What Feminists Look Like

 

 

 

Super Man





It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Superman!

My "final" for the Mementos & Metaphors poetry workshop series at the Ovitt Community Library with David A. Romero was a reworking of the Week 1 assignment to write a poem about a family member using an object closely associated with that person. I chose to write about my son Ben and called it Super Man.

My son is a hero.
The boy who idolized Superman in his youth
Now fights for truth, justice and the American way
For the non-Americans in the Inland Empire.

My son is a hero to the latino and latina immigrants.
He flies to the street corners
To hold up his cape-like banners
In peaceful protest of racial profiling.

Faster than a speeding bullet,
My super man will rush to heed the call
Of the disempowered and downtrodden among us.

He will race to the police check points
To protect the rights that we all uphold:

     The right to be treated as human beings
     The right to live in community without violence, and
     The right to have economic justice and no abuse of power.

My son is a hero
Who knows that truth and justice are not the American way,
That capitalism promotes the separation into classes,
That the white patriarchy has caused social and economic imbalance
That has lasted for centuries.

So now, he is a hero to the anarchist way
With x-ray vision to a world that is
More egalitarian, more spiritual, and incorruptible.
Look! It's a bird, it's a plane,
It's Equality for All!

 

Silly Starters

Writing a poem is discovering.

~ Robert Frost

 

 

I bought a book at the teacher store to allow the students to choose a daily journal topic. Last week was the first time I sat down to write with them. Two days in a row the assignment was to write a poem. Here are the two I wrote.

 

Day #1: Write a poem about a puppy that wants to be a person.

I'm a little puppy

Who owns a little girl

I love to run and jump with her

More than anything in the world

 

But what I want the most in life

Is to be just like my friend

Because if I could talk, I'm sure

Our chats would never end

 

We'd speak about the flowers

or what dresses we will wear

We'll sing about most anything

And dance without a care

 

I'm a little puppy

Who wants to be a girl

So I can run and dance and play

And wear my hair in curls

 

Day #2: Write a poem about a monkey that cannot stop laughing.

 

I saw a monkey in a tree

Laughing so hysterically

Ha ha ho ho hee hee hee

 

He chortled and giggled

Until there were tears

I think he had been

Laughing for years

 

That poor monkey

Could not stop his glee

Ha ha ho ho hee hee hee  

 

 

I actually had a hard time writing the second poem and so did the kids, but I shared my strategies. First I brainstormed about the most important elements of the assignment: monkey and laughing. Some of the words I thought of for monkey were: banana, tree, tail, swinging on a vine, and ooh ooh. For laughing I wrote down hysterical, chuckle, giggle, laugh until it hurts, cry, tee hee, ha ha. Then I thought about the words that went together. The students usually have about ten minutes to write and they can be very creative. I'm glad they like to share with the class too. They let me share my poems last week and it was fun to read them.



 



Voice for the Voiceless

Where does discipline end? Where does cruelty begin? Somewhere between these, thousands of children inhabit a voiceless hell.  ~ Francois Muriac

Because of the Coffee House Writer's Group Meetup, I started attending a 4 week poetry workshop at the Ovitt Community Library in Ontario. As I told my fellow CHWGers, my poetry usually runs in the veins of romantic love or children's poetry, but these workshops are expanding my repertoire. I respect the fact that the first presenter advocated poetry with a social conscience. And, although I have written rhyming children's poetry that is meant to be read aloud as a performance piece, David Romero's idea of Spoken Word Poetry is new to me. His concept is for us to write long poems and then memorize them to be performed and judged by an audience.

Monday's workshop was titled "The Voice of the Voiceless." Presenter Matt Sedillo performed his work called "Gerald Ford" that was really a look at the life and wisdom of a homeless man. In his very powerful voice, Sedillo contrasted the sorrow the American people felt over the death of our former president, Gerald Ford, and the lack of compassion and the fear we feel for a homeless man, although at any moment, any one of us could be in the same tattered shoes.

Our assignment was to write a poem for any voiceless person. My partner wrote about an old man whose family put him into a nursing home. I have always tried to give voice to the children. My poem was inspired by the upstairs neighbors I had in Colorado Springs, Colorado, when I lived in some government projects there. It is called:

Mom and Dad on Crack

 

I get to stay up as late as I want and jump on the bed until I collapse from exhaustion.

