The classroom hums with invisible electricity
screens glow like campfires where we gather to learn,
each tablet a window opening to forests, galaxies, ancient cities we touch with our fingertips.
We sit in circles, on cushions, at standing desks,
bodies moving like water finding its own shape,
while ideas bounce between us like light through prisms,
splitting into rainbows no one could predict.
Today we are architects building virtual bridges,
tomorrow historians interviewing grandmothers in Tokyo,
next week scientists watching cells divide on screens that see what eyes cannot.
The teacher walks among us, not above
a gardener tending different seeds,
knowing some need sun, some shade,
some time to root in silence.
And we wonder: is this learning or learning to learn,
this dance between question and search,
between knowing and discovering we've only just begun?
The Upper Wealthy
It was said that famous families
only lasts for about three generations
The Churchills, the Kennedys, and many
Others have a sale by date.
I thought of that while watching a program by
Crise Hedges, who happens to have grown up
among the stratospheric wealthy, and he
spent time trying to distance himself from
that class of people
He can't, everything about his language
manner, the smoothness of those who have
not had to strive
Cris was interviewing a man who writes
books about the rich, who, according to
him are bad for our society and economy
Clearly, the rich are different from those who have
No private plane when going shopping
They send children to the top school in a limo
They have a big household staff to keep
them in clover, and security, to be rich also
Mean someone is out to do your harm
The two men began annoying me, telling
stories about the wealthy, sounding like
a couple trying not to sound envious
180 barrels
A trendy couple fled a tourist resort and left behind 180 barrels of human waste; one wonders how they could accumulate that much ; the pair fled to Guatemala, farms cocoa plants and lives on a diet of bananas. A woman called Meghan, makes it clear that she is also a Sussex, whatever that means, has a podcast, and tells us she is thrilled with her success interviewing other privileged women. We are pleased to read these inanities and think if the 180 barrels of crap have sprung a leakage
The local news is, a Ukrainian who fled when the Russian army came knocking on the door looks askance at me since my view is different from the other people in the building. He came to Portugal with two new and big Mercedes, enough said!
This morning’s sunrise was a tacky and artificial affair.
The sun was played by a weak, 12-watt, refrigerator bulb
that looked wet and heavy as it struggled uphill like a drunk.
The horizon reminded me of a cheap, runny theatrical illusion,
the clouds were old cotton balls glued to cardboard silhouettes,
the birds sagged like dead puppets from uneven, coat hanger wires.
I don’t miss you. Everything’s fine. I hardly noticed you were gone, actually.
Things here are a laugh and a half. We’re doing fun girl things. Anna got new shoes.
I’m hardened by years of inescapable, solitary, covid lockdown. I’m immune to despair.
So go off, interview for that new, far-flung PhD life. Go fawn over Elon Musk for all I care.
I’m definitely not in my room eating spoons of peanut butter and crying to Tom Waits songs.
A quick note to thank Tammy Bower for interviewing me on her show. Although I was nervous she made it fun. I also enjoyed her interview with Andrea Dietrich on an earlier episode. I included a link to the interview for anyone who would be interested in watching the interview.
If you go to Utube you can search “Unleashing The World of Music and Poetry”
Richard
The earth is revitalized and replenished by 2120.
Gardens of Eden are thriving in warm places.
Beaches are comfortably secluded and pretty.
Pollution and smog are misunderstood words.
After the giant cleanse of 2021, many humans died off.
Giving Gaia an opportunity to thrive once more.
The forests are taller, more wildlife and song birds.
The oceans are clean, filled with larger sea life.
The survivor’s grandchildren have no concept of stress.
Freeway driving is not terrible, for there are less cars.
Working from home is the norm through videoconferences.
All interviewing, weddings, funerals, and school sessions are online.
There is no eight-to-five job; jobs are ten to two, with an hour for lunch.
Research indicated this is much more productive.
The city parks are not crowded; there is no waiting for a swing.
There is always a place for you to go and play.
Meditation is encouraged.
She was an ordinary forest until she wasn’t.
I did not see her most magical tree until I was deep inside her oaks
This glistening twinkly dazzling bright-lighted tree was next to the water
I crept up quietly not realizing faeries were all over her leaves.
Her forest’s foremost faerie queen had been expecting me.
She allowed her subjects to keep their lights glowing
I could see who she was protecting when I got closer and saw the faeries.
I am getting weak, she confided. You must help select the next faerie queen.
Me! I am a mere human! I know nothing about such matters.
You have been chosen, she assured me, thus, I began interviewing.
I selected the one who seemed the most kind; and she appeared satisfied.
She disappeared before my eyes, and a crown appeared on the chosen one’s head.
The forest suddenly got even quieter, which I did not know was possible.
Glistening faerie tree lit my way out for a bit, but then the lights disappeared.
I never found this magical forest again; but I guess I found it when I was meant to.
For I have felt uplifted and overjoyed ever since, honored by forest faeries.
I was trying to look adult but I was running late.
I was not in a business casual outfit or even a business outfit.
My husband had set up this appointment but forgot to tell me.
Be professional, he had cautioned me two seconds ago.
I was not happy because the interviewee was already ringing the doorbell.
The kids were in the basement screaming their heads off.
This was someone who wanted to be his secretary.
Yet I was interviewing her?
What?
I opened the door and led her inside.
She seemed sweet.
During the interview I leaned way back in his chair.
Too far back.
BAM! My feet were in the air.
Yes, of course I had on a dress.
My head was on the ground.
I crawled around and finished the interview.
Then I hired her.
