Gayle Force Press

Birthday Cake

 

 

There’s one more candle

To blow out today

Growing older

That’s fine

Adding wrinkles, pounds

And pressure

For it means little

To age another year

As long as you can pretend

You’ll always be granted another

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003

 

Justified Use of Force

 

Every year there’s a new one

A Diallo, King or me

Clamoring loudly

Broken faces on TV

We ask so many questions

But no one’s forced to answer

 

With sympathy’s short half-life

Soon most are hoping for the noise to stop

And the questions to disappear once again

Just like us

In our lives

And our deaths

 

 
 © Gayle Force Press 2003

 

 

The Sun King

 

Walking out in the snow

I notice prints that make me wonder

If you’re warm

Or deeply chilled somewhere

In a not too distant place

Waiting like me

For the sky to clear

And sun to reclaim its throne

Reigning over the world

And all in it

Even you

Though you hate that in every moment

Of the day

 

 

 © Gayle Force Press 2002

 

 

Long Gone Blues

 

I used to have the blues

Back when I believed in too fat

And joyless faces

 

Now the blues are gone

And you are here

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2012

 

 

Christmas Crossing

I haven't written a better Christmas poem yet. So I'll keep celebrating with this one. Merry Christmas.

 

Christmas Crossing

 

It’s Christmas Eve and my wife is napping

At the other end of the couch

Dreaming in a Santa hat

 

Tonight when she wakes

And after tomorrow’s presents

I’ll try my best to remind her

That my life is more complete

Better and more real

Than I could have imagined for myself

 

Her presence animates my life

Not in a slavish sense of duty

But through the constant commitment of love

Densely defined and elaborate

Telling as the Rubicon, broad as the Nile

I have fully crossed over

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

 

My Gold

 

Fools gold is a misnomer

I feel fairly certain

The gold we claim for our own

Without thought to its purity

Is exactly what we need it to be at that moment

And without another’s eyesight

And judgment

The gold remains

Perhaps it’s only our desire

To please others

That reveals us as fools

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

 

 

Thoughts on Writing- Nikki Giovanni's Resignation

 

Resignation 

by Nikki Giovanni

 

I love you

because the Earth turns round the sun

because the North wind blows north

sometimes

because the Pope is Catholic

and most Rabbis Jewish

because winters flow into springs

and the air clears after a storm

because only my love for you

despite the charms of gravity

keeps me from falling off this Earth

into another dimension

I love you

because it is the natural order of things

 

 

This is the first stanza of a poem I anticipate loving forever. My wife and I used this for a reading at our wedding and several years later, I like the poem even more than I did then. Giovanni is not generally perceived as a romantic poet but she has a deep vein of passion within her work that does, at times, take on a specifically romantic form.

Part of what I like so much about Resignation is that Giovanni reminds her reader that being in love should feel absolutely, perfectly normal.

 

I know many folks who don’t buy into Giovanni’s premise. Instead, they feel most comfortable with problematic, difficult and contentious romantic relationships. To an extreme, I know someone who ended a relationship because it wasn’t challenging enough. Things were too smooth for her liking. That’s an almost unbelievable concept to me. If you’re in love with someone, shouldn’t your standard experience with that person be pleasant and enjoyable? Shouldn’t trouble between you be the exception to the rule?

 

In Resignation, Giovanni defines love as the organizing principle of life in an amorous relationship. In the world she creates in this poem, love is the backdrop to how we live and who we are. Perhaps it’s only because I’m a hopeful romantic but I’m convinced that she’s on the right track. Whatever the reason, I’ll go with it. Joyfully.

 

I love you

because it is the natural order of things

 

Indeed.

 

FDO

 

 

Falling Grace

 

The rain crashes down from heaven

And today, the sinner and the saint

The righteous and the wicked

Will all give a moment’s thought to nature

 

The clouds pour their sustenance on all

In grace, not in judgment

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sharing Smiles

 

One of the few 'purpose' poems I've written, Sharing Smiles was crafted to celebrate my best friend's wedding. 

