Sunday, December 25, 2011

It's Kwanzaa Time!


Kwanzaa is here
In a time when so many people fear
Economic conditions
But the voice of Kwanzaa shouts out
Umoja-Unity
God is our security!

Kuchichagulia – Self Determination
Know who you are
keep on pursuing your aspirations
And your dreams no matter how hard it may seem
Ujima – collective work and Responsibility
Let’s join together to rebuild our communities

Ujamaa-Cooperative economics
Build legitmate businesses
Don’t be fooled by the tricks
And the illusions of society
Nia – Purpose
Set goals and it’s in God you must always trust

Kuumba – Creativity
Fill the world with joy… peace…and beauty
Imani – Faith
Believe! Never doubt
That God is awesome
And that God is great!

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Count it All Joy

On Tuesday night at the House of Love Soup Kitchen we fed 111 people. The numbers are running high in these difficult economic times. There are over 100 people being served each week and of these numbers 30-40 are children.
According to:
http://feedingamerica.org/hunger-in-america/hunger-facts/child-hunger-facts.aspx

“The problem of childhood hunger is not simply a moral issue. Child hunger hampers a young person's ability to learn and becomes more likely to suffer from poverty as an adult. Scientific evidence suggests that hungry children are less likely to become productive citizens.”
• In 2010, 16.4 million or approximately 22 percent of children in the U.S. lived in poverty.

Winter is settling in around parts of the country yet the occupy movement in many places is still standing strong. There are those who are of the opinion that these young people are wrong in the way they are going about bringing attention to the financial inequities in this country but their efforts are keeping a song of freedom alive in the hearts of many. There’s a scripture in the bible St. Matthew 23:4 “For they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.” This describes congress, the banking industry, insurance companies, and all the financially fat cats that control 97% of the wealth in this country and don’t care that they are laying hardships on the backs of the poor, the working poor, and the middle class. Who’s going to help us? The hungry children…the homeless millions…struggling workers…I say power to these young people who are keeping the struggle alive and a fire burning in the hearts of the people who are being sacrificed each day for the love of money.

Trauma walks through the door seeking solace from a world filled with turmoil. Lost my job…getting evicted…program ending…just got out of prison…haven’t eaten in a few days…alcohol blows in from the street falling over feet oblivious to hardship…drugs nod out lids heavy shutting out pain and shame…words of hope infuse the atmosphere…count it all joy to draw closer to the source of life proclaiming victory over adversity and power to fill hours stretching into eternity with wisdom of understanding…laughter floats on waves of camaraderie creating a sense of solidarity with random voices accentuating momentary unity which blends with the aroma of food announcing dinner is ready.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

New Africa


New Africa is the place in our minds
That floats free through wide open spaces
Then runs along the river Nile
Stops and plays awhile with lions and kings
And then sits at feet of Shaka Zulu learning all about who we are
Never straying far from the love of our people

New Africa is the motherland of our past
Invaded by ships with masts and sails billowing in the wind
With pale men on board
That came disguised as friends
Yet in the end steal our past
Our present
And our future

New Africa is the blues 7th
Riding the slave waves to America
Then sold
Beaten
Knocked down
Kicked around in the cotton fields
To produce a new blue sound

New Africa is the field holler
The blues
Spiritual
Looking afar to the North Star
On the slim hopes of reaching the Promised Land

New Africa is jazz standing on a mountain top
Improvising on dreams of freedom through out a land
Where black music reigns supreme
Soothing the souls of the inhabitants

Friday, December 2, 2011

A New Dawn


Bullets fly
People die
The death angel sweeps the streets
Screams for shattered dreams
Reverberate through the air
Piercing hearts filled with despair
Feet run jumping fences
Landing in trenches
Filled with the stench of decaying life
Trapped in the muck and mire of existence
Insistent on pursuing illusive riches
The death angel sweeps the streets
Rivers of blood flow freely
Coloring the ground red
Reflecting the dread of
Dead souls rising in search of
The re-creation of the imagination
Wavering in the light of a new dawn…

Friday, November 11, 2011

Raining Leaves




Leaves rain
Coloring the atmosphere in triumph and glory
Radiating red, orange, gold, yellow…mellow
Whispering as they float

Falling
Falling
Falling

To the street
In search of the beat
In search of the beat
In search of the beat

The beat of abundance over fleeting finance
The beat of food security over scarcity
The beat of jubilation over desolation
The beat of victory over tragedy

Leaves…leaves…leaves
Red, orange, gold, yellow…mellow

Falling
Falling
Falling

To the street
In search of the beat
In search of the beat
In search of the beat

The beat of hope over drugs and dope
The beat of a positive alliance over daily violence
The beat of expression over depression
The beat of peace over wars that refuse to cease

Leaves rain
Coloring the atmosphere in triumph and glory

Thursday, November 10, 2011

The Light




Procrastination
The lack of motivation
Life walks right on by

Woe is great anger
Filling our hearts with sadness
And desolation

Tears press their way down
Cheeks scarred by years of hardship
Forming pools of stone

Death awaits us all
Neatly we prepare our clothes
To dress our remains

Depression is near
Anger and isolation
Give in to despair

Yet Jesus is there...

