Some Links and an Old Poem of Mine…

Here is a link that might be interesting… When the Dream Becomes Real. I found this while surfing around today and read through the whole thing. It was very enlightening.
 
I found this link the other day… In the year 2014, The New York Times has gone offline. The video is poetic. So much is happening to media. We may actually see something like this one day. Technology just keeps expanding.
 
Anyway, I went to bed at 3:30AM and woke up at 11:00AM. This has basically been a repeat of yesterday. It is raining so I could not go for the walk I wanted to today.
 
My brother managed to get the drainage on the pond unclogged before the rain came. He rented an air compressor and dispersed the clog.
 
My printer malfunctioned again today. A piece of cardstock came through and knocked one of the parts off. I tried to put it back together, but gave up finally and called Alex to fix it. He and my printer have a thing where Alex can fix it in moments. I am glad he is handy that way.
 
No cooking today. I guess I will lay out something for tomorrow though. If I go too many days without cooking I might abandon the habit again.
 
I would like to present a poem I wrote back in the eighties:
 

Cracks in the Fabric

Someone was speaking of the beauty of life, filling in
emptiness with word – luring, tempting, lyrical.
I listened, ears wide open, catching the infliction
of each vivid misconception,
Ignoration of injustice – social – sweeping down
bedraggled streetwise gray-eyed fire-can-tenders
Searching
among refuse dumped grimy fingers grasping hoping
growling grumbling starvation wracked stomachs
would be appeased with scraps considered too vulgar
for house-dogs,
among pricely dressed well heeled commuters they pass
unseen invisible as the ghosts of long forgotten souls
Less Welcome
Among forest of buildings bewildered going to soup kitchens
for thin gruel brown bread slightly stale
among applicants for employment dismissed unconsidered
on status basis skills unseen limited by conditions
beyond present down on luck control.
People once successful themselves too proud to rely
on  governmental aid wandering aimless
homeless sleeping in the recess provided by
ingress to press doors of The Atlanta Journal – Constitution
shuddering in tatters lined with gray print gleanings
discarded
People patriotic fighters returned from Vietnam to
abuse distrustfulness unrelenting criticism
spit upon shoulders wracked by savagery of war cause
not comprehended
people unable to mainstream conform frail ego scarred
bowed out becoming shadows of past glory
disjointed members unrecognized zeroed out of place
contributors toward future degenerated
into oblivion cast away
struggling weakly dignified whispering prayerfully
tear-stained-gray-cheeked-red-eyed-remembering
life, home, family, friends, occupation,
people, Real People, not imagined by malcontents
or poets or reporters needing some subject
for program or art, Real People
people in New York City where The Fair Lady with Torch
Upheld even does not trouble brook pointing
out needy thirst freedoms want
sidewalk furbishers decorating cracks in the fabric
of American image grim gaunt skeletal
ravaged by weather and ragmuffined
people well acquainted with sorrow suffering death
hunger abuse wanting only wanting chance
living loving being understood
people, some children, expelled from cold houses of
strife (divorce torn) or runaway from uncaring
lashing anger, sexually abused
people begging on street corners in Washington D.C.
for a cigarette, just a cigarette, smoke reminder
of security, happier days
a junkie sharing needles with a prostitute
both victims of criminal neglect
people who tried to be more forced to become
prisoners of dark abandoned alleys
people teachers taught in over-crowded classrooms
without energy capable nor knowledge enlightened
enough to realize
people were learning less than needed producing
illiterate dysfunctional graduates unable to
compete under stress real everyday working
situational hazards, fatal flaw
people retarded – handicapped – unnaturally – by peer
pressure, group ostracism, critical cruelty,
total personal disregard, heartless prejudice
all heaped out unthinkingly
people huddling alone inside cardboard boxes
attempting keeping warm in Philadelphia’s
frigid Winter night wind blown streets
without even blanket one
people found frozen inside condemned houses
walls roofs caving round dead bodies
people tragic souls who severely burn themselves
warming at bonfires never realizing
their torching because the flames can not
abate bone chill
people lamenting nothing, forgotten sadly,
buried alive, only surviving

People once dreamers of fine outstanding fame,
presidents unelected, triathletes never run,
teachers untaught, models never photographed,
writers unpublished, musicians never booked,
these just a sample of the loss
people whose disadvantage is America’s lifeblood
draining into sewers of disuse damaging
the economy worst than trade deficits
people needed creators of ideas, art, innovational
business practices, plain workers, secretaries,
bus drivers, garbage collectors, doctors,
there dressed in tatters lie potential
people who need no pity but crates brimful
of understanding and trust
people with hearts which ache, minds which
wonder if they deserve anything more, ears
which hear harsh words, eyes which see
disdainful stares
People who do not desire empty words, but might
accept kind caring actions.

 
©  Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I guess I will let you go for tonight. I just re-read that and I think it says more than I could say right now.

Always,
Jo Ann

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