F.E. Feeley Jr.'s Blog, page 18

Yin and Yang of us (Poem)

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I am not me, alone

Not anymore

There is no self identifier

I, has become we

me has become thee

It’s all combined, now

You are not you, alone

When you walk through that door

the other half of you greets the other half of me

Us, transformed

morphed, molded,

immersed into another being, now

When your gone away

to wherever your labor takes you

I count the minutes and seconds

till the rest of me walks through the door

When I’m here alone

You labor along side of me

your thoughts become my words

I ponder what you’ve taught me

and give it away to the world

Not codependent, symbiotic

my breath, my body,

your heartbeat, your laughter

Yin and Yang

we are – individually- part of the whole, now

Scott Lively, Jerry Falwell Jr, and the Theocrats among us.

 

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Once upon a time, in a land apparently not so different than the one we live in today, African American’s achieved (as did the rest of the country) their God given right to snub Jim Crow law and attend any school they chose.  Racial integration had been achieved, and all was well in the land.

Or so we thought.

A little lesser known case than it’s predecessor Brown V Board of Education made it’s way up to the United States Supreme Court called Bob Jones Sr. vs The United States. A preacher (or a group of them, rather) angry that they couldn’t use their tax exempt status to open white only schools sued the government.

They lost in an 8-1 decision handed down by the court.

Everything still seemed right in the land. The last vestiges of the wicked minded had finally been eradicated, nothing to see here. African Americans were brought inside the castle for years of bountiful and joyous celebrations, everyone started getting along, and the Prince married the Princess.

Except that never happened. Not even close and that is more apparent today, than in any other time in my life.

Why?

Well, it’s a simple yet sad thing we as a nation did to our Black brothers and sisters.

The lone dissenter in Bob Jones Sr. vs The United States – William H. Rehnquist was appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States where he served as Chief Justice until his death in 2005.

Essentially, We opened the draw bridge to the castle, yes. They were enticed to come in, yes. Yet, without them knowing everyone bailed out, locked the doors and shuttered the windows of the castle…..and then set it on fire.

You can read about the account here in Politico’s article, The Real Origins of the Religious Right. 

TL;DR = Jerry Falwell, Oral Roberts, and Bob Jones Sr. were really really mad their little Bobby’s and Little Susie’s would have to go to school with little Tyrone. Lied to people about their stance on abortion, convinced Catholics that they didn’t think the Pope was the Anti-Christ, and their church was the Great Whore of Babylon, defeated their own Christian brother Jimmy Carter for a B Hollywood Movie Actor (and former Union Boss) Ronald Reagan.  Ta-Da – Civil Rights curtailed.

Donald Trump pandered to the religious right, supporters of Mike Pence who nauseatingly prayed over the Presidential Candidate who, despite holding up a rainbow flag and was quoted as saying, ” I love the gays,” believed him to be what it took to Make America Great again.

Nothing to see here.

Except for The White House just announcing that Jerry Falwell will be heading up the ‘Education Reform’ task force to not only address public schools but higher levels of learning.  Jerry Falwell Jr, the son of the late, great (although greatness doesn’t denote goodness) Jerry Falwell Sr. is the Chancellor of Liberty University.

“So what,” you say. We knew Public Education was about to get blown out of the water with Betsy Devos.  “After how many years of Every Child Left Behind? The average tenure of a school teacher in America is roughly two years. Their salaries are meager, the work load is enormous, I mean – come on the Tea Party has been putting nutjobs on school boards since Obama got elected. Of course we know what’s going on. They’re trying to eradicate public education or at least make it so public school kids leave those schools sounding like the idiots that graduate from non accredited private Christian schools. Why campaign and convince a generation of people to vote for you when you can grow your own?”

Hold on grasshopper, this story gets better.

A couple of years ago, Scott Lively, a radical Christian fundamentalist went to Uganda and not only spread his gospel, he decided to spread his murderous hatred for gay people. Convincing the Ugandan government that enacting anti-gay laws that killed gay people or worse, threw them into 3rd world prisons for the crime of BEING gay, was God’s Will – he was brought up on charges of Crimes Against Humanity by a Ugandan who wanted his pasty white and cowardly ass sent to the Hague to stand trial.