Jesus is the light
Standing near...close to our hearts
Waiting to show love

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Survive the Lie


A quarter moon sits in the sky as day turns to dusk. Deprivation sings of starvation. People are hungry, food insecure. The House of Love Soup Kitchen lights the way providing respite in the midst of hardship. Volunteers are busy heating up food and preparing for dinner. The newspaper man passes out papers filled with reports about the occupations and demonstrations all over the country against gluttony.

Occupy Wall Street…occupy Oakland…occupy Washington D.C….sit in…march…sing in opposition to avarice and greed. Occupy and protest food insecurity and a collective insensitivity to the needs of the people. March against mortgage foreclosures in an economy where jobs are no longer assured. Sit in and protest incomes disappearing, finances changing for the worse. Sing out against a shortage of medications as desolation and depression loom on the horizon. Occupy Wall Street…occupy Oakland…occupy Washington D.C….sit in…march…sing in opposition to avarice and greed.

Faceless banks, insurance companies in their anonymity, and bell ringing brokerage firms confirm their solidarity and unite in their fight to hoard profits and maintain control of the wealth simultaneously choking the health of a nation killing the aspirations of the inhabitants.

Clients start filing in, gathering, socializing, enjoying a brief reprieve from daily tribulations. Hope infuses the atmosphere encouraging all to persevere through trying times and circumstance. Joy speaks faith into hearts sparking inspiration and motivation to seek the source and strength of life.

Dinner is served.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Listen Up America!

Somebody’s been making money
Off of you and me
Like all the insurance companies
And the entire medical bureaucracy
Hospitalization and medication
Is not always an option for the working poor population
Listen up America!
The right to medical coverage should certainly be
A basic right that is guaranteed

The cost of medicine is sky high
It’s no wonder many of the working poor give up and die
Can’t afford a hospital stay
That costs thousands of dollars each and every day
The cost of medication is mind boggling
For those with no insurance and financially struggling
Listen up America!
The right to medical coverage should certainly be
A basic right that is guaranteed

Low paying jobs with no medical insurance
Families suffering with no sign of deliverance
Child with a bone disease cannot afford medication
Another dies from a tooth with an abscess infection
Children with asthma get no relief
When parents can’t afford the treatment they need
Listen up America!
The right to medical coverage should certainly be
A basic right that is guaranteed

Medical coverage in this land
Has not been for every man
One good illness and a person’s wiped out
Times become hard without a doubt
Lose the job…car repossessed
Life’s a mess filled with stress
Listen up America!
It’s time for a change!

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Hold On















Hold on to dreams
Even if it seems
the light is no longer shining bright

Hold on to hope
Even if it’s hard to cope
as tears flow and you stumble around in the dark

Hold on to peace
Even if violence doesn’t cease
and gun shots continue to ring out in the night

Hold on to compassion
Even if empathy has been rationed
into bits and pieces and put away for safe keeping

Hold on to love
Even when the fire of
passion has burned down to glowing embers

Hold on…
Hold on...
Hold on...

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Happiness Is...


Happiness is
A suspended moment in time
Caught up on a moonbeam
Shimmering over the ocean forming a pathway of escape
From the reality of what is…

Happiness is
The orange, the pink, and the red hues
Of a never failing sunrise
Stretching forth in peace and solitude across the horizon
Heralding a new day…

Happiness is
A child’s excitement
Captured in capsules of love
And released into space racing with the wind
Creating and generating a new well being…

Happiness is
Enchantment lighting dark places
Sparking the imagination
To bloom into a field of wildflowers
Allowing fantasy to run free

Happiness is
The heart of mankind beating the drum of unity
Seeking the pulse of a people
With voices lifted in harmony
Singing the song of difference…

Sunday, October 9, 2011

God is Above That!


A beacon light shines through the nebulous conditions of the present inviting all to come. The House of Love Soup Kitchen, blessed by a host of angels is nurturing, restorative and compassionate. It is open every Tuesday from 6-8pm ready and willing to serve.

Starvation walks in ravenous seeking sustenance for hunger pangs…vexation vibrates sending forth rays in search of solace…financial distress stops by to stretch disappearing dollars with a free meal…the homeless search out a momentary refuge…addiction stops by for a bite to eat…

Laughter and chatter socialize in anticipation of another Tuesday evening…

free food
free clothes

Clients quietly slip in preparing for voluntary Bible therapy prior to the meal. Stories of aggravation conquered by calming spirits…the taste of cigarettes dulled to extinction…guns picked up then put down…abusive relationships take a new turn…God’s power received in the midst of incarceration…crack gets smacked down in the rebirth of a new soul…reborn…reborn…reborn to become a child of the King with a new song to sing!