 

 

We’re sharing a sacred smile

Filled with memories

Of that first concert

Whispering secrets

Holding each other

 

Sharing a smile reminds us

Of falling in love

Suddenly, deeply

Knowing that, yeah

You’re the one I need

 

Our shared smile transports us

Beyond this moment

Into a future

We are joyously

Building together

 

This smile means sharing love

The most sacred gift

We provide each other

Lasting our lifetimes

Echoing forever

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2011

 

 

 

Hoosier Autumn

 

Yellow orange green gold red

And nearly brown

Coexisted on the third full day

Of Hoosier Autumn

With tall, thinning pines

Swaying in the background

 

Our sweetly deciduous forest

Shimmers cleanly, clearly

And warmly

Much warmer than the winds themselves

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

 

 

Marching Orders

 

Holy warriors 

Prepared for battle

Thin bellies still empty

Aching hearts still full

Gone in the sudden flash

Of a heaven sprung fire

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

Dead Settlers Moon

 

There’s a dead settlers moon tonight

When the sky is full of piercing light

Forcing the world into noticing the depth of shadows

Sparked in white not yellow

 

These were the nights

When crossing no man’s lands

Led to rampant success for the bow strung warriors of the Sioux and Lakota

While the cavalries of gunpowder and smallpox blankets

Never seemed to arrive in time

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

 

 

Summer Nights (#3): Lullabye

 

The rain has ended

In its place, a bright cloudless night

Damp and soft, the earth seems to sigh

Thanking the cool, slow breeze

For bringing such peace

 

The sounds of summer

Are absent now

And all I hear

Is the whisper of the wind’s long

Sweet lullabye

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2002

 

 

The Little Dipper

 

I looked into the night sky

Once, early this spring

And discovered the Little Dipper

Rising into the heavens

From just above my roof

 

For thousands of years

The rich and the poor

The wise and the dumb

Have all looked in wonder

At these same few stars

 

Blinding them, gently

Then guiding their vision

Into the heavens

Far above their earth

 

So it feels nice that I

Can share in that wonder

Contemplating the same

Hidden gorgeous mysteries

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2011

  

Summer Days (#4)-Early Solstice

 

The sun bears down today

Not cruel but firm

Insistently

Patient

Winning our grudging recognition

Acceptance of its force

 

Car windows go up

Air conditioners on

Jackets come off

Buttons are undone

Joggers walk

Runners jog

Walkers smile in their malls

 

Children play and play

Barely noticing the stinging sweat

They wipe from their eyes

 

© Gayle Force Press 2011

 

World B. Free

 

Twenty-five years ago

I went with my dad

To an old stadium

Gone and dearly departed

If not regretfully

To see my Indiana Pacers who

I loved stridently

At home

In the new Curtis Mathes set that

How were we to know

Lasted far too long

 

 

But there in person

For the first time

Was a different kind of feeling

Since they were bad

And most of my focus

Started and stopped on a man named

World B. Free

Although I’m not sure how much of

This poem

Is true

I have no doubt

About World B. Free

 

 

It started with his hair

Though it was not exceptional

Except in its lack of exception

Stuck in a time

I may never understand

But all the rest fit too

How much he loved the game

Even when it was an awful game

And tried without ever looking

As if he were trying

 

 

Mostly though

The shooting

Like little orange only rainbows

Up and down

With no gold at the end

Only more orange

And then at its beginning

The look that might have been a smile

If he’d known no one was watching

 

 

At the end of the game

It seems that no one else noticed him

Because watching him play

Might have kept someone from skipping school

As it did me from stealing gum

Off the too short racks

Meant to taunt me

At the store

But lots of kids did that

And their parents drank too much

Cheated with a waitress

Then left home

(Not because of the children)

Even though they’d seen World B. Free

On the court downtown

 

When I asked later on

My dad said he used to be called Lloyd

That may well be

But he was always World B. to me

  