Seems pretty logical, right?

Try and incite a genocide – have to go stand before a court that sort of frowns on these things.

Except, Mr. Lively won his case. Yet he didn’t walk away from it unscathed. The Judge basically called him shit underneath his shoe, called him a bigot, Judge Pryor had this to say about Mr. Lively:

 “Discovery confirmed the nature of Defendant’s, on the one hand, vicious and, on the other hand, ludicrously extreme animus against LGBTI people and his determination to assist in persecuting them wherever they are, including Uganda.

 

“The evidence of record demonstrates that Defendant aided and abetted efforts (1) to restrict freedom of expression by members of the LBGTI community in Uganda, (2) to suppress their civil rights, and (3) to make the very existence of LGBTI people in Uganda a crime.

“The record also confirms that these efforts to intimidate and injure the LGBTI community in Uganda were, unfortunately, to some extent successful.

“This crackpot bigotry could be brushed aside as pathetic, except for the terrible harm it can cause. The record in this case demonstrates that Defendant has worked with elements in Uganda who share some of his views to try to repress freedom of expression by LGBTI people in Uganda, deprive them of the protection of the law, and render their very existence illegal.

“He has, for example, proposed twenty-year prison sentences for gay couples in Uganda who simply lead open, law-abiding lives.”

Scott Lively, unhappy with the Judge for calling him names is appealing the case. You can read about it, here. 

Now what, do you ask, has this to do with Mr. Jerry Falwell Jr?  I am so glad you asked.

The Liberty Counsel is the Law firm that represents Liberty University and their very own King James – Mr. Jerry Falwell Jr. They were the same legal counsel for Kentucky Clerk Kim Davis who infamously refused to give a gay couple a marriage license.

Now, what does this have to do with everyone else? Especially gay people?

One of the last things Dr. Martin Luther King Jr said to his followers before he was assassinated was, “You know, we’ve struggled long and hard for the victories we have attained. Yet there is something that troubles me deeply. For all the Civil Rights and all the things we’ve done….I have come to believe that we are integrating into a burning house…we have no choice but to become firemen.”

Just like our African American brothers and sisters, we’re facing a real and motivated threat. There are those who are angry at us just for simply having the right to live as human beings live. They’re angry that we have the same rights they have. Yet among those who are angry, there are some who have allowed their anger to fester into cancerous hate. We’ve called them Republican, We’ve called them Tea Partiers, but the truth of the matter is we had better call them what they are. Fascists. And not just any kind of fascists, Theocrats.

These people aren’t interested in a democracy, or a democratic republic – they’re interested in created The Kingdom of God on Earth. Taliban who? Isis wha..?

Liberty as a word written down, or something vocalized, is not Liberty actualized. He can call his university Liberty University, they can call their law firm Liberty Counsel. Yet Freedom and liberty are as far from their minds as their belief in Global Climate Change, Civil Rights for minorities, Gay marriage, and believing Muslims should be allowed into the country. As a matter of fact they are, as are people like Franklin Graham, extremely vocal in demonizing the latter. Just remember those that push this nonsense don’t want to relieve the world of religious oppression; they want to oppress you with theirs.

Liberty, real liberty, is being threatened.  As Sinclair Lewis famously put it, “When fascism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.”  We, like our African American brothers and sisters, may have been run into our own burning building with the SCOTUS decision. Watch this space, this story could have a very sad ending for us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I believed you the first time (Poem)

 

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There is an anger inside of me

an anger cultivated from seeing the world through your eyes

the seeds of this understanding in fields once plowed

by the merciless and unyielding force of religion’s myopic blade

having once been allowed to fallow

as the fruit had grown bitter on the vine

this ground is now once again turned over and replanted

in this season of humanity’s discontent

I know you by the fruits of your labor

having once bore the weight of your harvests’ yield

I know the saccharine words you speak are laudanum laced

which heals as a whip renders flesh across the back heals

and comforts as salt comforts though generously applied

Evil is the man who says bad is good

and bad is made all the worse when done in the name of God

and that God’s hand is turned to a cloven hoof that tramples

lives and destroys families and ignores the pain of others

whistling while you work, while you plow your fields,

hymns and psalms with anger in your eyes

Yet I am the rock in the way of your blade

that kicks up and smacks against your mouth

I’ll be the clod that dulls the steel, the hole in the ground that lames your beast

for as inevitable as you might be, though you have names that cause men to tremble in marketplaces where you trade

