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A Gathering of Poets Laureate

Poets Laureate

Most Americans are as enthusiastic about poetry as they are about china painting or the sport of curling. Actually, curling probably has more fans than poetry does. All this is just a surmise, but I think an accurate one.
I made my way to the Hylton Center for the Performing Arts, on the Prince William Campus of George Mason University on a spectacular fall afternoon this past Sunday, along with 100 poets, writers, musicians and readers. I like to think we made some progress toward making poetry more acceptable and even desirable. And we read, heard, discussed and shared not only poems but also short stories and songs at the first “In the Company of Laureates” program. This lively mix of people, literature and organizations charged the atmosphere of the arts center with a special kind of electricity.
I first greeted some friends, local writers who produce a variety of genres in a range of styles, including Katherine Gotthardt with her poetry, Belinda Miller with her fantasy series and Linda Johnston and her account of good times in the lives of pioneers in Kansas.
The lobby featured displays about writers and organizations, while students from the Woodbridge Senior High School Center for the Fine and Performing Arts represented some of the event’s laureates. During the first time slot, former poets laureate read their work in Merchant Hall, while the WSHSCFPA provided an open mic for writers and musicians in the Gregory Family Theater. I was in the presence of a whole range of ages and styles during these two sessions.
During the next hour, musicians Isabella Perelman and my former teaching colleague Ron Goad and storyteller Laura Bobrow took over Merchant Hall, while veterans Bill Glose, James Matthews and Dr. Frederick Foote as part of the “Words on War” panel read poems and a short story about their experiences during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars in the Gregory.
Glose shared several poems about his experiences in Viet Nam, contrasting the brutality and violence of war with ordinary experiences of daily life, such as a daughter’s picture in the helmet of a soldier who was later killed. James Matthews shared a short story about his Guard unit assembling in Washington, D.C. as the first step to Afghanistan, and Dr. Foote recited from memory several poems about his time on a hospital ship during the Iraq War. He also shared a story that I found incredibly moving. The hospital unit handled not only Allied casualties, but also Iraqis, including soldiers, women and children injured in attacks.
Foote remembered that when the women came on board, they were terrified since they thought they were being taken to prison. And he said “They stopped being Muslim.” Their clothes had been blown off in many cases, exposing skin that otherwise would never be seen by anyone outside their family. They stopped their daily prayers and ate pork. While treating their physical wounds, the medical team looked for a way to treat them spiritually and psychologically as well. They settled on using some material left over from a quilting project the nurses had undertaken. They gave their leftover cloth, needles and thread to the women, who sewed for themselves. As a result, their mood and outlook improved and they found their religion again.
Next I went to the Inspiration and Experimentation Panel, whose members held forth in the Rehearsal Room to explain where they found inspiration and how they experimented with elements of their poetry. I was pleased to see my friend from the Northern Virginia Writing Project and the Poet Laureate Emerita of Virginia, Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda as well as Zan Hailey, one of our Prince William County Poets Laureate, at the presentation.

I spoke with Zan after the session as to her thoughts about the event and people there. She termed the event “awesome” and hoped that future conferences would “include more laureates from other states.” She added that “being in the presence of other poets inspires me to keep working and do more.” She foresaw that the gathering of laureates would “become larger and get better, especially with the support of the Arts Council.”
The afternoon concluded with present poets laureate reading their poems while the Gregory hosted another open mic. Many of us felt, as we had with the past poets laureate, that we were in the presence of almost mythical beings, ones whose work we had read, discussed and admired for years. June Forte, the Prince William Poet Laureate Administrator, who was instrumental in planning and staging the event and also in establishing the Prince William Poet Laureate position, closed the afternoon with a few remarks.
Rick Davis, Executive Director of the Hylton Performing Arts Center, and Dean of the College of Performing and Visual Arts at Mason, noted that the event “helped fulfill the mission of the Hylton, which is to create a ‘creative commons’ for the community.” He observed that the Hylton does that “not only with poetry, but also with a variety of artistic expression, including literature, drama, art, dance, music of all sorts, photography, quilting and, of course, poetry.”
Davis saw a spectrum of ages and people becoming “excited by the spoken and written word presented by writers ranging from beginners to seasoned professionals.” The result, he felt, would be “more poetry,” and that would benefit everyone in ways perhaps some of them are not even aware of.
Participants, poets, musicians and writers alike left looking forward to the next laureate program and another chance to attract attention to the sorely neglected literary arts. And I’m betting that they can do it. On this bright Sunday, they made a good start.