© Gayle Force Press 2002

 

Cats and Ladders

 

Black cats are bad luck

As is the number thirteen

Some things can be done with ladders

While others are disallowed

 

Crossing fingers may frighten witches

But only if you believe

The witches are out to get you

 

The wood nymphs are dead

And in their place dances

The karma that we,

Our pitiful selves,

Help create

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2009

 

Father’s Day

 

My own not quite father

Has been the same man for three decades

Even after ‘we both shall live’

But I used to explain the mistake

When people told me how alike we looked

Since even though it might have been so

In some parallel universe, in this one,

His wasn’t the face my mother saw first

 

I assumed people were unobservant

My color, far darker than his or my mother’s

My shape, too like hers to imagine any of him in it

Even our names, if truly heard,

Could clearly have revealed our not hidden un-secret

Too lazy was my verdict

They failed to think of seeing

What was clearly in our faces

 

Now I have my own not quite son

Who will be the same

Long after ‘we both shall live’

Regarding us, no one would make the same mistake

Enabled by laziness and being a not quite son

For more than three decades

Somehow though, I’m not bothered anymore

Since fathers are more than faces

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

 

V. L. S.

I've been working on this poem for years but have never been able to finish it. Here are the first two stanzas.

FDO

 

 

One of my students

Is a vulgar little shit

At least that’s how my uncle,

Gary Nichols,

Would have described him

 

Gary was a teacher

Feeding English to the unwashed masses

Including the lowly holy

Of East Texas

So yeah, he was an expert

 

 

Raised Crossbars

 

I suppose that I missed the train by a few minutes

It likely had already flung itself into interstate cruising speed

When I parked the Buick at the end of the row

 

I walked the interchange of rail and street

Hoping to feel the train’s last evidence beneath my feet

Cursing myself while staring at raised crossbars

 

Some passengers were sleeping I’m sure

Dreaming of the journey they were on

Misremembering the Wichita skyline

 

Others would have been tense and restless

Annoyed that catching a cross country train at night

Means sitting where you can, not where you want

 

I knew she was still awake though

Wondering when I would forgive

Her parting words, ‘For better or for worse’

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2007

 

Marching Orders

 

Holy warriors 

Prepared for battle

Thin bellies still empty

Aching hearts still full

Gone in the sudden flash

Of a heaven sprung fire

  

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

Race Day

 

As a Circle City native, Memorial Day weekend always feels festive. I never participate but the Indy 500 permeates the environment in Indianapolis.

FDO

 

 

Race Day

 

Camper cities

Traffic for miles

Checkered flags wave

In all directions

Coolers full of Bud

Dirt cheap sunglasses

Tank tops

Jake the snake around

Brother Henry’s neck

Grilled brats and burgers

“Show us your tits!”

Naps on the infield

Day long engine drone

A rainbow of cotton candy

Tires over the fence

Some foreign guy wins

May is beautiful

In Indy

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2004

 

 

Our Budding Spring

 

Bony trees flex

Their pubescent arms skyward

In obvious prayer

As they ask for more light

More life

More time for their quickly growing branches

Presenting the beautiful colors we admire

While we point

Our failing eyes skyward

No obvious prayers

As we ask for more light

More life

More time for our quickly growing branches

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2011

 

Rain Shower

 

Most days I stand still

When the sky begins to rain

Letting nature dictate to me

How I should feel

What my condition should be

 

I’ve imagined it a shower

Somehow cleansing me

Washing away the stains

Of my dirty, daily life

 

Today I avoided the rain

Feeling too dirty

Much too stained

To be cleaned

Even by the rain

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2007

 

Surprise- A poem welcoming Spring

 

Surprise

 

Such a welcome, warm surprise

Like the first day each year when it’s clear that Spring

Has arrived at last

When the air smells different

Morning rain is no longer unpleasant

 

That was your visit

Yielding my new discovery of you

As well as the us I’d almost forgotten

Used to exist

 

Your absence, as Persephone’s,

Always leaves me aching

But now I believe we’re casting aside

Winter’s last snow, revealing ready soil

Soil ready for Spring

And pleasant rain

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006 

Christmas Crossing

Here's a re-print that feels appropriate. Merry Christmas.