I am the fruit that you created – and the irony of in the demise of your efforts

For I have been poisoned and carry that weight with me

in the truth of who you are that rests between my ears

I know that one with God still constitutes a majority

and though you can’t even begin to articulate my little finger. nor do you have the power to cause one hair to grow on my head

I know everything and everyone and exactly what you are

over and over you showed me and in your haughtiness you told me

and I – biding my time – waiting for my moment –

believed every word and deed – believed it all

the first time.

 

Industry panic (Poem)

 

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Since when did it become fashionable to impede on someone’s hustle?

What’s up with this?

Can’t you do do that thing on your own?

Can’t you go out and make that green on your own?

You’re like amber bottles lined up with skulls and crossbones

you look good but that shit is superficial – you know what they say…

you’re poison, ally my ass – Et tu Brute?

Ya’ll gotta stop this, it’s toxic

it’s narrow minded, quixotic,

if someone’s got their game on deck

why come along and knock it?

If someone’s got something to say

let them do that thing, why stop it? Myopic

you scared?

You worried someone might tell you

you don’t belong here?

That your words may be gay but ain’t none of it’s queer

And are you worried someone wants to know how you got here?

And are you worried that someone’s gonna wanna know

how y’all managed to get this industry on lock?

so now you gotta knock down someone you’re stressin’ some new cock on the block

worried that someone might come teach you a lesson

on talent -so frantic, you’re actions got you confessin’

who you been all along?

can’t take no heat when someone up and tells you that you might be wrong?

is your goals so lofty, so costly, the money you make – did you come by fraudulently – are you concerned you’re a fake?

Panicked new names are creepin’ in too fast

so now you make a mistake by kissing some ass

Didn’t you get the memo

celebrity is obscurity just waiting to happen

you could be great, you should be great, but you forgot your passion

Did you lose your ability because you were too concerned with fashion?

or is the pool too shallow, here- popularity’s gotta be rationed?

the hustle should be about getting your words out there

the standard used to be publishing, now y’all running scared

with so much static running in through the door

between the critics, the cynics, and the Z list attention whores

who found their fame shit talkin’ those who do

But your losing popularity So now you do, too?

Man, what a cliché this whole thing has turned out to be

Got voodoo queens hexing the whole famn damily

it’s a tragedy, of no less than Shakespearian proportions

you’re standing at the top of the well – tellin’ us what to do with the lotion

you say, it puts it in the basket lest it get the hose again,

How are you pointing out people’s flaws when you ain’t right within?

Come again?

 

The Devil among us (Poem)

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The devil walks among the pious

among the rich and lofty few

toward the halls of justice and of government

into the heart of the holiest place

sunlight streaming on-top of his head

from the stain-glass windows

 

The devil stands behind pulpits

and carries the Bible in his hand

with a white smile he beguiles the many

and throws out those who hear something off

about his words, his gaze, his temperament

this wolf in sheeps clothing says

Love the sinner, hate the sin

 

The devil is in the ear of the parent

spare the rod spoil the child, says the deceiver

children need a firm and powerful hand

he encourages the shattering of a child’s safety

for there is nothing sadder in the world

nothing more pleasing to him, than the hopelessness

of a cynical child

 

The devil walks among us, not quite the roaring lion

we all have come to expect stalking his prey

from high grasses, nay

he’s less a powerful feline and more like a rodent

chewing through the ropes that bind us all together

creating chaos wherever he goes

 

So if the devil can be in these places

then his evil can disguise itself as well

not the rumble of thunder, nor the rolling of drums

but in the form of whispers as gentle as a feathers touch

that fall upon a willing ear of a person

ready to set the world on fire

confirming to him the prejudices of his heart

and convincing him that he alone can make the world right, again.