Mommy and Daddy are busy doing their own thing.

They go into the bedroom and tell be to Stay Out because I am not allowed to

play with lighters, and besides, the smoke is not good for my lungs.

 

In the morning, I get up and make my own cold cereal

And then I wake up Daddy to take me to school.

Sometimes I wish I could have a hot breakfast, like pancakes or eggs.

But at least,

I get to stay up as late as I want,

I get to wear whatever I want,

and

I hardly ever get yelled at because

Mommy and Daddy are in the bedroom

doing their own thing.

So now I have this memorized and plan to present it next week. If you are interested in attending the last two workshops, here is the information from the Ontario Library website.

Poetry Workshop- Mementos & Metaphors

Posted Date: 3/6/2013 7:00 AM

David A. Romero will present his four week workshop "Mementos & Metaphors": Poems of Family and Identity. April 8, 15, 22 and 29 from 7:00 - 8:30pm in the storytime room.

 

And thank-you to my new writing friends at CHWG!

http://www.meetup.com/CoffeeHouseWritersGroup/

 

Nickname Queen

Today’s Quote:

”The harder I work the better my luck seems to be.”

            ~Thomas Jefferson

My number 2 son says I have more names than a rapper.

It all started with my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Elam, at Cleminson School in Temple City. She called me Giggling Gertie and embroidered a smiling Gertie onto my embroidery sampler project. When we moved to Covina, my school nickname became plain Giggles. A lot more kids at Charter Oak Elementary knew me by Giggles than I knew by name.

 

In high school, my mother was constantly rhyming everything, so I became Diana Banana, Banana, Banana-Butt, or plain BN. Alex Kristofka, my neighbor, never shouted anything but Diana Banana at me. Banana-Butt is strictly reserved for Bettina-Butt. Most people called me Banana, because I have a-peel. Get it? Pam’s family always called me Banana Caboose or Caboose because it was close to my maiden name, Cobos. I even utilized my nickname in my sophomore presidential campaign with the slogan, “Vote Diana for Top Banana.” I worked my brand and won!

 

I think you get a lot of nicknames if your given name is three or more syllables. Some people just can’t handle more than one syllable at a time. That means I’ve been called both Di and D. Those got morphed into Big D, Lady D and Lady Di. I like being associated with the good-hearted former Lady Diana Spencer who later became a Princess. I skipped princess status to become Queen of Outer Space. One year, I even wrote down Queen as my occupation on my kids’ Emergency card at Hawthorne Elementary. I didn't think the office ladies would notice, but they did and made mention of it a time or two.

 

People always confuse the names Diane and Diana. This is irritating for both of us. One time it created a problem when I took a temp job working with a Diane at a Colorado Springs cemetery. People would call and ask for the wrong Diane/a, so they suggested I use a nickname. Shorten my name to Di? Clients might be reminded of dying; not a good choice. How about my initials? D.C. didn’t work either. They stand for Death Certificate. Finally, they suggested using my middle name. Well, my middle name is Cleil. You are supposed to enunciate each letter sound in my name, but no one in the office could say that final “L”so they called me Cleo.

 

Because I was a competitive swimmer, I became Diana Dolphin. I used Dolphin as my Camp name and in every situation where I work with kids outside of a regular classroom. At my current job as an after school program leader, I am Miss Dolphin. And because Diana was the goddess of the moon, I chose as both my e-mail name and my brush name dolphinmoon.

 

I had hoped to establish myselfin the teaching profession as an innovative thinker with the name and logo Mrs. Bubbletree. I even wrote a little poem and put it on a profile brochure with the byline, "Grounded in standards & bubbling with ideas." People either love the name and remark on its creativity or they say that is childish and unbecoming of a serious professional.

 

Every time I make a new group of friends, I get a new nickname. Besides my long term names, like Banana and Giggles, I am also part of the Bitchen' Chicks (I'm number four, B4). I am also La Giggles, Flower Girl, Sugar Toes, LL, Thumper, the combo Mama/Sister/Friend, COBOS, and my grandma name, Mimi.

