Long Scheduling Poems
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All has come to an end, except for who to proclaim
The winner of The National College Football Championship Game
Excitement is brewing for the play-off game
Some will be at the game watching getting rained on, cold, and excited
The armchair quarterbacks stay at home and watch on their big screen TV being- telecasted
Scheduling and planning their parties to cheer on their favorite team and fellowships
Shopping for chips and dips
Hot wings and BBQ smokies
Soda pop, tea, beer, and whiskeys
They dress themselves and their children in lucky sports team attire
Kick off time has come, everyone is bouncing off the walls inspired
Armchair quarterback is playing in his own little field
He kicks and runs
Catches, tackles, and stuns
“That’s not the way they teach you to tackle!”
With all his excitement he almost slides off the armchair
“Oh, come on! Hey ref that’s not fair!”
“That’s pass interference he was all over him while the ball was in the air!”
He hollers and cheers
“Touchdown!” That’s the way!
Rants and raves
“Quit doing that, you idiot, you're going to get a fifteen yard penalty!”
His blood pressure is going up we all agree
“What the Hell was that you nitwit!”
“He dropped it.! You could have had it!”
Disappointment sets in, his team has lost
He blames the refs for all the bad calls, and its cost
Cleaning the carpet because of all the excitement, it’s going to cost
The season is over and I don't have to hear his rants until next year and
Our children will be the next generation of armchair quarterbacks
1/13/2015 by: Eve Roper
Accounts on watching and listening to my husband and brother
I said "I was just trying to be heard."
but the grown-ups were scheduling the next meeting about meetings
and the stillness was louder than me.
I said "I saw the cracks before the walls fell."
but they called it anxiety
pressed a pill into my palm—a bitter bead to bolt the mouth—
traded my bike for a screen.
I said "I asked what happens when the warnings all come true."
but they gave me the word catastrophizing
and sent me to talk to someone who would teach me to cope.
I said "I need something—God, or anything bigger than this ungodly."
but they said they'd outgrown that
they said the universe runs on chaos
hope—a feathered fraud—
they said forgetting was the price of growing.
I said "I dreamed of a world that listened first."
but the world was scrolling
and the scroll had no bottom
and the bottom had no floor.
I am still trying to be heard
the grown-ups are still busy
the world is still scrolling.
and I am learning
that no one is coming
that rescue is a story, fantasy, myth
that survival is action, not a noun—
I teach myself
in the darklessness—where angels file complaints.
while the adults
argue the wording
of the warning
no one
will ever
read.
________________________________________
§ FINAL VOLTA
But even in the dawn
I feel the stillness shiver—
a warning
the world
still refuses to hear
an acorn
hits my head—
the forest still believes
in warning
even when we don't
“How does it feel, studying for your first exam of the semester?” My sister Annick dug at me, via Facetime.
“Oh, I’m miserable and no one even knows!” I exclaimed excitedly.
I already miss summer’s sense of infinite time and space, and life on the lake, with its big, wet, melancholy summer rains. But most of all, I miss the travel and delicious, swirling, excesses that form the dark side of long holiday freedoms.
I’ve been called excessive, I accept that and I have to check that aspect of my nature, from time to time.
“Don’t you have any brakes?” My roommate Leong once asked me, like I was some runaway train.
I remember last summer, how we almost eased into fall. As summer had faded, things changed and slowed down, as the European students turned back to their serious, ordinary lives. The bars and streets became deserted, carousels stopped spinning, arcade games were turned off, yachts sailed away, the eager summer wait-staff vanished from the elegant hotels. Brightly lit, summer-gaudy Saint Tropez became just another faded seaside town, where the paint everywhere suddenly seemed chipped and cheap.
This year, we sped up, by spending the last couple of weeks in flashy, frantic, fluorescent Manhattan - oh, man.
Then BOOM, we were dropped, as if from a great height, back into university life, back to cafeteria lines, shuttle buses and the scholastic gridiron - which oddly enough, has a lot in common with the teenage world. It was going from a-hundred-mile-an-hour adult freedom, to dealing with all the old teenage issues, like homework, tests, studying, the endless clock-watch scheduling of to and from classes - you know, the physicality of academics.
It sounds rough, I know. We’ve been told that as seniors, we can expect an even more important and frenetic emphasis on social life. Yep, we’ll be stepping things up to a whole new level this year!