Demons of darkness
God is above that!
Death and heartache
God is above that!
Poverty
God is above that!
Wall Street greed
God is above that!
Eviction notices
God is above that!
Homelessness
God is above that!
Violence
God is above that!
Sickness and pain
God is above that!
Disability
God is above that!

God’s praises reverberate off the walls as a line forms in anticipation of empathy and thoughtfulness being served with a good wholesome meal.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Hunger


Power infuses the setting. Positive energy drives synergy to connect to the wings of healing. The House of Love Soup Kitchen fed 109 people this past Tuesday. People are suffering from food insecurity. Some literally have no food or income to purchase food while others are trying to stretch their food budget from week to week or month to month depending on how they get their money. I’m retired and have become a month to month recipient of monies and by the third week of the month…uh-oh. There ‘s mortgage or rent to be paid; if you’re fortunate enough to have a car then car payments, gas, insurance and if you don’t have a car…the cost of public transportation looms on the dawning of each new day. Oops got to keep the lights on and gas for heat and cooking; let’s not talk about creature comforts such as cable and telephones. To make a long story short…there’s not much left over for food.

I enjoy volunteering at the soup kitchen. The hour before dinner we have Bible study which in reality has become Bible therapy. Back in February we took a survey of what other services the clients would like to see offered at the soup kitchen. Bible study was high on the list. It takes place an hour before dinner is served.

Chattering voices are a backdrop to anticipation of the elevation of the spirit…transparency begins connecting hearts to the Word of God climbing on the back of hope galloping in the wind…flying high riding in search of the Source.

Shock


a dull ache where my heart should be numbs my existence in a resistance to anger, shock, and the violence that supersedes sanity and has become reality…i turn on the early morning news and my senses are assaulted by stories of personal rage, societal rage, and global rage setting the stage for this colossal wrath to be frozen in time and space, then filed into a place deep within the physiological center of essence…

i must transcend the empirical…the bleak occurrence of an illusion of evil, greed, oppression, and deception, as i move into the realm of the spiritual seeking the luminous power to guide my journey…my path from darkness to light…

i step outside my dwelling ready to take wing…

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Waiting II


Indigence explodes raining shards of impotence on the imprisoned
broken families searching for an identity in fallen debris
red brick towers stand tall desolate and bare against the sky
windows broken and hollowed out
shelter violence which points guns pulling triggers of hatred killing innocence
bullets speed quickly across barriers of time piercing the future
the war is on
crack and smak smiling illusions of happiness stand on the corner
thieves steal through the night silent phantoms in the dark breaking into lives
drugs rob the children
hunger devours their strength
they sleep in anger
the streets lure the young with promises of riches stifling the spirit
car radios blasting curses and obscenities sing of degradation and humiliation
mothers shed tears crying for children gone astray lost in shades of gray
parents are haunted by screams from beyond the grave of murdered children
stresses and messes encroach on the human psyche crippling compassion
homeless people wait on housing that never comes
poverty marches on
debts kick in the door and surround the occupants pinning them in a deep freeze
ice spreads throughout the city rags ward off the cold
garbage lines the curbs then swirls in a frigid breeze falling back to earth
while pigeons flapping wings over webbed feet go together looking for something to eat

Jesus is waiting
Silently keeping vigil
Through the long dark night

Friday, September 23, 2011

Lord I Love You


Pink and orange rays of light
Push past the horizon peeking through
Purple clouds signaling the dawn
Of another day to say
Lord I love you…

Endless dark waves slap against
The shore of time
As man runs free along the edge of infinity
Building sand castles in the sky
That stretch high…high...high

Tides rise high
Tides fall low
As the breath of life flows
In search of love
Validation and affirmation

The source
The force of creation
The foundation
Waits patiently in eternity
For mankind to choose

The heart of man
Opens the door
To accept the invitation of life
A release from violence…strife
And an insatiable greed that exceeds need

The heavens darken
As day descends into night
And the moon reflects the sunset
In its ghostly beauty
Whispering Lord I love you!

Monday, September 19, 2011

Circle of Pain

Babies held high pointed toward the sky
Never die but live on!

Voices whisper in hushed tones around the tomb
Erected in remembrance of a life that was doomed
Before it even left the womb
And came to know all too soon
Tears and frustration
Heartache and damnation!

Babies held high pointed toward the sky
Never die but live on!

Bullets shatter brain matter
Across the horizon of existence
Scattering memory haphazardly along the way
Defining yesterday but will blossom in tomorrow
Filled with sorrow
As dreams diminish into nothingness

Babies held high pointed toward the sky
Never die but live on!

Screams of agony rip through subconscious layers of pain
That will never produce gain
But mushroom into blame and shame
And crush aspirations
Into a dust that spreads thinly over a polished reflection
Shimmering in the allusion of the now

Babies held high pointed toward the sky
Never die but live on!