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Two Boxes

Two Boxes
In the past eight years, I lost both my parents, my mother in October 2007, and my father in January of this year. After my mom died, my father was able to go through some of her effects, but when he moved to a retirement home in early 2011, I started going through what remained in June. I gave things away, sold some of them, and donated most of what was left to charity. Of course I stored and transported all of it in boxes. I came to the last box in the shed in September of that same year. An earthquake in August threw some boxes to the dirt floor, and while most of the contents of the shed were unharmed, I was sure some of the contents of those boxes were broken. When I opened the final box, it was full of china dishes. They were broken, of course. I started to throw the whole box away, but something told me to look through it to see if anything of value were there.

There certainly was something of value inside the box: a small silver egg cup from Japan. I had never seen it before and my mother never mentioned it to me, which was unusual for her. She always told us about special objects she owned but somehow missed this one.

I surmised that my uncle gave her the cup as a gift. He fought in the Korean War and I know that he returned through Japan. It only made sense that he could have picked up the cup there. He brought my brother and me jackets with stylized dragons over a map of Japan as well, so that makes a strong case for the egg cup coming from Japan.

I saw this discovery as my mother’s final message to me from beyond. I had several others, including a butterfly at her grave in October, but this was the only one involving an object.

I don’t know if my father’s recent message to me is his final one, but it could be. In November, he was admitted to a local hospital where he was given a plastic bag for his clothes. I didn’t pay much attention to what he was wearing, so I didn’t know what was in the bag.

His condition improved enough that, after spending Christmas in the hospital, he was sent to a rehab center in Fairfax for about ten days. After his condition deteriorated he was sent to one of the largest hospitals in the region where his condition steadily declined. He passed away the third week in January. We had a beautiful and meaningful funeral for him.
I was executor of his estate, but our daughters Amy and Alyssa and their husbands, Chris and Chris, did all the heavy lifting, including preparing Dad’s house for sale and selling it. I did little besides approve their decisions and sign my name to what seemed like hundreds of documents.

We thought we wrapped up the estate in September, but last week we received a call from the rehab center where he spent about ten days between hospitals. They had a bag with his possessions in it. I thought we had taken care of everything he owned, but there was one more item. We went by the center and I waited at the nurses’ station for a housekeeper. She came pushing a cart with a box on top. I had no idea what was in it. I looked inside and saw it was the bag from the first hospital. Apparently it didn’t make the trip to the second hospital, but by that time he wore hospital gowns and didn’t need anything else. I took a quick look inside the box but couldn’t tell much about it other than there was a bag inside.

When I got home I knelt on the floor and went through the bag. I pulled out a leather jacket, shirt, pants, underwear, socks, shoes and a belt. Nothing too unusual there, but as I took the pants out I felt a weight in one of the pockets. I took it out and found his wallet. I think this was his valediction to me much as the egg cup was my mother’s.

Some might say these gifts to me were mere coincidences, but I don’t think so. That’s why I now keep the wallet on my computer desk, right beside the egg cup. And I now use the wallet every day. Thanks for the presents, Mom and Dad.

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Playing Catch (22) with My Android

Error MessageNo, I’m not writing about some law or principle or behavioral description of Ar Too Dee Too (R2 D2 to his friends) or any other of the Star Wars cybernetic clan. I’m here to tell you about my Motorola Droid MAXX, which betrayed me last night.

I went to send a text message, but before I could do so, a message popped up across the screen: “Unfortunately Google Keyboard Has Stopped.” It wasn’t kidding, either. Was the keyboard ever stopped! I was invited to select either “Report” or “OK.” Sounds easy, right? But no–if I touched “OK,” the program dumped me back on the same screen. If I touched “Report,” the screen popped up the keyboard so I could report the problem. And when I touched the keyboard it gave me (you guessed it) the selfsame “Unfortunately Google keyboard Has Stopped. I had three thoughts at this point. One was unprintable; the second was “if you’re going to warn a former English teacher, please don’t capitalize every word in a sentence and while you’re out, go by the article store and buy yourself a “the,” and then make your way to the punctuation store and pick out a nice comma to put after the opening adverb in the sentence. They’re all on sale this week, so you can make your sentence read, “Unfortunately, THE Google keyboard has stopped.” The third was I couldn’t see any way out of this Catch-22 situation.

I tried to move very very quickly and punch in my report, but I couldn’t move my stubby fingers fast enough. Paying no attention to the dictum that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is a working definition of insanity, I persisted until I was thoroughly frustrated. I had a vision of the future and I didn’t like it one bit.

I checked the internet for solutions and other than trashing my phone and getting a new one (too expensive), I had a couple of choices.

1: I could do a “soft reset” which did not require the use of the keyboard. I simply had to press the buttons on the side and the phone would restart like a computer (because it is a computer, strangely enough. And a camera. And a pedometer. And a notebook. You know). I did this, and soon was back at the same illiterate screen. Must. Try. Other. Option. Or. Buy. New. Phone.