 

 

One time I met a person who felt that nicknames were insulting. I think nicknames are endearing. They mean that someone really understands you in a certain way and makes a pet name for you as an intimate reminder of your bond. What's your favorite nickname? 

             

                         

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                  

Everton

     The town was near the ocean. There was a fountain in the middle of the concrete square that was surrounded by office buildings. Around the fountain were vendors hawking their wares from folding tables. Some of the vendors had umbrellas to shield them from the sun. People milled around the tables, ate from food carts or sat upon the many benches spaced around the center. I noticed a photographer coming toward me. I watched as he took a picture of a young woman. He talked to the woman for a minute and then as he was taking the photo, she vanished.
     The photographer then came up to me and said he needed my help. He wanted me to take pictures of people to save them from the disaster about to strike out planet. I had been chosen and we didn't have much time. He explained that I must take the photograph, while speaking each person's name and telling them that they were going to Everton. He stressed again how urgent this project was and said I would know who to photograph. I grabed my camera and began to take pictures. Each time I would ask the person's name, push down the button on my camera and hold it down as I spoke to him or her, and then watch them disintegrate into nothingness. No one seemed to notice what I was doing in the crowded square. I wondered where Everton was. I wondered if the people I photographed were safely transported. A sense of urgency began to overhwhelm me. I wondered why I could not take pictures of two or more people together thinking it would be much quicker. I saw a family sitting on a bench. I went to the youngest girl and asked her her name. "Gloria," she said. I told her, "Gloria, I am sending you to Everton." I walked around the square choosing others and repeating the process with each one. I searched out my own family and sent them all to Everton. I left the square and walked to the shore. I wanted to find more people to photograph. I was on the sand now and I saw the swells begin. "A tidal wave is about to begin" I thought to myself. How could I get to safety? In answer, I watched a dolphin swim towards me. It scooped me onto its back and we rode the crest of the tidal wave until the dolphin deposited me onto a concrete riser with a tall steel rod sticking out of its middle. I stood on the small circle of concrete, holding on for my life as the water swept past me with great force and rushed all the way to the mountains. I stood there clinging to that pole for long hours waiting for the water to recede. The water finally settled into a large lake covering the basin between beach and mountain. When the water started to sink into the ground, I went back to the town center. I wanted to find out if there was anyone left who I needed to photograph and if anyone else had been left behind. And, I wanted someone to photograph me.
     It was strange how the town square looked unaffected by the tidal wave. It was dry and sunny. The tables and the vendors were in exactly the same places, only now the vendors seemed somehow different. Every vendor seemed distant and cold. A man called out to me from behind his table, "You have beautiful hair!" I thought about my shiny straight auburn hair as I looked his way but soon realized that he only wanted me to buy the hair care products he had for sale, so I just said, "Thank-you," quite tersely and walked on. I thought that everyone was out here just to make money and they would say anything to trick others into buying their products. The atmosphere was so different now - it seemed heavier or something. I wanted to get out of there! I wanted to get to my family. I started asking people to take my picture but now I couldn't remember the name of the town I sent everyone to. The first woman I went up to seemed nice. She was browsing at a table. She was pretty in her flowered headscarf and dark sunglasses. I hoped she would remember the name of the town. I hoped she wanted to go with me where the others had gone. She told me that she had wanted to go but it was too late now. "Besides," she said, "the camera won't work now because it has gotten wet." I looked at the camera. It was clear now, not black. It did look like it had water in it. But when I walked up to a man, the camera was black again. Relieved,  I told him I needed to get my picture taken, that my family had gone to another town and I wanted to go be with them, but I couldn't remember the name of the town. I asked him if he remembered the town and asked if he wanted to go too. He said that the name of the town didn't matter. I could choose any name I wanted when I got my picture taken and it would whisk me out of here. I didn't believe him. I wanted to go to the same place as everyone else, not to someplace by myself. The people here knew about the camera's ability to transport me, but everyone had a different reason as to why they could not take my picture or have theirs taken by me. Finally, one woman told me that if she took my picture when she wasn't supposed to, she would be destroyed. I was getting frantic and decided that the only way I could escape this planet was to take my own photograph. I didn't know if it would work or not. If I just could remember the name of the town. And then, it came to me. I remembered that when I first was asked to take photos of other people, I was unsure if my teacher was saying Eberton or Everton. I figured out he was saying Everton, like we would be safe for ever. I held my camera at arm's length, said "Diana, I am sending you to Everton," and snapped the picture.