 

Christmas Crossing

 

It’s Christmas Eve and my wife is napping

At the other end of the couch

Dreaming in a Santa hat

 

Tonight when she wakes

And after tomorrow’s presents

I’ll try my best to remind her

That my life is more complete

Better and more real

Than I could have imagined for myself

 

Her presence animates my life

Not in a slavish sense of duty

But through the constant commitment of love

Densely defined and elaborate

Telling as the Rubicon, broad as the Nile

I have fully crossed over

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

 

Unpierced

 

…the words here deployed are equivalent to blanks in a loaded gun: they make the same sound but do not pierce us in any way.

 

-Alyssa Pelish

 

 

I have begun feeling this way about my poetry. The only folks who seem pierced by my poems are the ones who hear them from my lips or, lacking proximity, in the voice their minds’ ears have labeled as mine. Either way, it’s about connection. Connection with me, not the words themselves. Knowing me and believing they understand the genesis of those poems allows the words to matter.

 

Maybe this just means my words are not the right ones. Perhaps it means that most of us only allow people to pierce us; we don’t allow ideas to do the same.

 

 

FDO

 

December 16

 

Bright sun bathes the world

In light

But still

No warmth

 

Glaring ice and snow

Open sky above

Each word a cartoon

Bubbled

In steam

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2001

 

Winter Coat

 

Winter shields the earth from us

Keeping its treasures buried

For a little while

Safe from we who need too much

Who need everything there is

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003

 

Writing on a Good Day

 

Things are fine, really

I’m a little bored

But mostly restless

With lots of pent up energy

Needing release

Sitting at a desk doesn’t help

The light isn’t quite right

And the room is stuffy

Mostly because I don’t have any burning need

To write or sleep

Or even to be awake

All that artistic suffering

Doesn’t amount to much when the fridge is full

And even the rain is warm

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2002

 

Justified Use of Force (for Oscar Grant)

 

 

Every year there’s a new one

A Diallou, King or me

Clamoring loudly

Faces on TV

We ask so many questions

But no one’s forced to answer

 

With sympathy’s short half-life

Soon most are hoping for the noise to stop

And the questions to disappear once again

Just like us

In our lives

And our deaths

 

 

 

 © Gayle Force Press 2003

 

RIP Oscar Grant

 

Once again, Black folks in California are publicly distressed about a police shooting. This time, the victim was Oscar Grant, a 22 year old Black man who was shot and killed by a White police officer in a subway at the beginning of 2009. The officer was convicted of the shooting (involuntary manslaughter) and given a 2 year sentence. The frighteningly short sentence is the source of the protests. The officer, Johannes Mehserle, will probably be out of jail by Memorial Day 2011. 

The CNN article linked above is indicative of the attention that's been/being paid to the entire situation. Grant's name does not appear until the 11th paragraph. 10 paragraphs before this dead person is even acknowledged by name. 

 

The basic outline of the shooting is tragically familiar. White officer kills unarmed Black man. Momentary outrage. Down the memory hole. Wait a little while. Repeat. 

 

A few years ago, I wrote about this cycle of police violence but I wasn't bold enough to follow it to the ultimate conclusion for so many young Black men, death. Instead, I wrote about the violence that wounds, heals and scars. Today, that doesn't feel like quite enough. It's not quite enough for me. It's not quite enough for Oscar Grant. But it's all I can give him now. 