Delusions measured out and dispersed in doses
Of an instant fluorescent infusion
An escape from reality into feigned grandeur and splendor
Of a world that does not exist.
And then becomes one with the reality that was
But will be no more!

Babies held high pointed toward the sky
Never die but live on!

Saturday, September 10, 2011

disjointed

devils in different shapes and sizes whirl around in the early morning hour never leaving her alone for one minute...spirits from the past dance through the mist singing haunting melodies...she sits gazing through shades of gray looking out the window watching images flee through the tunnel of time...days run into each other...Sunday...Monday...Tuesday...weeks vanish...months are nonexistent...years close in on her as she searches for drops of joy in shattered glass always seeking the nearest exit to happiness as she listens to the music in her mind perceiving its lyrical lines as they push people to plunge through their fragile dreams and crash at the foot of reality...

Aisha stands in the doorway solemnly staring at her mother. Her mother has been sitting in that same chair since yesterday. Aisha is hungry. She turns and starts slowly down the hall towards the kitchen letting her bare feet slap against the hard tile floor in a heel slap fashion. Heel-toe slap heel-toe slap heel-toe slap. Aisha opens the refrigerator and takes out the milk. She then turns around and heel-toe slaps her way to the table where the cereal is already out. Placing the carton of milk on the table, she then pushes a chair over to the cabinets, climbs on the chair, and reaches for a clean bowl. She takes the last one. A roach falls from the shelf. Ignoring it she jumps down, and hops on one foot over to the kitchen sink. It’s filled with dirty dishes. She retrieves a spoon from the pile of dishes in the sink, rinses it off and returns to the table. She opens the box of cereal and pours it into the bowl, accidentally spilling some over the edges. Taking the milk carefully into both of her hands, she lifts it off the table, tilts the carton, and lets it flow into her bowl. Gently, she puts it back on the table. Pulling the sugar bowl to her, she can feel granules of previously spilled sugar sticking to her bare arm. The table is cluttered and dirty. Digging into the sugar bowl with her spoon, she manages to scrape up enough to sprinkle on her cereal. She really doesn’t like plain corn flakes but that’s all there is.

Early morning sounds float through the window. The excited voices of chattering children remind Aisha that it’s time to go to school. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t like school but she likes watching cartoons and it’s cartoon time now. She’s glad that there’s a television in the kitchen. She twirls towards it. She stops suddenly, jumps up into the air and turns, landing in her best karate stance. She then proceeds to hand chop her way to the television, hacking away at invisible enemies. She turns it on and flicks the dial to the first cartoon she comes to. With a few jump-turns, and some graceful karate kicks she makes her way back to the table, sits down and starts munching away at her cereal.

The road out the window is long and narrow...she has gone that way before...past impressions stand ready to strangle her...she tries to run..she wants to hide...she can only go one way...she must chase the glimmering lights flashing in the dimness of the future...they always elude her...lead her into wild flights of fantasy dangling her over the edge of emotion and then let her fall into space...the walls never stop moving...technicolor ripples traveling up and down...alive...seething and hissing at her...trying to separate her from her essence and suck what’s left into their moving mass...the floors buckle and wave...she feels sick...vomit sits in the pit of her stomach ready to erupt and fill the void around her....a chorus of voices whisper in her ear telling her that truth lay in the depths of darkness...they beckon for her to follow their sound...her feet are make of cement blocks...her legs to rubbery to sustain her weight...she falls into her mind tumbling and whirling...disjointed arms and legs reach out grabbing and kicking at her...she manages to stay just out of reach making herself small...shrinking...then sliding through space...the air crackles around her...sharply syncopated brass sounds blast in her ears..

