What Have We Learned?

If COVID-19 is the ultimate ‘bad teacher,’ what have we learned?

Here is a short list.

There is a critical and persistent digital divide that makes “stay at home” education, at all levels, separate and not equal. This issue was heatedly debated over decades ago. It still exits.

People of color, especially African Americans, are health disadvantaged and socially isolated (talk about physical distancing…it is not a new situation for black and brown people due to racism, housing discrimination, inability to get mortgage loans, implicit and forthright biases.) Has society talked about eradicating racism and discrimination? Over how many centuries? After how many “disasters?”

The people, who make middle class, upper and the one percent’s existence livable and worthwhile, are the folks who get paid the least even in the ravages of a pandemic as privileged people need them to service their grocery, delivery, consumer goods warehouse packing and mailing, gas station, house cleaning etc. needs. When will folks who actually benefit from these gig, part-time service workers strenuously prod elected officials for legislating a livable minimum wage based on the economic realities of housing, food and transportation, child-care costs? And how long has society debated this issue.

Elected political leadership does make a difference especially when the needs of people have to take precedence over economic proclivities that are primarily fueled by wealthy business people and those citizens who really think they are more than one paycheck away from food banks and used clothing stores and hand-outs.

No country, especially the USA, whenever possible can solely depend on another world power to be the primary, and in some cases, sole manufacturer of basic medicine, health equipment and other basic needs that will keep countries safe. American manufacturers need to ratchet up and national government subsidies must be provided to enable such manufacturers to pay a decent wage with health care benefits to the workers so the cost of labor is not a deterrent to manufacturing for the “public good.”

Indigenous people in America and worldwide continue to be neglected and shut out of basic human needs…drinkable water, proper sanitation, jobs, respect, compassion. How long? For how long?

In a relatively short time period, the ‘bad teacher’ has taught society a lot. We have supposedly learned a variety of things and have purposely stated that we will change. We will make our neighborhoods, urban and rural communities, countries better.

Time will tell. Time never lies or let pretenses and good intentions pass for truth and reality.

Now, it is time.

Let’s embrace the poet. Michael Lee Johnson. 

Michael Lee Johnson (photo on file)

Michael Lee Johnson lived 10 years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson is published in more than 1072 new publications and his poems have appeared in 38 countries. He also edits and publishes 10 poetry sites. Michael has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Poetry Prize awards in 2015; one Best of the Net, 2016; 2 Best of the Net in 2017 and 2018. He has 204 poetry videos on YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos.) Johnson is editor-in-chief of the poetry anthology, “Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze.” (http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762;) editor-in-chief of the poetry anthology, “Dandelion in a Vase of Roses” (available at https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089.) MLJ is editor-in-chief of “Warriors with Wings: The Best in Contemporary Poetry,” (http://www.amazon.com/dp/1722130717.)

Johnson is a member of the Illinois State Poetry Society (http://www.illinoispoets.org)

Dance of Tears, Chief Nobody

I’m old Indian chief story

plastered on white scattered sheets,

Caucasian paper blowing in yesterday’s winds.

I feel white man’s presence

in my blindness-

cross over my ego my borders

urinates over my pride, my boundaries-

I cooperated with him until

death, my blindness.

I’m Blackfoot proud, mountain Chief.

I roam southern Alberta,

toenails stretch to Montana,

born on Old Man River−

prairie horse’s leftover

buffalo meat in my dreams.

Eighty-seven I lived in a cardboard shack.

My native dress lost, autistic babbling.

I pile up worthless treaties, paper burn white man.

Now 94, I prepare myself an ancient pilgrimage,

back to papoose, landscapes turned over.

I walk through this death baby steps,

no rush, no fire, nor wind, hair tangled−

earth possessions strapped to my back rawhide−

sun going down, moon going up,

witch hour moonlight.

I’m old man slow dying, Chief nobody.

An empty bottle of fire-water whiskey

lies on homespun rug,

cut excess from life,

partially smoked homemade cigar-

barely burning,

that dance of tears.

*Music Video Credit:  Native American Indian Music - Sunset Ceremony- Earth Drums 02

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtdYWcoYKWo

Missing Feeding of the Birds

Keeping my daily journal diary short

these sweet bird sounds lost-

reviews January through March.

Joy a dig deep snow on top of my sorrows.

Skinny naked bones sparrows these doves

beneath my balcony window,

lie lifeless without tweet

no melody lost their sounds.

These few survivors huddle in scruffy bushes.

Gone that plastic outdoor kitchen bowl that held the seeds.

I drink dated milk, distraught rehearse nightmares of childhood.

Sip Mogen David Concord Wine with diet 7Up.

Down sweet molasses and pancake butter.

I miss the feeding of the birds, these condominiums regulations,

callous neighbors below me, Polish complaints.

Their parties, foul language, Polish songs late at night,

these Vodka mornings-no one likes my feeding of birds.

I feel weak and Jesus poor, starving, I can’t feed the birds.

I dry thoughts merge day with night, ZzzQuil, seldom sleep.

Guilt I cover my thoughts of empty shell spotted snow

these fragments, bone parts and my prayers-

Jesus dwelling in my brain cells, dead birds outside.

I miss feeding of the birds.

* * *

Open Eyes Laid Back

Open eyes, black-eyed peas,

laid back busy lives,

consuming our hours,

handheld devices 

grocery store

“which can Jolly Green Giant peas,

alternatives,

darling, to bring home tonight-

these aisles of decisions.”

Mind gap:

“Before long apps

will be wiping our butts

and we, others, our children

will not notice.”

No worries, outer space,

an app for horoscope, astrology

a co-pilot to keep our cold feet

tucked in.

* * *

Tequila

Single life is Tequila with a slice of lime,

Shots offered my traveling strangers.

Play them all deal them jacks, some diamonds

then spades, hold back aces play hardball,

mock the jokers.

Paraplegic aging tumblers toss rocks,

Their dice go for the one-night stand.

Poltergeist fluid define another frame.

Female dancers in the corner

Crooked smiles in shadows.

Single ladies don’t eat that tequila worm

dangle down the real story beneath their belts.

Men bashful, yet loud on sounds, but right times soft spoken.

Ladies men lack caring verbs, traitors to your skin.

Ladies if you really want the worm, Mescal,

don’t be confused after midnight.

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