 

For He is the Opposite of Grace

Self love (poem)

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Men,

Turn your eyes inward

And see the glory of what you are

See the rise and fall of your breath

The pulse in your neck

Perhaps linger at the swell of your chest

feel the roundness of your belly and know that you are fed

Place your palm over your left Peck

And know that you aren’t dead

Admire the peculiarity of your swollen sex, the curve of your right hip

See the toes poking out from under your duvet

Now trace your gaze upon the blue veins in your wrist

Feel the thunder when you speak

And taste the words as they spill from your lips

Smell the perfumes of the morning

When the sun crests the trees cedar tips

Living your life through the eyes of others

Will never slake your thirst

Know that you are living, breathing, thriving!

And have been since your birth

Shake your mane of hair, lion

Stretch your fingers towards the sky

Taste the bread, the grapes, and sweet things

Drink the water, the wine, and the rye

Live strong,  even when in peril, live even when in doubt

Don’t waste another day

Own your own glory, beauty, and passion

Love yourself with clarity

And you’ll live another day!

Memory (poem)

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chase memory through the wildflowers

down by the stream and across the covered bridge

stand in the inbetween place – between sun and the shadow

and remember the dragonflies alight on lily-pads

florescent blue upon emerald green

Remember the feel of the worn sun bleached wood

as you slipped off your sandal to touch barefoot

and how you jerked it back up quickly with a hiss

but not before you felt the smoothness almost softness of the plank

Remember the smell of the water all around you

as stream fed the pond fed the lake that surrounds

and the smell of sun dried earth and freshly cut grass, drift

as a john deer moans across the path and down the hill a ways

its a Thursday, and you’re playing hooky and its summertime

and your young but not in love and so your burdens are light

and your skin is so much tighter, and your smile is still quick to wrinkle your nose

and easy as the warm day resting now upon your shoulders

Twenty one, maybe, no more than twenty three to be sure

open to everything and everyone around you at this tender age

Not knowing that this moment will be recalled days and laugh lines and gray hairs later

as if you were a dusty camera plucked off a shelf in the hands of someone who needs a smile

And perhaps you’ll only revisit this memory once

then again perhaps you’ll come back again and again

when the smell of cut grass, or the sound of water rushing

reminds you of that in between place when a moment you so quickly barely witnessed yet can recall so vividly

so much so you can almost feel the burning of your foot

Africa and the Butterfly Effect (Ode To Hurricane Season)

 

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This is Africa, birthplace of humankind — high heat shimmering high grasses, — where, this day, along a dried dirt road a tiny, pigtailed girl successfully shook loose her mother’s handhold. Women of the village, traversing that same slender highway, often paused to talk, often let go that link to the future, and let their children go. The child’s dewy, delighted eye, caught, and settled on some gossamer glow of color, and she wanted to get a closer look. On a tree branch in the high grasses, a vision lingered long enough to ensure its own capture. The village daughter knew better; generations of elders had instilled the caution: Avoid the brush without the guidance of an adult. But her curiosity, insatiable as the appetite of a lion, she stepped forward along the dusty road and crept slowly like the wild felines her father showed her as he drove the family in the Range Rover through the wildlife preserve where he worked.

 

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Enticed by the African spectrum, the infinite shades of her world glowed with a life that turned the wheel of colors or the crayons she was learning to use in school. And she wanted to know them all. Creeping on her tiptoes, her blue pigtail holders imitated the wings of the orange and brown winged creature she was stalking. As the sun warmed her neck, her amber colored eyes never let go of the sight of the Monarch Butterfly, just broken free of its chrysalis, gently folded and unfolded its wings before her. Her feet kicked up dust particles that gently lifted on the hot winds of the Sub-Saharan world.

 

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She could not suppress a squeal of delighted awe as the butterfly flicked from its tiny legs the moisture, marking its rebirth as a new creature. A new creature too beautiful to endure a lifespan longer than a few short weeks.