Aisha is now in the living room. She’s tired of watching television. Nothing but boring stories are on. Aisha is glad that they have two televisions. The one in the kitchen is little and this one in the living room has a big screen. With the remote she turns off the television. Silence surrounds her. She hears the baby crying in the apartment next door. She rolls off the sofa onto the floor and lays spread eagle on her back. The floor feels cool. She attempts a backward somersault but only ends up banging her legs against the coffee table. She sits there and rubs them for awhile. She decides to check on her mother. She stretches out and lies flat on her stomach. She begins pulling herself along the floor with her elbows. Slowly she inches towards the bedroom. She has to be careful. The enemy is on all sides. She wishes she had brought the machete with her. Her mother might need her protection. Quietly she reaches the doorway and peeks in at her mother who is still sitting in that same chair staring out the window. It’s those dee-mons again. Mama has told her before that dee-mons are after her. Mama says that she’s the only one that can see them. Sometimes Aisha wishes she that she could see them so she could help Mama but other times she’s glad she can’t. It’s too scary. She shouldn’t be a scaredy cat though. She can beat up the children at school so why should she be afraid of dee-mons?. She continues to lie on the floor in deep thought. She decides to get the machete from the closet, come back and chop those dee-mons up. She creeps back to the living room to the rhythm of her thoughts. Nearing the closet, she stealthily glances around, gets to her knees, reaches her hand up to the doorknob and quickly opens it. Looking up she realizes that she will not be able to touch,let alone grab the machete. She gets to her feet, bends over and scurries across the living room , down the hall to the kitchen and hurriedly ducks behind a chair making sure no one has spotted her. She then begins slowly pushing the chair across the floor to make sure she is not being observed. She has to keep stopping because she is sure the dee-mons can hear the chair scraping against the floor as she pushes it, but she’s determined to go ahead with her plan. Reaching the open closet she shoves the chair into the closet. Absolutely satisfied that she is alone she climbs on the chair, stands on her tippy toes and grabs the machete. Leaping back to the floor, she drops to her stomach and starts wriggling back along the floor to the bedroom. Arriving at the doorway, she slides the machete out of its sheathe then from a crouching position she springs into the bedroom with her most ferocious yell....ahhhhhhhhhhhh...ahhhhhhhhhhhh...ahhhhhhhhhhhhh...slashing away at the air she begins slaying the dee-mons...kill the dee-mons...kill the dee-mons...kill the dee-mons...

She can hear distant screams...her avengers...kill the demons echoing through her isolation...sounding in the distance...drawing her whizzing and whirling through stratospheric layers...showering sparks of fire on basement bargains...long lines waiting for a word from big daddy...hours of bench sitting..inhaling poverty acid smells...hallucinating a la realism...trip...trip...trip...kill the demons invades her cosmic aura getting closer and closer...squeezing at her perceptions...forcing her awareness...marching across her vision...a small figure dances wildly on a bed waving a sword...screaming at her...exploding on her horizon...kill the demons...

Mama I’m killing them...mama I’m killing the dee-mons!
Aisha...Aisha...baby...I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry...
See mama...I killed them...I killed them!
Yes baby...Yes baby...
Mama...you gotta buy some more cereal!

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

High on Jesus

I am a Jesus person. I love Jesus, yes I do. Why me? Why He decided to pluck me out of the pit of hell I can’t answer but He did. Once I hopped on the slippery slide of drugs and went spiraling down into darkness I slid to a point where I could no longer find myself…I lost all focus…shame and pain became my constant companions running me around in circles …delusional behavior was about to zap me right into the arms of the grim reaper. Then I met Jesus…yes that’s what I said…I met Jesus…a light to lead me away from self annihilation…a light to free my mind from an incarcerated state of being and to once again be filled with hopes and dreams…a light to fill my heart with peace and love…a light…a gift from the Father above…
Jesus is now my high. When I call on Him I can feel His power rising from the depths of my soul, transfusing my blood racing through my veins with joy, energizing my muscles, infusing my mind with peace as I soar through the heavens flying high with the angels reaching out to touch the sky knowing that all is well…like I said, Jesus is now my high.
I know that I know that I know that God is…and if you know that you know that you know that He isn’t then you’re right for you God does not exist and that’s alright. But as for me I’ve stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon looking down into its painted abyss while the walls shouted out to me “I am…that I am…that I am…I’ve sat at the foot of the snow covered Chugach Mountains in the Alaskan wilderness as floating flute like tones sang Thank You Lord and I basked in His wondrous glory…my heart rises and sets with the sun as it colors my essence with it’s fiery brilliance emanating hues of oranges and pinks and purples…yes like I said I’m crazy for Jesus!

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Poverty Rocks Hard




The ratta tat tat of guns in the night...a fight...a fight to the death...in search of illusive respect. The conviction of the streets supersedes all cognition...all rationality...all  logic...it’s dog eat dog, tit for tat, disrespect me I’ll disrespect you right back. No space or place for politeness…kindness portrays weakness… that’s just the way it is. What’s there to do but live hard in the face of endless denial; laugh hard during the constant struggle; party hard to revitalize and make dry bones come to life.

Poverty rocks hard!

The music blasts…feet dance fast…hearts beat as blood rushes through the veins transporting surreal images of feigned happiness…another puff…that’s the stuff to die for…another puff…calms nerves...another puff supports muscles that inadvertently crave in evolving waves of dependency...another puff to the point of no return to any pretense of normalcy.

Poverty rocks hard!

The high is fleeting looking down into the neck of an empty bottle, ranting...raving...fixating on who took the last of the elixir...the fixer. Rage smothered by day to day survival spies out a rival...a beef erupts spewing volcanic emotions and repressed anger into the atmosphere mushrooming into a toxic waste laced with venom... a gun is fired...that eradicates all semblance of euphony and implodes into a rubble of broken dreams as a stream of blood oozes from the collapsed corpse.

Poverty rocks hard!