Woot!! Maybe I’ll even get to wear some makeup!
.
.
A song for this:
September by Earth Wind & Fire
(The following vignette barely resists collapsing into raw blurting.)
Ask my priest and he’ll tell you
I have a long-term boyfriend, whom
I’ve loved improperly for years.
He’s the custodian of my sin (my priest).
The church has its own language of fault.
He might not tell you, actually, priests have rules
- there are legalities aplenty - but he’s sure,
I’ve laid it before him (confession).
I outsource my gilt to professionals
- I’ve left my faults behind -
who wants to cary all of THAT around?
I have an unstable and somewhat elastic
belonging to the Holy Roman Catholic church,
but there are tethers of family that hold me
- one of the obligations of inherited identity -
and I find it convenient that my sins can be
formally acknowledged while socially invisible.
“You have an unrecognized attachment,” he’d said,
moral frameworks often expose their own inadequacies.
Alas, my morals sit uncomfortably behind my desires.
In my mind, I momentarily see a triangular road sign that reads,
“Warning: self-exposure: intimate realities may exceed dogmatic frameworks!”
“Say two Our Fathers, three Hail Mary, and one act of contrition - and in the future,” he said wincingly, “use your indoor blasphemy voice.”
Yeah, I frequently leave ‘Our Lady’ with scheduling issues.
I use an Apple Watch app to tally my penances (Counter for Watch - free).
He did complement me on my consistency and how politely I misbehave.
Still, despite my over-caffeinated, theatrical guilt and moral dissonance
- I’m clean. I keep my sins organized
- Heaven, here I come.
.
.
A song for this:
Stoney End by Laura Nyro
.
.
slang…
Priest = my authority figure/witness
Confession = is not absolution, it’s documentation
Our Lady = Notre Dame Cathedral
" OFTEN THEY THOUGHT IT PRUDENT TO
LET PEOPLE KNOW WHICH WAY THEIR WORLD WOULD BE.
SOME OF THOSE WHO SAID IN CONCERT
AFTER THE WORDS WERE REHERSTED, AND THE MUSIC SET IN PLACE
AFTER THE CLOTHES WERE CHOSEN,
AND FITTED TO EACH PERSON, AFTER THE
TIME AND DATES WERE PLANNED
AND ALL THE SCHEDULING DONE,
WHEN THE INVITATIONS WENT OUT
FOR THOSE PEOPLE YOU JUST WANT TO HEAR YOU
AND THEN WHEN THE TICKET SALES REQUEST FOLK
THAT LOVE YOUR SOUND, OR WANT
TO GET TO KNOW WHAT YA'LL DOING.
THOSE NIGHTS BEFORE THE SHOW.
THOSE DAYS BEFORE THE SHOW.
THE ACTUAL SHOW.
THOSE PEOPLE WHO DO THE WORK.
THOSE WHO KNOW WHATS GOING ON.
AND THOSE WHO MAKE THESE HAPPEN.
AFTER THE PARTY'S
AND DURING THE PARTY.
THOSE WOMAN WHO LOVE YOU.
AND THOSE ONE'S WHO JUST WANNA BANG AND GET SUM.
LOVE LIKE TOMORROW'S NEVER GONNA LET YOU DO-IT AGAIN.
THAT BEING FAMOUS BABY!
THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT WORTHY OF DOING IT ALL OVER AGAIN !"
THE MEMBERS OF THE BAND !
“I just want her to feel like she belongs."
“Don’t worry, she’ll be placed appropriately, focusing mainly on life-skills.”
“Please, no labels, it will only serve to isolate her, the last school—”
“Good news, there’s virtually no more stigma in the school over these types of learners anymore.”
“Then why does she come home crying over mean looks from other kids every other day?”
“Listen, I know it’s been a life-long struggle raising her, and I can’t imagine being in your shoes, but—”
“She is a delight. It’s her environment making the proper accommodations—that’s my struggle!”
“She is certainly a delight, but you can’t deny her disabilities make her much more challenging for us—”
“Deny? Do you think I’m in denial over her disabilities? Never, though I know some parents who are…”
“And so where does that lead us. Would you rather place her in a contained classroom, with intensive ABA therapy, focusing on the skills she will need in the type of jobs she may qualify for in the future? Or would you rather her continue to take her chances floating through gen ed.?”