2. I could do a “hard reset” which was indeed hard. This method saved some of my data like names, numbers and files, but it erased my pictures and videos. I had saved some to my computer, but I lost about 50 files. I didn’t want to do this, but I didn’t want to buy a new phone either, so I did the deed. Soon I was back looking at the introductory screen. And I do mean introductory. I had to go through all the setup screens and reload some of my apps. I know, it’s a First World Problem, but it was the only one I had at the time.

So, the good news was that I did not have to buy a new phone and the bad news was that I lost some pictures and had to set up my phone again. On the whole, I think I came out ahead. And I learned never to fill up my phone’s memory with videos of people reading poetry again. Get someone else to do it or buy a video camera. You’ll come out ahead just like me.

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Art and Transformation

A dedicated group of artists and visionaries are transforming the lower level of the Tacketts Mill Shopping Center into a premier center for the arts.

The effort began a year ago when the team that oversees Tacketts Mill Center, LLC, formed an informal partnership with The Clearbrook Foundation to create a comfortable and stimulating Main Street environment which will encourage artists and creativity and provide a venue for music, visual arts, photography, literature, dance, theater and culinary arts.

So far the Foundation has funded the Poets Laureate positions in conjunction with local writers group Write by the Rails and the Prince William Council for the Arts, as well as hosting the ceremony that crowned the laureates.

Clearbrook has also sponsored an innovative “bench project.” After Eagle Scout candidate Sean Zylich of Troop 295 created a number of benches on which to display art, the Lake Ridge Rotary Club stepped in and took the project on as a fund raiser. Each bench features a visual artist from among other places, the Northern Virginia Community College Woodbridge Campus art department. These artists worked with a local business or individual to develop a design for the business. While bench sponsors do not own the bench, they do have a say in the design and will have their names listed on the bench along with that of the artist.

Here are some of the benches produced by various artists, four on the upper level and five down at the Lakeside.

Clearbrook Center of the Arts's photo.

This photo and those below by John Wooten.

Clearbrook Center of the Arts's photo.
Clearbrook Center of the Arts's photo.

Clearbrook Center of the Arts's photo.

The Center also hosts resident artists, including Nick Zimbro, who paints and creates collages in the Community Garden space using the entire wall space to transform the structure itself into a walk-in work of art.

Here are nine out of 10,000 square feet of artwork created by Zimbro and other artists a one of a kind installation housed within the Clearbrook Center.

Clearbrook Center of the Arts's photo.

Photos by Nick Zimbro.

 In addition, renowned sculptor Ken Faraoni, known for his larger than life bronze sculptures, recently relocated to Tackett’s Mill to create commissioned works and to contribute to the project. Most recently, Faraoni re-created Lynchburg’s Water Bearer, a zinc statue which stood atop the city reservoir for 134 years, deteriorating in the elements. Working in his Lake Ridge studio, Faraoni,took two years to remake the seven foot tall statue in bronze.
Here is a picture of Faroni and the statue during its restoration:
Ken with Lady
Thanks to Clearbrook Foundation, local artists and arts-minded residents, the Clearbrook Center of the Arts is well on its way to becoming a mecca for local lovers of the arts.

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Unheeded Warnings

Source: Unheeded Warnings

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Unheeded Warnings

Caution

Have you ever noticed how many people ignore warnings? Some of these warn of real danger such as “Bridge Out Ahead” or “Extreme Radiation: Do Not Enter.” These we ignore at great peril to ourselves and our health. But there are other warnings with less serious consequences which many of us habitually ignore.

Have you ever been in a restaurant (generally Mexican, but in others as well) and the server brings your order wearing oven gloves to hold the plate that is so hot it’s almost glowing? Now, the gloves could probably be used to catch red-hot rivets, but you know what the server says as he or she sets down the plate. That’s right: “Be careful: this plate is very very hot.”

And what do many of us (myself included) do, almost as an impulse? Yep, although the server has probably handled thousands of these dishes and can certainly feel the heat through layers of insulation and we can feel the warmth radiating off our order of tacos and beans, we just have to find out for ourselves. So, we put a finger on the plate and guess what? It’s hot! We almost raise a blister on our fingertip before we jerk it away and look around the table quickly to see if anyone noticed. Then we say something like, “Wow, that’s hot.” Surprise, surprise, surprise, and as my daughters used to say, “No duh, Daddy.”

I suppose we just don’t believe the poor overworked (but knowledgeable) server. Shame on us! Give them a big tip to compensate for your inattention or whatever. Just don’t hang out with blacksmiths.There’s a story told that a fellow visited the blacksmith one day. He was known for being a know-it-all, and when the blacksmith heated and pounded a horseshoe and then quenched it and put it, still extremely hot, on a rack to cool, his visitor wandered over and, although he had seen the piece of iron heated to a red-hot state, picked it up.