Sirens wail in the night. Violence devours innocence...sorrow then masticates the essence of life regurgitating hopelessness. Shame becomes ingrained into the psyche…anger lashes out slapping kindness into a condition of degeneration… masochism becomes entrapped in isolation …love and fury become enmeshed in confusion crippling empathy impeding the expansion and the maturation of the human spirit.

Poverty rocks hard!

Monday, May 30, 2011

Whizzing Bullets

Five people were murdered in Newark over the Memorial Day weekend! The sound of bullets whizzing by, sirens screaming, and red lights flashing in the night all herald in summer 2011 with an ominous message to the inhabitants of Newark. I live in Newark, and have for the last thirty-eight years. I have survived by calling out to the angels of God to walk with me through turbulent times. The rustling of angel wings allows me to surrender fear and replace it with power…the power of words and action.
Newark has been good to me because this is where I learned to live with God and allowed Him to guide and direct my path and direct it He did around whizzing bullets, over blood splashed in the stairwells of my high rise, and poverty. He directed me right back to school… first Essex County College, then Rutgers Newark. As a writer, a poet, and a pianist my artistic soul has absorbed all the nuances and shades of poverty. I had the dubious pleasure of living below the poverty line for a period of time and then once I became a teacher I was able to “pull myself up by the bootstraps” and began to enjoy such luxuries as traveling, buying a home and a new car, and now that I’m retired I manage to stay one check ahead of foreclosure, repossession of transportation, and a steady diet of beans and rice. The American dream can be quite slippery.
The summer blues begins…pow, pow, pow! The dominant seventh flies high above the flat five, weaving in and out creating blue tones that interpret the moans and groans of heartache and tears falling freely onto mounds of soil surrounding new graves that will permanently bury hopes, dreams, and aspirations. The curtain of death has fallen and summer 2011 looms on the horizon.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Washing Brains

I read an article in the paper about a lady starving her children literally to death…one of them died before authorities took charge. The paper said she was brainwashed by some strange religious leader and part of his cult.
Brain washed? Hmmm…that’s a strange term that means what? Is it that someone cuts your head open, takes your brain out, bleaches it, and then washes it in a detergent of choice. After which it’s placed back in the head to soak in a different type soil. Brain washed like I said is a strange term. How does a seemingly devoted mother go from one extreme to the other? From lovingly feeding you children and taking care of them to starving them to the point that their bones become brittle and break in their bodies.
What type of person is susceptible to this strange event? Could it be said that many people today are brainwashed by a money mad culture that bails out Wall Street who has been ripping off people forever by selling the “pie in the sky dream” to the common man who can barely eek out a living. Ten banks control 77% of the wealth…this screams for a redistribution of capital where more money could be vested in youth that are traveling on the school to prison line.
People shout “no redistribution of wealth” and don’t have a clue as to what it means. A brain wash job has been done on the American public who think that it’s alright that 3% of the population control 90% of the wealth and that the wealthy shouldn’t be taxed at a higher rate. Talk about brainwash…wow!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

In the Twilight of Time

The sun hovers at the horizon announcing it’s supremacy by lighting the sky with its brilliance splashing multiple shades of orange across the vastness of space before descending down into the twilight of time. There was a time in this country when black people were slaves. There was a time in this country when black bodies hung from trees called “strange fruit” by renowned singer Billie Holiday. There was a time in this country when black people could not vote. There a time in this country when it was against the law for black people to be taught to read. There was a time in this country when many schools were segregated.
Blood has been shed over time in the name of justice and a little over 50 years ago much blood was shed during the non violent demonstrations of the Civil Rights Movement which were seeking to win the right to vote for many black people, seeking to desegregate schools, seeking to eat where you wanted to eat, seeking to be treated equally in the job market, seeking to sit in a seat of your choice on public transportation, simply seeking to feel like a respected human being. Time has passed yet in some ways conditions remain the same. Conditions created by impoverished circumstances passed through time and flourishing in the now.
Many young people living at poverty level are hoodwinked by the glamour of sports and flashy sneakers that can make you jump right into the NBA; and then of course there’s the music industry where you can rap your way into a garden filled with money trees. Many young minds are blinded by the "benjamins" and unable to envision where a good education might take them. Indifference now is the name of the education game.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Me and Poverty

