Englewood's 3 most critical issues

Inspiration

Mothers Wait...

It is a beautiful warm day in September. The smell of freshly cut grass and gasoline fills the air. Manicured lawns

and perfectly cut topiary surround the houses. A young man is walking lithely down a tree lined suburban street. He is wearing a maroon hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of his high school basketball team.  He is not aware of the long fingers that pull aside lace curtains in curiosity. He does not fear the suspicious blue eyes that peer at him over the tops of over pruned rhododendrons. The gnarled knuckles that habitually caress the buttons on the old fashioned phone tab labelled police are not an image that he has ever seen. His stride is not broken as droplets of water from a hose splash across his young face. His is used to the look of disapproval on the face of the man watering his lawn. He is oblivious and unconcerned when  little tikes stop their bikes and stare. The young man is 6 feet tall, unassuming and intently grooving to the lyrics and beat on concealed headphones attached to an ipod in his pocket. His eyes are protected with a stylish pair of foster grants as he is walking towards the late afternoon sun. He dips a little to the right as he keeps time with a mix that is a tad too loud. Occasionally, he flips a bird at a familiar figure that passes him on the other side of the street. His stomach growls and he can nearly taste the dinner that he hopes is waiting in his own kitchen. It is his mom's day off. His over large name brand  jeans make his legs look much shorter as the logo on the back pocket falls just above the bend in his knees. He turns onto a familiar block. The lawns are no longer perfectly manicured. People on this street greet him warmly. He is nearly home.

She watches him from the kitchen window. He is still her little boy. She has one eye for him and another for the

four year old who waits patiently on the front steps. Her heart pounds. She wishes he would cross the street already. As she watches him get closer, she does not miss the headphones being popped out of his ears. She takes note of the hood that is thrown back away from his closely cropped hair. She smiles her secret smile that only a mother may understand as he loosens his belt without breaking his stride. He hikes his pants up and tightens his belt before crossing the street. She does not make a move to leave the window until he is safely on their side of the street and the little girl is in the wind running towards him. The hem of her apron goes to her eyes as the  child in pigtails dashes down the street calling his name. She watches as her daughter's little arms surround her big brother's knees. He pretends to hate the embrace, but he cannot hide his love. The little girl is scooped up as they play out the sibling family ritual dance. She returns to the stove. As the door opens, she yells over her shoulder. "Wash your hands, both of you. Dinner is ready."    The table is set for 3.

We have all seen the image. This teenager is someone we love. He walks out of our houses every day and we hold the place on our Mother's chest as he disappears around the corner on his way to school. He wears his vulnerability like a red badge of courage and we wear our fear on our sleeves like summer tears.

Too Much Smoke In My Eyes

In Memory of Open Spaces
Family outings.
The smell of grass,
Honeysuckle blossoms
Barbecue pits in spring, summer, fall
and happy voices
Picnics in the Park.....Where did it all go?

Last night

I wonder how many people who live in Englewood
have actually ever seen the inside of this
very neglected facility.

I watched two groups argue
over something
that has caused strife and hard feelings for
over 30 years

They are no closer to compromise than they were
over quarter century ago

Meanwhile, the system that formerly educated
and nurtured the young ones
is literally crumbling before
eyes wide shut
Puffed up chests need deflation
on all sides

Too much time already wasted
on brick and mortar
built to serve less than 10% of the people

30 years later, it looms like an unkempt concrete monster
abandoned and shunned
The park around it shrinks on a daily basis
Too much fence
Too much like the barbed wire of a prison
Fence and concrete closing in
What has been done to our beautiful park?

Jay Street bridge closed off.
Third Street bridge demolished and closed off

Whatever happened to our picnic area?

Elmore Avenue picnic area closed
Fence locked
Elmore Avenue bridge removed
We did not forget that one
The street is now a dead end where one may only peer in through a
Cast iron fence
A grand entrance
Gated off and now used as
The City's dump area
less than 50 feet away from homes.

A dead end sign warns us that we are not allowed to enter our park through what was once the most social active area out of the way so stray balls and other flyers objects of play.

Gone are the times when one might
stand across the street in front of the church
Facing south

The sign is real.

And see across the park
To forest Avenue in the distance.

Too much fence
Too much barbed wire
Are we keeping people in
or keeping people out?

Now we see a dilapidated stone structure with dirty,
Neglected bathrooms
The elected official tells us that a Boy's & Girls Club
Is going to fix everything now
Everything is going to be all better
because they know how to do it

A 30 year old argument prevails
Over what?

They say that this dirty dilapidated building
Is going to be our
Community Center.


Pardon me while I puke.

Guilt

GUILT

©1973

Frightened was she

Knees shook when she

Hated,

At the corner

She

Was afraid

That

She

Hated.

Too few

Nice things

She

Could think of

When

She

Hated.

Reflections...

 Mourning
 (c) 1979

In the morning of my life

I thought I had touched you

                                       Your tender caresses

                                       Whispered words

                                       And sweet brilliant promises

Made me think

That I had reached you.

Never having been loved by any other

I did not know that you were not giving

In your mind that would mean not living

The wealth of your material generosity\

Awakened me to the noon of my days

And I knew that something was missing

It was too late for me to un-commit

Myself from you

I could not take back the love that I had given

So I persisted in the impossible wishing

That somehow

I would be able to pierce the abyss, the bullshit

The promises and touch the real you

Your money could not purchase the fear in my heart

That you were not here to stay

And that any day you would fade away

As your heart had done so many years before

Neither could it buy you—yourself anything real

So that you could see me as not just another

Arrogant woman

Material things could not erase the reality from my mind

Or yours

That I was only a stopover

That would disappear in the evening of my years

With the ripening of my love

With the false hope instilled

In a heart that did not ask for fantasies

Only that you be real

My time with you now being up and gone forever

Through no fault of mine or yours

You embark on a new illusion

Leaving me behind as you reach for the unreachable

At the dawning of my new beginning

I feel strangely free without you

As the sun shines brilliantly on my new day

I realize what a fool I was

To mistake weakness for love

LDW

The Gift of Education

The Gift of Education

© 1975

Christmas came early this year

Rockefella played Santa Claus

Bought politicians and changed the laws

President made a lot of promises

About how things are going to be different

But empty stockings still hang

On my Johnny’s classroom walls

My son and yours still fight in a strange school’s halls

My child needs the gift of Education

It does not matter

if the term applied

Is integration or segregation

You cannot integrate a person’s mind

With blind, brute force

That is not the solution

Put your hand in your pocket

Stop squeezing the eagle

Send my child to school

In his own neighborhood

Busing my child away cross town

Will not achieve the integration

That I seek

Not while bias minds fight to keep his beauty down

I pay taxes

But my child is still getting hand me down clothes

Hand me down books, hand me down schools

Hand me down teachers

Boys fighting boys and their father’s too

That is enough!

Put your hand in your pocket

Stop squeezing the eagle

Build my child

A Good school

In his own neighborhood.

Give In To Me

The Horny Pragmatist

(c) 1977

I’ll whisper words of love in your ear

“I’ll give you a mountain

The rivers free of pollution

Anything that your heart desires

Come tomorrow these words you shall hear

I’ll give you the moon

And water to fill its

Dust dry rivers

Come next week they’ll ring ever so dear

I’ll give you a little house in the country

With a white picket fence

And anything else that your little heart craves

Come next year they’ll be just as clear

“Baby, I still love you.

Why you keep believing them people out there in the street

I love you more than ever, baby”.

Love Is

A pack of lies

Told by two people

In order

To maintain a lasting relationship