 

The little girl who would later go on to paint this scene as she remembered it in class. Her dark ebony skin naturally absorbed the heat around her and sweat formed on her upper lip as she inched ever closer to begin a chain reaction, with that little creature, beyond even the vast imagination of Africa. For if she did, she would freeze until her mother came and snatch her up wondering at the child’s melancholy and fear. Closer and closer she tip toed until she reached the tree. The tree’s ragged trunk supported her effort to reach almost beyond her real ability; she stretched on her tiptoes, craning her tiny neck toward the slow-fanning wings she so wondered at. And the new monarch, slowly turned toward the straining hand.

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Unafraid of the world around it just yet, the butterfly regarded her with almost the same curiosity as the little girl lavished upon it. It flapped its wings once hard enough to lift from the branch and, to the child’s delight, alighted upon her nose. The tiny little legs lightly tickled the bridge of her nose as she let go of the tree’s support. She slid from the tree, and, safely grounded again, she held her arms out phoenix-like, shaking her hands up and down in excitement. Plumes of powdered dust rose from her jubilation. The squeal of absolute delight erupted from her as she clapped her hands, startling her mother who turned to witness The field behind her daughter lift off the ground in a flutter of the orange and brown. WINGS DROPPED LIKE WINDBLOWN PAGES. The young girl whispered in wonder as the one perched on her nose joined the others in migration as they lifted to sail upon the winds.

 

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Mid-African morning. Sun burning hotter. Three women, born of the earth, witness the infinite effect as one movement of nature’s awesome grandeur gives way to another. As a stone cast into a pool of still water sends ripples outward, so this unnamed shower from the African plain rises heavenward, displaces wind and dust and meets droplets of moisture in the atmosphere, a reenactment older than the ages. There is a place in the heavens where dust and water meet to dance upon the cooler winds in a thinner atmosphere. Here is a darker inflection of beauty not bestowed upon the earth, a wonder not born of flesh, nor of earthy tones — browns, reds, and oranges — of a little girl’s world. It flashes a cooler spectrum of hues — whites, grays, darkening blues.

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This display of beauty stands in stark contrast to the gentleness of Gaia. It traverses the great gulf span between continents, but the awe of its majesty remains the same; the earth bends its knee and bows its head to this awesome power. A child, this child a son, born of parched wind, bears the dust in its heart to spend itself upon the earth in remembrance of whence it came. And like any child born of nobility, it would bestowed a title as countless other of its kind have been given, a title as old as the earth itself:

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Hurricane

Halcyon Dreams

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(Photo Alex Martinez)

 

In the secret space of knowing,

in that space where truth resides,

I found a sun lit portal,

not visible to mankind’s naked eye,

The key in my pocket was found to unlock it,

and as I twisted the copper colored solution, the tumbler resounded hard, and hollow,

and heavy,

The fog of Halcyon dreams o’re took me,

and rocked me gently upon the face of its deep waters.

 

A Jeff Key and F.E. One Time Poetic Exclusive  

What Contentment tastes like (poem)

 

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I can hear a dove sing

in the tree outside my window

with sore muscles and tired eyes

I listen to the sound of my husband

shuffling through books he’d brought from home

muttering to himself about the wisdom of they

who’d left part of themselves for the world

to learn from.

My belly is full of lunch that I made

with no thoughts other than to fill a hungry space

happy to listen to the world outside my window

Last night, a storm blew through our town

with thunder the sound of cannon fire

and flashes of white, dangerous, and angry lightning

that illuminated the shadows of the witching hour

The rain sloshed heavy against the windows

and I – knowing he loved it – woke him to listen

and listen he did; grabbing a pillow and a blanket

he turned from my bed and laid down on the couch before two living room windows with the blinds drawn back

and I on the floor beneath him

Happily- he watched until his breath slowed

warm and protected in the midst of the gale

I waited

until at last the reigns were pulled back and the tempest

eased and shifted – I returned to my bed

Now, today, the sun warm once again I sit in the quiet

with the leftover taste of coffee on my tongue

my husband thumbing through tomes muttering to himself

I smile, knowing this is what contentment tastes like.