Me and Poverty
I live in Newark, NJ. I worked for the Newark Public School system for over thirty years, first as a sub then as a teacher for 23 years. I retired 2010. After retiring I graduated from the International Institute for Restorative Practices and received a Master’s of Science Degree in Restorative Practices. I currently volunteer at my old school working with parents sharing what I have learned. I’m very concerned about the fate of many of the inner city students especially the males. Current statistics state that 1 out of 9 black males ages 20-34 are currently in jail. There is a phenomenon called the “school to prison line” and the current structure of the public school system factors many students right into this handy societal niche. Innovative thinking is what is needed to turn the tide of self destruction that plagues so many young people.
Poverty is no joke. It breeds the sub culture of no return…the bling bling of false illusions and smoking guns that negate life and glamorize death promoting emotions run amuck in search of a nonexistent respect. Young minds numbed by the incessant chatters of the media about war, terrorism on the rise, mass murders within our shores attempt to escape the inexplicable now and bum rush into a feigned adulthood based on misconceptions.
I was a middle class brat raised in the Bay Area, Oakland, Berkeley, and San Francisco…lived in all three of these cities. I had no understanding of what poverty really was. My great grandfather was a teacher during the Reconstruction Era and eventually. He became a professor at Prairie View College. His children received their college degrees, his children’s children, and then my generation as well.
 Relocated to the East Coast when I was 19 and ended up I meeting poverty in my late twenties. My husband and I were burned out in Harlem and relocated to Newark. His grandmother got us an apartment in the infamous high rise projects of Newark. The high rise projects no longer exist in Newark but the mark they left on me is permanently imbedded in my psyche. So off to Newark we moved with our baby son onto Mercer Street perpendicular to Howard Street made famous by Newark writer Nathan Heard. I became intimate with the blues…the Mercer Street blues.

                                                                (To be continued…)

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Money Doesn't Care

Dr. King was a giant of a man and not afraid to take a stand against injustice. In 1968 the year Dr. King was assassinated he was planning a Poor People’s March to Washington D.C. to stage a “tent-in” and planned to camp out for as long as it took to bring attention to the fact that there needed to be a redistribution of wealth in America. This country is not broke. The problem is that 3% of the population controls 90% of the wealth in this nation.
It’s amazing how the wool has been pulled over the American Public’s eyes and we tend to operate in la la land with poor people always looking for the pie in the sky, and the so called middle class thinking that they are all that plus a bag of chips because they have a mortgage, a car payment, kids in private school, and a job they could lose in the twinkling of an eye or even one good illness that disables them. Then their insurance company starts hemming and hawing about coverage. The median income of American households is about $50,000 per year. This figure is mighty close to the poverty line which is at about $23,000 for a family of four. Where oh where has all the money gone? Oh I know into 3% of the populations pockets.
Please somebody tell me why the wealthy should not be taxed. Money is not concerned about public schools because money is an inanimate object controlled by people. So in reality to rich people it really doesn’t matter because somebody has to be at the bottom of the economic ladder.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Restorative Practices: A Social Discipline for the New Millennium