Ear Trouble

Exhaustion. Frustration. Pain.
My life today.

I came home from my day long trip to the County Hospital and took a nap. When I woke up, all I wanted to do was sit and watch television. I picked up the remote and flipped around my basic stations. The first 15 channels were on commercial and 13 out of those 15 were for cars. That reminded me of my terrible day at the county hospital because when I arrived in Colton, there were no parking spots available. I was among a dozen or more cars that were circling the lots hoping to find someone leaving or a place far enough away that hadn't been reached yet. In other words, there were too many dang cars there and the last thing I wanted to see was the media telling me that we needed more cars on the road that needed places to park. Aargh.

My experience in the hospital was just as frustrating. Once I walked the distance to get to my 10:45 appointment, I had to wait in line to check in, then I had to wait outside the ENT door to ask a question. Once I learned that even though I was late because of the parking situation, there were still 7 patients ahead of me (they always triple book in the ENT area). I was glad though, because I wanted to use my waiting time, which is typically 2 hours past the appointment time, to go downstairs and get my pain medication refilled. The pharmacy was as crowded as the parking lot. I waited in line to check in, chatted with the people next to me when I did find a seat, and then got called up to the second window about 20 minutes later to get the label for my prescription. I was told the next waiting session was going to be another hour and a half. After about an hour, I waited in the prescription line hoping that when I got to the window, my Rx would be ready, but even though I only would have had to only wait 20 minutes more, it was already almost 1:00 and I wanted to get back upstairs for my scheduled appointment since the 2 hour wait time was already up.

Upstairs again, there were still 3 people ahead of me, but the nurse said to stick around since they were just follow ups. So I had a snack and took some ibuprofen (since I hadn't picked up the pain pills) because my head hurt just behind my right ear. I got called in through the clinic door and waited some more. I was there to hear about the reading of my CT scan 2 weeks ago. My original follow up was in October, but I was a squeaky wheel and they moved my appointment up. I didn't get to see the handsome doctor. Instead, I saw a resident. Although he was pretty cute and nice too, he didn't tell me what I expected to hear. I expected to hear that the choleastoma had grown back and they would remove it and I could hear better and have no more pain. Instead, he told me that the CT showed that everything was normal. What? If all is well, then why have I had pain and trouble since last November? The resident ventured a guess that it may be caused by dental problems. I said, if it's my teeth, then why do I have discharge from my ear? Then he suggested it could be my nerves and maybe I should see a neurologist. Iasked him if he was going to refer me to a neurologist. He said, "No, your primary care physician has to do that. But, I will make a note on your chart recommending it." So I left disheartened and confused. What am I to do now?

I kept thinking of how long it took the medical profession to find my ear problem 12 years ago. I heard almost the same thing last time. Doctors were diagnosing punctured ear drum, infection, or saying nothing was wrong. I even had one Blue Cross doctor tell me I wasn't having pain. That really irritated me. How could he know that? So, I am not giving up on this. I decided I should have a copy of that CT scan to compare to the CD I have from one follow up visit in Colorado. Getting a CD took another 45 minutes. First I got sent to the basement to Medical Records where they told me they can order printouts but not CDs. Medical Records sent me to Radiology upstairs. Radiology asked for my information and I was surprised to have the clerk say I had a face scan. I said, "No, it was supposed to be my ear." He explained that the maxillofacial scan x-rays the jaw area up to the ear. That really worried me because the last growth went straight up from right above my eardrum and was working its way up to my brain, destroying all the inner ear bones along the way. It makes me think that the CT scan was not complete enough. But maybe the neurologist will find something.  How long it will take that to happen is anyone's guess. It has taken me 10 months to get this far. I hope my issue will be resolved before another 10 months passes. My worst fear is that my head will explode and then the doctor wills say, "I guess something was wrong after all."

In the meantime, I look forward to becoming addicted to pain pills...NOT.