Joy
That morning cheek to belly press
The coffee smile tossed gently over
The top of your reading glasses
I’ll tell you joy
*
Joy
When the chocolate covering
On that ice cream bar fractures
For the teeth just right
I’ll tell you joy
*
Joy
That walking through the door
Moment and your face is there
Pulling me warm home
I’ll tell you joy
*
Joy
Making the words carve
Me a new world on the soft
Side of a hill somewhere
I’ll tell you joy
Just told you mine
*
*
We look for the meaning now
Lamenting the Styrofoam embrace of our coffee
And the young male teen walkin’ by talkin’
Tough like he knows strength
Someone saying I’d like to teach
The little shit a lesson
They mean that in a good way
*
In a hot vein moment we snarly jointly
At the Bosnia slaughter and I ask
What did we mean when we said never again
And minutes later coming home from
The day you point out a majestic tree and slow
The truck in awe never mind the tire screech behind us
I mean that in a good way
*
On the job we crank to high standards
Your shuffling pace spots the missed nick
The unfinished sweep the ugly table we moved
To paint a room muttering lit fuse quick
Before telling me my sanded walls look good
You mean that in a good way
*
Then our phone talk connection across
The landscape of our ripped childhoods
With minds and hearts bleeding
To the bump and grind of abuse
And our little boys met
And I’m damn glad they did
I mean that in a good way
*
I do not support New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg in his re-election bid. His understated style kept his arrogance out of the spotlight until he decided to overrule the will of the people and dump term limits. Mr. Bloomberg thinks he is able to help NYC face its challenges better than anyone else. I don’t believe he believes that. I think he is addicted to power like many others. After all, he is one of many elected officials who fall foursquare under the observation Abraham Lincoln made when he said, “Most men can handle adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”
Bloomberg took the test and failed miserably.
Having said this, it seems the New York’s Police Benevolent Association, the largest of the NYPD’s unions, will endorse Bloomberg. There is no human being on the face of the earth who respects the NYPD any more than I do, nor is there anyone who owes them more than I do. I owe them my life. It was Brooklyn’s 84th Precinct that responded with breathtaking speed when I was held up and shot in the head in 1984. One item in my bucket list is to save the life of a aw enforcement officer before my time is up.
So, let me say something to Mr. Bloomberg. If you win re-election, increase the NYPD’s starting pay. I know it was increased to $41,975 as of August 1 this year, but it should be much higher than that. While $41,975 may be nice pay in the rural areas of the state, it is disgracefully low for anyone trying to make ends meet in the pricey five boroughs. After all, Mr. Bloomberg, you and I and anyone paying close attention to your actions, know you are slowly but surely selling off the city to the wealthiest folks. The least you could do is make sure that the NYPD and, while you’re at it, the starting salaries of other first responders, are as high as any in the country. The starting base pay now for NYC firefighters is a $36,400, the starting pay for EMS professionals is $27,295, and the starting pay for paramedics is $37,346. There is no excuse for pay rates so low in NYC.
Raising all their starting pay should not be a problem for you. If you can overrule the will of the people for your own self-interest, perhaps you can do something for those who give their lives to save other peoples lives the pay they deserve. It’s the least you can do, Mr. Mayor. The most you can do, by the way, is resign.
Every writer is different. Some can write with all kinds of ambient noise going on, some need complete silence. Some can write to music, even songs. I can often write to two specific kinds of music – jazz and classical. But I can’t write to any kind of music if it has lyrics. And forget writing if the television is on. If I hear words while writing I get so caught up in the words my ability to focus on my writing, whatever its worth, goes out the window, or down the drain. Take your pick.
There are some writers who can write in any environment. Michael, the person I am closest to in the world and one of the best writers I’ve ever encountered, in person or on the page, can write sitting in the middle ring of a three ring circus while the circus is performing for a standing room only raucous crowd. I don’t know how on earth he does it and frankly I am jealous as hell.
As I write this morning I am listening to Beethoven’s Piano Concerto Number 4 in G, Op. 58. For me there is no better companion than Beethoven. He is as welcome in my world as oxygen is.
If you’ll allow me a moment to stray from the theme of this piece, Beethoven, along with the Beatles, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen are the four sources of music and song closest to my heart and soul. Believe me, I love a wide range of music, but those four do me just fine. As for Beethoven, I’ve literally been listening to his music since before I could walk. I loved classical music all my life. My parents would tell me, however, that there was always something about Beethoven that seemed to reach the center of me. Still true. The closest to that would be Springsteen followed by a third place tie between the Beatles and Dylan.
Having said all that I have thus far, there are times, many of them, when I need total silence when I write. Times where the place writing takes me to is so, what are the words, delicately focused, that any ambient sound will shatter the sentences in mid-air and they’ll never reach the page.
There is certainly no right or wrong about all this. The task is to get the words on the page. And, as always, there are exceptions to the rule. There is one in my case. I can listen to Springsteen while turning loose specific forms of poetry and prose.
Anyway, time for another cup of coffee and some more Beethoven.
Be well. Take care of yourselves.
The villains in the healthcare reform battle are the Insurance Companies and the elected officials who accept their money because they are more concerned about getting re-elected than saving American lives.
Fortunately we have a president and some members of congress who are willing to take on these greed-based companies.
President Obama is fighting for us, and we need to do the same. Obama Saturday accurately blasted the insurance companies for airing “deceptive and dishonest ads” and being more concerned about their profits and bonuses than the American people. He is right.
Consider this, 77 percent of Americans favor the public option and more than 60 percent of doctors favor it. The obstacle to healthcare reform in my country is the insurance industry, plain and simple. Obama was spot on accurate when he said, of the insurance industry’s approach, “It’s bogus. And it’s all too familiar. Every time we get close to passing reform, the insurance companies produce these phony studies as a prescription and say, ‘Take one of these, and call us in a decade.’ Well, not this time.”
Consider this too. The insurance industry squawks about the establishing of a public option, claiming it won’t work and they can do a better job of providing healthcare for Americans? Really? Do tell? If you believe them, you are wrong. Were this true, and if they really gave a damn about the health of the American family, why aren’t they asking to provide care for those currently covered by Medicaid and Medicare, both government offerings. Answer? Those covered by Medicaid and Medicare don’t make a lot of money so the insurance companies can’t add to their profits and bonuses.
Again, I plead with all my readers to call your senators and congressmen and congresswomen and tell them one simple thing: If you don’t vote for the public option I will vote against you and I will actively make sure everyone I know votes against you.
Remember, we are fighting for our lives. And they are worth fighting for, believe me, they are.
Peter S. Kahrmann - Est. 1953 