 

 

FDO

Hoosier Autumn

 

Yellow orange green gold red

And nearly brown

Coexisted on the third full day

Of Hoosier Autumn

With tall, thinning pines

 Swaying in the background

Our sweetly deciduous forest

Shimmers cleanly, clearly

And warmly

Much warmer than the winds themselves

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2004

 

 

 

Momentary Transformation

 

Each moment

Deserves the special place of privilege

We hesitate to allow

Ourselves to acknowledge

 

For since we are not gods

It must stay unknown to us

In which of these moments

Our lives will be transformed

 

This is the power of the sacred

And the sacrality within each of us

That our lives and world may be changed

In the blink of our human eyes

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2004

 

Dan

This is a poem I wrote more than a decade ago. I'd basically forgotten it until reminded of its genesis by a good friend. Thanks JYL.

 

Dan

 

Young inside old out

Bright skin shines

Like tanned leather hide

His eyes

Glimmering clear

 

No feelings to deny

When he goes home

Lying in the dusty room

All he calls his own

Within his view

As he smiles

And lays down to rest

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2010

Dead Settlers Moon

I am teaching about the colonial period in US History and have recently covered the Proclamation of 1763 which defined the Appalachian Mountains as the westernmost area in which English colonists were allowed to settle. That didn't last for long. The westward expansion continued until the self-fulfilling prophecy of Manifest Destiny was achieved. Achieved at unknowable cost.

Last night the moon was as bright as I remember seeing it in years. It was a Dead Settlers Moon.

There’s a dead settlers moon tonight

When the sky is full of piercing light

Forcing the world into noticing the depth of shadows

Sparked in white not yellow

 

These were the nights

When crossing no man’s lands

Led to rampant success for the bow strung warriors of the Lakota Sioux

While the cavalries of gunpowder and smallpox blankets

Never seemed to arrive in time

 

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

Same Name, Different Man

 

 

 

I’m named for someone

I no longer know

 

My father used to be a man

Who had this name

And skin

A similar color

 

But now he’s bearded

With a different body

 

And people tell us

We look alike

Because of our hair

And disdain for smiling

Which used to annoy

But now amuses me

Although not enough

To ever make me smile

At them

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003

 

Indiana Summer

 

It’s summer in Indiana

And my little boy is eight

We’ve spent all morning together

Since there’s nothing in the gym

Except his future and my past

 

 

Running and shooting

Learning some basics

Only stopping to drink some water

And prop the doors open

Then back to the hard work of fun

 

 

More shooting of course,

Free throws when tired

That’s always the way

Then just after soreness

We’re finally done

 

 

There’s nothing in the gym

Except silence and the floor

And it’s summer in Indiana

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

Kitchen

I'm re-posting this poem because my grandfather gave me a load of vegetables from his garden and I plan to start cooking with them today. "Kitchen" seems appropriate to share.

FDO

 

 

 

Kitchen

 

 

 

I walked from the kitchen

Slowly stopped and turned around

The gentle bubble of pots on the stove

Sounded warm and beautiful

Inviting, so I went back in

 

Watching the lid dance over my soup

I noticed the dry, hot smell

Of cumin drowning in the sweet

Black juice of the beans

 

I felt the smile on my face

And wondered how many times

My granddad stood smiling in his kitchen

With the cornbread beginning to brown

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2004

A Last Trip (#2)

 

She’s waded into the waters

This time, she refuses to come back up

For air, for light, forever

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2010

 

 

Softening the World

 

Each day opens like a flower

Waiting to bloom anew

Gentle rains may come

Only to moisten

Softening the world

And me in it

Allowing the beauty of life

A chance to flourish

In the fertile territory

Of God’s great world

 

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2010

 

A Last Trip

Grandma’s adrift today

Her mind and breath

Gone swimming

Into a yawning, gasping sea

 

Faces and memories

Run quickly past

Sliding and colliding into one another

How to describe

With no more words as tools

 

Cooling and weak

Her hand still reaches out

Through the fog and needles

Searching out comfort

To give, not to receive

 

Grandma’s anchored tonight

Still and certain

Resting in peace

And the arms of her Lord

 

© Gayle Force Press 2010

 

The Easy Vilification of Filipino Abuse

 

