“Just Lyricz” Live at Random Row This Thursday, January 19

“Just Lyricz” happens at the Random Row bookstore, 315 W. Main St. (just south of Staples), on the 1st and 3rd Thursday of each month.  The shows run from 7 to 10 pm (admission is $5) and are open mic, with a lively combination of poetry, hip-hop, rap, and music.  

This is one of the few places in Charlottesville where you’ll find a genuine mix in terms of race, age, and social class, with a high level of mutual support and encouragement.  With open mic, you take what you get; it’s bound to be uneven.  But that’s part of the real fun of the show.  Some of the folks who climb up on that stage have talent that will knock your socks off!  Give it a try; highly recommended.

The Sound Barrier

Exactly 2

That’s the number of times most people tolerate being asked:  “Could you repeat that?”

Then conversations come to an abrupt halt, like a telephone line gone dead.

No one likes being hung up on, so I pretend to understand when I don’t.

I shake my head “yes” when the answer should be “huh?”

Being hearing impaired is like filling in the blanks of a Wheel of Fortune puzzle.

Ca_ You U_de_s_a_d _he Wo_ds Comi_g out My Mou__?

My ears are constantly tuned to a station with a weak signal.

Broken radios are considered throw-away items, so I hide my affliction.

It wasn’t always this way.

At first, I tried different techniques.

I asked for specifics: “Could you repeat the last THREE words?”

I gave instructions: “It helps if you enunciate and pause between the words.”

And when that didn’t work, I asked, “Could you just write it down?”

I glanced at the paper and pen pushed back at me, the backs of those who hear well as they walked away, and wondered what seemed so unreasonable about exerting ½ the effort I did.

I have a memory.  It is of walking down the street with a friend.

He is on my right and we are talking.

He places his hands at my waist and they guide me to the right.  He shifts to my left.

He knows I can hear better that way.

When I still don’t understand what’s said, he repeats himself a 3rd time.

It isn’t just the words I hear.

It is in moments like these that I know -

Even with these defective ears -

I am able to hear everything that’s really important.

© Camisha Jones, 2012

1935 Zenith radio

Nonviolence Requires Courage... and Other Principles of Martin Luther King

Monday, January 16, 2012 / 5:30 pm until 8:30 pm at Random Row Bookstore, 

315 W. Main St., Charlottesville (directly south of Staples)

Come celebrate how the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King (and many other Civil Rights activists) lives on here in Charlottesville. This is a gathering for all those who have a dream of social justice and a desire to see it come true.

The theme is Dr. King's Principles of Nonviolence and how they can guide us in today's world. 

~ We will serve homemade soup, bread, salad and desserts.

~ Special guests will offer poetry, music, stories, and other artistry related to the theme.

~ The Presence troupe will use playback and forum theatre techniques to reflect on audience members' hopes, fears, frustrations, wishes and dreams for the future for Charlottesville and the world. We encourage you to share your own anecdotes, situations, and concrete strategies for change!

 ~ Diverse elements will be interwoven artistically, supported by visual projection, freestyle poetry, interactive theatre forms, and the soulful rhythms of DJ "Double A1K". 

~ Local groups are invited to display their work in the areas of social justice, diversity awareness, and nonviolent change.

~ Produced by Presence Center for Applied Theatre Arts and JustLyricz/ Skies the Limit Entertainment

Feel free to spread the word, and we hope to see you on MLK Day!

EVE

Thru' its heaven this planet spins.

Night awakes to nurse her twins.

She suckles both upon her breasts;

One is evil, the other then rests.

She further feeds a famous fable--

She knows that Cain will murder Abel.

The stars come out to steal my breath;

Night has nursed her infants--Sleep & Death.

© F. Carroll Harrison, 2012

The Serpens star-forming region; photo by NASA

TWENTIETH CENTURY LIMITED

For women, the end of the twentieth century

is no big deal.

After Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem

we had hoped for better things,

but where has all that consciousness raising gotten us?

We are stretched thin,

trying to fill the shoes of our mothers

while pushing our way

into the world of our fathers.

Meantime, we are blamed

for the problems of our children.

Some harsh master or mistress expects us to be all things,

including

having an ageless body,

incredible orgasms on demand,

and the calm nature of a Zen master.

We try for a little spiritual sustenance,

only to be bombarded by articles in women’s magazines

blithering about decorating the perfect house

in the 1950’s style.

At the same time

we are expected to whip up

a gourmet meal in twenty minutes,

not forgetting our aim

of losing twenty pounds

in ten days.

Men are discovering their inner feminine nature

as we go off to offices

dressed in tailored navy slack suits,

leaving the children in the hands of tired workers

at the local day care center.

Some call this “the sandwich generation.”

Often we must care for aging parents

while trying to cope with rebellious teenagers.  

We wonder what the new century will bring.

We begin to long for the dull world of our mothers,

who stayed at home to suckle their babies

and be there with milk and cookies

when the kindergartners came home from school.

We are told that now we can have it all.

I can’t help wondering

what “all” is.

© Peggy Latham, 2012

Gloria Steinem, 1972: Photo from
Wikimedia Commons

Poems for Reyn

Oh fair maiden, 

holding secrets unknown,

tucking away the hurts

that caused the flaming outbursts 

that put you in this prison tower,

taking  your sense of self 

and any power 

you might have known 

if left alone, 

holding secrets unknown. 

Oh fair maiden, 

where have you gone?

With wings clipped 

you are not allowed 

to express fully

who you are. 

In your moments of passion, 

on the outer edge

of free spirited, 

THEY decide 

you need reining in, 

without even beginning 

to hear your side 

of the story. 

And so, 

locked down, 

you comply-- 

at least for a time 

of “oh well,”

and let it go. 

I sit 

on the outside 

and wonder how 

an opportunity 

for connectedness 

and creativity 

and goodness 

got lost, 

and wonder where 

the anger went. 

© Anne Cressin, 2011

Tower of London; photo from Wikipedia Commons, by CherryX

The Corner of Second and Ho

Rounding past the meadow, east of the lake,

Agony exuberant shouts for all on the make.

Rises up the intersection where all the damned go,

For here's Hell's Hell at the corner of Second & Ho.

In one corner, poor Deek struts in fashion threadbare.

His eyes see nothing, just horizon-less despair.

"I will always be with you, I will don't you know"

Intones this broke man on the corner of Second & Ho.

Across the way, Hungry Willie lazes on a lawn chair alone.

Belly extended, guzzling booze as he gnaws a leg bone.

Reaching for coke below the awning of Wings-to-Go

He rasps, "But no one can fly from the corner of Second & Ho.”

First Class fingers the cars as they speed their merry way,

But what fear motors their hearts, no one will say.

As he pees on a pole, First Class teases those in the know

"Change’s coming at last" to the corner of Second & Ho.

Gomer hears this snide taunt and finds strength (from above?)

Out of the chop shop, she staggers into the street preaching love.

The yos & hos freeze at her words, both the high & the low

Then rush to embrace - GRACE - by the corner of Second & Ho.

As they move off the curbs, a family wagon stops in its tracks.

Windows roll up, locks snap into place, pale faces draw back.

Blessed Gomer staggers back among the meek, life's sad undertow,

Sweeping away all hope on down the corner of Second & Ho.

                                        

As the crowd departs, she snarls "Cracker" at that blue-eyed fool.

The Chevy drives on, darkness returns, again the bleary-eyed drool.

"The first may go first, but the last shall last forever and ever mo'"

Murmurs Gomer to herself athwart the corner of Second & Ho.

© Byron Harris, 2011

At the corner; photo by Tony Russell