Restorative Practices is an approach to dealing with social behavior that separates the deed from the doer at the same time giving victims a voice that allows the offenders to understand how their behavior has affected the victims as well as other members of the community. Hopefully the offenders then feel remorseful and are willing to take responsibility for their behavior. The victim(s) and offender(s) then discuss together how the harm can be rectified and after that the offender is welcomed back into the community.
I began my educational journey with the International Institute for Restorative Practices in the summer of 2010. I worked for the Newark Public School system for twenty-five years and it was in February of 2010 that I heard about IIRP. My principal gave all the teachers an article to read on restorative practices at a faculty meeting. I went online to learn more about restorative practices and found the International Institute for Restorative Practices and also discovered that there was a workshop coming up, to be held in Bethlehem. I got permission from my principal to attend the workshop and was completely enthused by what I learned. Those of us at the workshop were told about the graduate program and if we enrolled before April 1rst of last year we would be considered for a scholarship. So I decided to apply not knowing at that time that I would choose to retire in the midst of all the hoopla, negativity where teachers were concerned, and budget cuts threatened to affect medical and retirement benefits.
One of the first articles I read was entitled Double Jeopardy by Cristina Anderson. Anderson in her article talks about the zero tolerance policy in schools and how it is used as a blanket approach to school discipline and the breaking of rules by students. Zero tolerance is suspension or expulsion. It came into being as a result of the 1994 Gun Free Schools Act and was meant to be used for violent crimes. The title of the article points out how students can be punished by the school system and depending on the offense become involved with the criminal justice system as well, hence double jeopardy.
I taught in the Newark Public School system for twenty five years and came to know for a fact that suspension and or expulsion is not necessarily the answer to many behavior infractions. Anderson states in the article:
“With specific regard to at risk youth, however the data appear more concrete. For this population it seems unlikely that school suspension will successfully impact behavior.” (Anderson, p. 1190)
“In addition these suspended youth may have more opportunity to congregate with deviant peers.” (Anderson, p. 1190)
This was substantiated by the behavior of a former student of mine, we’ll call him Outcast. He fits the profile of an at risk youth. He’s in foster care, mother a recovering drug addict but has been diagnosed as HIV positive, and his father incarcerated. In the course of the school year he was suspended for several infractions that were of a violent nature. He led some jumping incidents (three or more offenders fighting one student) after school which led to trips to the emergency room for some of the victims and their parents. Outcast was suspended on each occasion and then returned to school. The last time he was suspended, which was in June, when he came back he let me know what a great time he had on suspension inviting girls over to his house that were also suspended.
If Outcast had been involved in a restorative conference with the first violent incident and had been given the opportunity to hear how his behavior had impacted his victims and their families maybe it would have deterred him from being involved in further incidents of the same nature. Outcast is on his way to being systematically shamed by society and stigmatized by his behavior. He already feels deserted by his biological parents and feels that his foster mother does not care about him. His peers are his family literally. They give meaning to his existence. He rules the boys because he loves to fight. They respect him because most of them are afraid of him. He loves the girls and the girls love him even though at times he displays abusive behavior towards them.
Guy Masters in his thesis entitled Re-integrative shaming in theory and practice. Thinking about feeling in criminology discusses John Braithwaite’s book, Crime Shame and Reintegration. .
Masters says in the opening of the article:
“John Braithwaite’s (1989) theory of re-integrative shaming has seen him described as one of the new stars of criminology…” (Masters, 1997, p. 9)
Reintegrative shaming separates the deed from the doer and allows for expressions of community disapproval which is then followed by gestures of reacceptance back into the larger community. Disintegrative shaming or stigmatization leads to systematic shaming, or individuals that do not feel good about themselves and eventually become repeat offenders. Braithwaite identifies thirteen facts that have consistently been associated with offending or breaking the law. I was especially interested in fact 12 which stated:
“For both men and women, being at the bottom of the class structure, whether measured by socioeconomic status, socioeconomic status of the area in which the person lives, being unemployed, being a member of an oppressed minority (e.g. blacks in the U.S.) increases rates of offending for all types of crime apart from those for which opportunities are systematically less available to the poor (i.e. white collar crime).” (Masters, 1997, p. 14)
Many teachers realize that we are losing students to the streets (subcultures) and feel powerless in the face of this tragedy. I know that suspension does not work yet there is nothing else being offered as an alternative in dealing with chronic misbehavior. The student is either suspended or stays in the classroom where a great amount of disruption of other students learning takes place. The hierarchy in education does not want to hear from teachers. The climate in our country right now has led to bashing or blaming teachers for what ails the American Public School system.
I truly could identify with the article Fair Process in terms of how teachers are now being treated in many school systems. I was in a failing school in Newark and because of this we constantly had visitors from downtown and the state coming into the classroom. Four and five people at a time possibly even more, would cross over the threshold into the classroom observing, looking through papers, whispering to students and then leaving never saying a word to you, nor did you ever get feedback in reference to their thinking. Does anyone care about what teachers think? It states in the article:
“Fair process builds trust and commitment, trust and commitment produce voluntary cooperation, and voluntary cooperation drives performance, leading people to go beyond the call of duty by sharing their knowledge and applying their creativity.” (Kim & Mauborgne, 1997, p. 71)
As we were taking this course many of us wondered why Restorative Practices has not caught on in a major way and been implemented in more school systems across the country. The hierarchy in education is ignoring the fact that there is a direct correlation between behavior in the classroom and test scores. Why not ask teachers what they think the problem is and what could possibly be done? There are many creative and innovative teachers out there who would be willing to share their knowledge in search of a better way. That’s how I was led to IIRP.
In the article Restorative Justice in Everyday Life Ted Wachtel and Paul McCold discuss the development of the Social Discipline Window:
“By contrasting control and support the social discipline window classifies individual, organizational, and other approaches to formal and informal social discipline in a broad range of settings. These settings include parenting children, teaching students, supervising employees, regulating corporations and responding to international conflicts (Brathwaite 2000).” (Wachtel & McCold, 2000, p. 5)
The staff at CSF (Community Service Foundation) an organization that works with troubled youth and has a number of alternative schools in Pennsylvania, developed a shorthand method to distinguish the four approaches to discipline:

Not: nothing is done in response to inappropriate behavior
For: makes excuses for the behavior; does everything for the youth asking little in return
To: responds by doing things to the youth; scolding, handing our punishments
With: works with young people and engages them directly in the process for holding them accountable
If my student Outcast had been exposed both to restorative conferencing and restorative practices being used in the classroom such as the use of the social discipline window and the concept of circles which we talked about and did role plays, perhaps his behavior would have been positively affected. Circles used in the classroom from the beginning of the school year could help establish expectations, both behavioral and academic, as well as help develop respect, access understanding, check on feelings only to name a few of the many benefits. Circles can add a therapeutic touch to the classroom setting which many of our students need. Today’s child, regardless of educational setting ( i.e. alternative., special , regular) needs a supportive atmosphere yet one that demands they be accountable for their misdeeds.
I retired from the Newark Public School system but I am currently on the school planning committee as a community member at my former school. I’m also active in a non profit organization called the House of Love Soup Kitchen, where the larger part of our clientele is homeless men and many of them are substance abusers. We also have other people that live in the community including women and children that attend.
I was very inspired by this course. I am looking forward to being a part of the graduate program at the International Institute for Restorative Practices and to applying what I learn to my own “disconnected” part of the world.