It’s mostly a theory

Something more but nothing less

In its simplest form

America hates its victims

As soon as Plymouth Rock

Landed on Indians and led to dinner

Not disaster

The Pilgrims planned their progress

For America

The die was cast

 

 

FDO

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

 

 

Six Weeks Fallen

 

The once sturdy oak

Now exists in triad

Oddly mangled logs on the ground

It has yielded its form

To become a different kind of conduit

 

No longer a respite for birds

It shelters a thin, shedding snake

Some small colony of ants

Leaf chewing grubs

 

All while wearing a brand new crown

Of white, spreading flower

Perfectly fit to the majesty

Of a still sturdy oak

© Gayle Force Press 2010

 

Love in Springtime

Winter’s storms have faded

With the new Spring of our love

Being scheduled

For just about now

 

How is it then

That no mood has shifted

No surprise unveiled

 

What new plan can be established

To change the artifice of love

Into the real thing for us

Can a promise never made

Still somehow be broken

 

© Gayle Force Press 2010

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last Night’s Travels

A friend is fighting a losing battle with Canada. Here's a poem about heading towards Toronto.

FDO

Last Night’s Travels

 

Driving on the highway into Etobicoke

Hoping to find somewhere to get off

Finally the sign for Queens Land

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003

Sharing Rainbows

On a rainy day, this feels like a helpful poem to share.

FDO

Sharing Rainbows

When you stare

Just hard enough

Into the clouds of a sunny sky

Notice what you can find

Nearly invisible innumerable rainbows

Bending light through their water

Opening a whole new world

Of hiding visions

Drenched in possibility

With every single glance

At any given moment

Each of those rainbows

Might be only yours

Right until you choose

Like Noah and Dorothy

How you want to share it

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

 

Remix America

I wrote this poem a couple years ago and a NY Times article today encouraged me to post it. I love the phrase and the sentiment behind it.

Remix America

 

 

Mestizo mulatto hyphenated hybrid

Mixed up creole cultural mélange of meaning

As who we are and what we used to be pale
next to tomorrow’s endless postmodern possibilities of

Perpetual people driven progress

 

All the ‘I’s and ‘US’s can become ‘They’s and ‘We’s sooner than YouTube presents the next

Macaca spewing hate monger would be divider

Who unites us in disdain

For his antiquated rhetoric of race,

Religion and righteousness

The 3 Rs that used to keep the South backwards,

Black folks scared and the rarely compassionate conservatives

entrenched in their oh so corrupting power

 

The beauty of the remix

And the America it is frenetically remaking

Is that all the little boxes

Will mean the very same thing in the end

 

More empty spaces we can fill

Exactly as we choose

 

© Gayle Force Press 2008

Thunderstruck

 

Thunderstruck

 

 

 

 

I was a father before I realized that thunder

Has a surprisingly large vocabulary

There’s fierce crashing thunder

The kind that wakes you from a dreaming sleep

 

But there’s also rolling thunder

That takes you along with it

As a wave lilting
On the edge of the sea

 

Soft thunder can spin you around

To wordlessly ask

If anyone else noticed it

So gentle as to make you feel

More than hear its presence

 

Constant pounding thunder serves as an atmospheric drum kit

Marking time in the heavens

Sharing nature’s knowledge with the mortals

Wise enough to listen

Rather than be lulled to sleep by it

 

And there’s booming thunder of the sort

That makes babies cry,

Shocks adults into stunned silence

And makes the old folks laugh. 

It’s the sound that reminds us thunder may be a warning

For as Zeus knew so well

The thunder of the skies celebrates the onslaught of lightning

We do well to pay heed

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2009

 

 

 

First Kiss

I'm not particularly a fan of Valentine's Day but perhaps this poem will help warm, romantic feelings linger just a little while longer.

FDO

  

First Kiss

 

 

The first time

I kissed you

When really

You kissed me instead

Everything around me

Stopped and stood

Perfectly still

While your lips

Parted mine

And my whole body

Grew so tense

But my head so light

That I thought I’d float away

If I even dared

To breathe

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2003