“Just don’t put a ceiling on her abilities.”
“We’re being realistic s all, by using evidence-based decisions to better your daughter’s chances for success.”
“Success to me is her making a friend, asking to go on a playdate, not putting lids on jars or sitting knee-knee with some school aid drill sergeant.”
“I’m sorry, we’ve ran over our time. The next parent is waiting in the hallway. You mind re-scheduling to finish this?”
“Re-schedule? Again?”
"Escape (The Piña Colada Song)"
Rupert Holmes Lyrics "I never knew"
That you like piña coladas and gettin' caught in the rain
There's a line in the song that reminds me of an attempted
birthday surprise I was planning for my wife. I was scheduling
'a massage', a Christian one I might add, but later had to cancel
because 'I never knew' that my wife loves massages, but only
ones done by me. Thereafter, I started scheduling 'massages by me'.
The song has a story line with a twisting plot; a pleasing
discovery that's not likely to happen in reality. Though
rare, it is an intriguingly awesome saga. I heard the song
again today, and each time I hear it, my recall button quietly
takes me to Half Moon Bay, where I heard such a beautiful song
over the radio for the very first time more than 30 years ago.
The song had nothing to do with me or anyone I knew.
But I was arrested immediately and captured by the story.
I have learned well that my bride likes Caramel Iced Coffee.
But I must say that after 49 years, there are yet 'discoveries'
of things about my bride that 'I never knew'.
My wife and I have had 'Escapes', but not of the
'surprise variety'. I nor my bride have ever had a
piña coladas nor do we like getting caught in the rain;
but I have always feasted from the creativity in that song.
073021PS
Oh dear my lovely monthly calendar, . You are playing multiple roles nowadays, Your work is marvellous, no wonder , And you are tailored to suit your exact goals always. Oh my dear beautiful monthly calendar, We are delighted with your macro -level planning, Scheduling surprises are prevented by you in a grand manner, You know, our daily task lists are spanning. Oh my dear month at a glance calendar, You are showing national holidays and local festivals, Are you a good goal -tracking ambassador, And you are the reminder for bills and birth dates in general. Oh my dear an event showing calendar, You are a practical gift for the rural ladies, They are using you to manage the milk vendor, And we will never forget you, just like the dailies.
Where the stage manager sits
the occurance of defintion
defined as a position or a fill-in
speakers along the proscenium
edge to counteract the effect
of the sound coming from the side
primary liaison between the director
, actors, designers, and technical crew.
blocking and cues
his responsibility was to make sure
all were in attendance for
rehearsals, and the scheduling
some are also responsible for set
designs and redesigns
wardrobe and furniture
lighting and sound
a communicative position
ensuring safety throughout
the whole company
" I often had been sad by what I thought I should be doing
my work help me focus: I meet my wife right here
in this theather, we worked together
I was capitivated by her work and work ethic
we married and never looked back",
Passaggio and Chiaroscuro.
" Etude Musicia" she spoke
illustrating her work
Loving me illustrates her intentions"
Étude Love she said laughing.
I am a creature of habit…which fundamentally means…
I find comfort in the way my life follows certain customs and routines.
At the same time I am not averse to change…which fundamentally means…
I also find comfort when my life follows new routines.
I loved the daily routines when or children were growing up…I thought it was so cool
from diapers and bedtime stories…to driving them to school.
When they grew up…were on their own…and our house moved at a slower pace…
we discovered a new routine…that took the old one’s place.
Waking up together every morning…walking together at first light
laughing…sharing meals…TV…reading in bed each night.
Grandchildren changed our routine again…there was soccer every Saturday.
Our family began scheduling get togethers…dinners, birthdays…holidays.
Our Christmas routine has changed…but it’s one of the best changes we could see…
helping our children and grandchildren understand the magic of Christmas…
starts and ends with family.
To some…routines may not seem sexy or romantic at first glance…
but I think they are magical…if we give them half a chance.
What if, instead of viewing them as mundane, we were able to see
the routine in any day of our life is another page in our biography?
Then turning back to any page we would see the magic of routines…
is where life and living coincide….
and we would come to understand…
that’s where our happiness resides.