She typed twelve words a minute on a good day.
I type eighty-eight words a minute on a bad day.
But I never wanted her to tell what happened.
We laughed like loons about it after we got to know each other.
And of course, I continued to do all the typing for she could not.
Bonus, we ended up with a sick cat because her mother said
she could not keep it, and I am allergic to cats.
A cuttlefish swallowed my house the other day.
He ejected his inky black fluid and we could not get away.
The local newspaper came out and had a heyday.
Interviewing and photographing the monster that you may all say…
Was doing what comes natural in a regular cuttlefish way.
Rather bleak ending to a regular Wednesday.
The days as a counselor with the Y.M.C.A.
We had a Y.M.C.A. blouse and blue shorts with hush puppies.
My father Dr. Wolf had said that they are interviewing for the position of counselor,
I went to the interview and I was hired.
I had a group of young children to look after,
We went on hikes and sang songs.
Became a senior counselor after a while,
We had a camp out and cookout once a month.
The tent we had to put up ourselves,
Made our own campfire with sticks and matches.
We cooked food and marsh mellows.
We hiked along the Rouge Hills,
That is very scenic there.
I enjoyed those years,
The days in the fresh air were very healing.
We have such good memories when we were young,
I thank my parents for their excellent guidance.
Author: Gwen von Erkach Schutz
I guess I will be a pharmacist. Why?
My uncle is a pharmacist
What do they do? I am not sure.
Did you know they count pills all day?
Okay. You think it would be fun?
I guess maybe.
Why do you want to be a pharmacist?
My uncle lives in a big house and makes
A bunch of money, and they have a husky.
I will be a surgeon like my
Mom probably.
Or a nurse like my Dad or something.
I thought you fainted last week when you
Saw a film that had blood in it.
What does that have to do with it?
Twelve boys in a class of eighteen
Approach me together.
We are going to be basketball players for the Bulls,
And live in mansions and drive Lamborghinis.
I smile at them.
All of you?
Except Kevin. He is a football player.
We will make him our quarterback or something.
My mom says I can be a pretty rainbow princess
Will that be your career? I ask her.
I think so, she answers.
Will you live in a castle?
She shakes her head ‘no.’
I want to live with Daddy.
Guess what age I have been
Interviewing today? Ready? Here it is.
These are nine-year-old fourth graders.
The raw innocence of a first job interview
I'm sitting at a McDonald's
writing a poem. I save it.
My interest is piqued,
at a young lad interviewing
for his first job, presumably.
At first I see him dressed in shorts,
plain white t-shirt, and
slippers, and I then think of his
mistaken attire. He kept twitching his
nervous knees as the manager
looked over his application.
The raw innocence. There's
an exchange of dialogue. But then
I could see that the interview
turned into an orientation,
even laughter at times. So I
knew the young lad had his
foot in the door. Great. During
this time a smiling women catches
my eye. She's probably thinking
why I'm watching so intently at the
interview. She keeps looking
over at the interview, too.
I didn't put two and two together
until later. The raw innocence
of a mother looking on as her
cub leaves the lair.
connie pachecho
1/26/17
One day I was flipping through the TV channels
When I happened
To chance upon
Oprah
Who was interviewing this suspicious-looking fellow,
Who turned out to be some kind of “new-age” guru,
So I stopped
And I watched
As this guy rambled on.
And he had a book out (of course), which would sell by the millions
Now that Oprah had smiled on him.
Well, after a bit I started to move on to some more intellectual stuff
But I stopped,
Because Oprah asked this guy this question:
“What happens when we die?”
She asked,
As if she actually thought that he knew!
Well, I picked my jaw up off the floor while this guy spouted some nonsense,
Which I didn’t hear over the shouting in my head of the things that I wanted
to scream at Oprah,
Which was, to wit:
WHAT ARE YOU ASKING HIM FOR?!?!! HE DOESN’T KNOW!!!!
HE HASN’T DIED AND COME BACK!!!! NOBODY KNOWS!!!!
But I didn’t since, you know, she was on TV and wouldn’t have heard me.
It’s a swill no one interrupts—
A pill that consumes and corrupts
Our honor's been jailed
And truth’s will is impaled
As the blood PAC tempest erupts
Author's note: Many of the super-rich (who do not yet have it all) are determined to have more of the pie since their multiple residences and bank accounts are not enough and their yachts and jets are too small and range restricted (OMG). There are about 600 people who have donated more than $1,000,000 to presidential political action committees (PACs). The very rich, who also are trying to buy Congress, are in the process of remodeling our society. They liked it when society was feudal--when the rest of us were consigned to serfdom or were slaves. This weekend, the Koch brothers are interviewing candidates to see who they will spend almost a billion dollars to elect. Are we to believe their propaganda (that they have our interest in mind)? That is why I support the only candidate who does not have a super PAC who is running for President--Bernie Sanders. Enough is enough and maybe, just maybe, we can prevail over the corruption of wealth. The truth always matters and can never be denied over the long term.
Two sounds signal Sunday night –
The “Sixty Minutes” ticks
Which lead into Bob Simon’s voice –
My end-of-weekend fix.
He feels more like a friend to me
Than just a talking head.
I’ve followed all his stories
To wherever they have led.
Across the seas, around the globe,
He’s traveled for the news
While interviewing many with
Diverse, conflicting views.
Ironically, he lost his life
At home, on native soil,
Quite far from all the places
Where, in danger, he would toil.
I’ll miss his presence on TV –
His voice, his calm, his face
And CBS will have a slot
Not easy to replace.
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