Memoirous

The plants against the light which shines in (it's four o'clock) right on my chair: I'm in my chair: are silhouettes, barely green, growing black as my eyes move right, right to where the sun is. I am blinded by a fiery circle: I can't see what I write. A man comes down iron stairs (I don't look up) and picks up brushes which, against a sonata of Scriabin's, rattle like wind in a bamboo clump. A wooden sound, and purposeful footsteps softened by a drop-cloth-covered floor. To be encubed in flaming splendor, one foot on a Chinese rug, while the mad emotive music tears at my heart. Rip it open: I want to cleanse it in an icy wind. And what kind of tripe is that? Still, last night I did wish— no, that's my business and I don't wish it now. "Your poems," a clunkhead said, "have grown more open." I don't want to be open, merely to say, to see and say, things as they are. That at my elbow there is a wicker t

Please ask James Cappelman, alderman of the 46 th ward of Chicago—WHY are you shutting down a program for elderly, disabled homeless men right now, in the middle of winter, at Christmas? And if his office says they are not shutting it down but that the men can use REST, then ask the alderman WHERE will the elderly, disabled homeless men go during the day when they must leave the building? And HOW the men with Stage 4 cancer and using walkers and canes will be able to do all this transitioning? Ask James Cappelman: WHY are you shutting down an existing program that is already funded and in place and working well at CCO? Email: info@james46.org Tel: 773-878-4646 Rahm Emanuel, mayor of Chicago supports Cornerstone Community Outreach and loves our programs!

The more I live, a little over 50 years, the more I am boondoogled, dismayed, broken and built up, discouraged to the point of wishing I’d never been born, left decrying America land of the free, suffused with gratitude, speechless at the kindness of strangers, the common heart that beats within all of us, the evil that resides in all of us, the sense that it is gonna take years for things to change, and wishing that things would stay the same, all the time and forever. This year I have seen death, not just death but disappointment, people I thought I could trust turn against me, claim they never knew me—and people who never knew me give of themselves in abundance, the least of these, without any means, turn around and love me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You know who you are, all of the above. And, especially Aunt Jean, whose benevolence to us all was exhibited in her stories and kind deeds. Jean Merrill, author of The Pushcart War  Her books embrac

This is the AR-15 rifle also referred to as the .223 rifle, a civilian version of the U.S. military's standard-issue M-16, as intended "for law enforcement, security and private consumer use." The Bushmaster .223 comes with a 30-round magazine, enabling the shooter to fire all 30 rounds, one for each pull of the trigger, in a minute or less. John Allen Muhammad, the D.C. sniper, and his youthful accomplice, Lee Boyd Malvo, used a Bushmaster .223 in nine of 10 sniper-style murders that terrorized the Washington area in 2002. Many AR-15s have ended up in the hands of Mexican drug cartel pistoleros, including the Bushmaster .223 that was later used to kill four police officers and three secretaries in Acapulco. Since the federal law banning assault weapons expired in 2004, the weapons are sold legally but the purchasers must sign a U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives document saying they are buying the guns for themselves. The NRA decri

It was one year ago December 11th that Dad passed away. Just wanted to re-post my eulogy for him. Still coming to grips (gripes?) with his death and the aftermath. We weren't a tight-knit, cozy family and now there is very little that draws us together. Dad--you are missed. http://memoirouswrite.blogspot.com/2011/12/harold-caywood-feeback-1925-2011.html

This is from Jeremy Nichols @ Setting Prisoners Free George: Homeless and Fragile... My co-worker introduced George to me.... He looked like an fragile old white man; he was scruffy, pale and scrawny, he had a dazed and glazed look in his eyes and when he spoke, we struggled to find any rationality or logic in his words. George seemed to be unsure who he was, where he was and what he was doing. And then there was something that made this whole situation worse; this fragile old man, who could barely stand up, was homeless! Yes, homeless! Homeless in the dead of winter! Homeless and struggling to survive. Homeless and lacking any sense of direction. Homeless and sick. Homeless and alone. Homeless and fragile! As with a number of our participants, George carried a paper bag, (protected by a plastic bag), full of his myriad of medications. He had a host of medical issues that were triggered by a failing liver, kidney problems and sarcoidosis, causing this poor fragile

It’s that time of year—when people decry the war on Christmas. Lately, though, I’ve been noticing another war, a silent war—on the elderly. This is not exactly a marginal population, but rather a sizeable chunk of America. Actually world-wide demographics are shifting as young people are delaying marriage, children, often times full-time employment. The recession/depression probably has a lot to do with this. But the Baby Boomers were always going to get older, always going to suck the life out of Medicare and Social Security. Between the shelter (CCO) and a retirement community where I write up resident’s life stories (Friendly Towers), I know quite a few seniors on fixed incomes. There really isn’t a lot of extra. This month both of these programs have been impacted by a war on the elderly. At CCO the director has been very deliberate about going out to the parks, the loading docks of abandoned warehouses, searching under the city’s viaducts for people sleeping rough, out in t

Il va neiger dans quelques jours FRANCIS JAMMES The giant Norway spruce from Podunk, its lower branches bound, this morning was reared into place at Rockefeller Center. I thought I saw a cold blue dusty light sough in its boughs the way other years the wind thrashing at the giant ornaments recalled other years and Christmas trees more homey. Each December! I always think I hate “the over-commercialized event” and then bells ring, or tiny light bulbs wink above the entrance to Bonwit Teller or Katherine going on five wants to look at all the empty sample gift-wrapped boxes up Fifth Avenue in swank shops and how can I help falling in love? A calm secret exultation of the spirit that tastes like Sealtest eggnog, made from milk solids, Vanillin, artificial rum flavoring; a milky impulse to kiss and be friends It’s like what George and I were talking about, the East West Coast divide: Californians need to do a thing to enjoy it. A smile in the street may be loads! you

Here is a timely word (see my last post) from my office mate Tammy Perlmutter with her poem introducing  this Advent season--and HOPE "A Hope That Doesn't Disappoint" By Tammy Perlmutter