He dropped it instantly. “What’s the matter? Burn you?” the blacksmith asked.

“Naw,” said the man, sidling over to the tub of water so he could surreptitiously treat the second-degree burns on his fingers, “It don’t take me all day to look at a horseshoe.”

Another warning I habitually ignore with fewer consequences than-handling white hot objects are the couple of lines that pop up when the printer thinks I have exceeded the margins in a document, you know the ones that say, “Your Margins Are pretty small, some of the content you print may be cut off. Are you sure you want to print?” When I first saw this, I thought, that’s darned rude of you. Of course I’m sure I want to print. Why do you think I clicked on the big old icon that says “Print”? Initially I bustled around and changed my margins and printed away, but I found that my printer spoke with forked tongue. (Printers are, as far as I’m concerned, the spawn of Satan. You may have your own opinion about them, but I hope you agree with me.) The matter on the page does not exceed the area available for printing, thank you, so now I ignore the “warning.” Apparently this little notice is courtesy of our printer, not our word processing program, so if you have a problem with that, invite your printer to step outside where you’ll either change the settings or take an ax to it (pace, Office Space). Your choice. I don’t fool with it since installing the silly thing was hard enough. That’s what needs the warning label, something like “Caution: Installing this printer will cause you to lose your temper, your religion and your mind (in that order). Think about taking your documents to a friend or office store to have them printed.”

Of course they don’t say that, but they should. I spent six hours on the phone with the support guys from Canon to get my printer to connect via wi fi. When it stopped connecting about six months later, I got a big old CAT cable and wired it up. Easy, simple, and reliable. Sometimes old school is the only one to attend, in spite of what the Millennials say. Hand me that flip phone, will you?

My other nominee for an ignored or useless warning is the bit engraved into the right-hand side mirror of cars in the U.S., Canada and India (make up your own joke about an American, Canadian and Indian walking into a bar. As for me, I got nothin’. I’m too busy changing the world with this writing.) You know what it says: “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.” Well, duh again. Anyone who has been around a car for five minutes could figure this one out without a warning. Some safety group (I suspect OSHA) apparently thinks we have the intelligence of a lug nut and has taken it on itself to save us from ourselves. Well, thanks but no thanks, people. We got this one. We look in the mirror and say “Dang!” (if we are from the South),”Those cars look itty-bitty to me. They must be driven by Barbie or one of her friends. Lookit that, will you?” Then the car pulls alongside and we see that neither is the car a microminiature and nor does the driver look like Barbie but bears a disturbing resemblance to the Wicked Witch of Your Favorite Locale. Ewwwww!

We’re disappointed by this, but we’ve learned a lesson: don’t believe everything the government has written on your car except maybe for the warnings about hot coolant and the potential of receiving a massive shock from the battery. Those can sting you. Ask me how I know. I blew up a battery in my face once, which accounts for the way I look. But the burns faded after about a week, but I still have nightmares about being chased by a big AC-Delco three-year replacement. It’s horrible. I don’t want to write about it any more.

So, remember, it’s a jungle out there, but there are plenty of warning signs. The trick is figuring out which ones to take seriously. Good luck, and remember to call when you get there.

Oh–before I go, here’s a joke without a punch line. Put your punch line in the comments section here or on Facebook and I’ll think of something nice to give you that’s not too expensive. I’m not your rich uncle after all. Thanks for playing!

A Canadian, an Indian and an American walked into a bar. They each ordered a drink, and the bartender said, “What do you want to watch, fellas?”

The Canadian said, “I would like to watch du ‘ockey!”

The American said, “A little baseball would be nice.”

And the Indians said, “How about some cricket?”

And the bartender said, => Your punchline here! Win a not-so-fabulous prize! You can do it!

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I just did something I swore I would never do

Source: I just did something I swore I would never do

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I just did something I swore I would never do

Colleen shows exceptional courage and insight as she shares the details of what can only be described as a horrible nightmare. She is an exceptional writer and incredible human being.

mrslamay's avatarA Change of Heart

I applied for unemployment benefits in the state of Virginia. I told myself I  had little choice. I did not want to admit to myself that I felt ashamed, and that going through some of the documents my former principal filed against me brought back the helplessness, hopelessness and stark fear of mid-March to mid-April 2015. Those were the weeks she attacked me in some fashion every day, in ways large and small that would be comical if the stakes were not so high.Virginia Employment Commission

I am blogging this,  deeply personal and painful as it is, because otherwise I am providing only a selective picture of my life as a teacher. The consequences of those 15 or so business days during which my ex-principal worked very hard to rid herself of me will likely take a toll on my professional life for a while. I am not ready to think about how long…

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Three Small Poems for an Early Autumn Evening

Early Autumn Landscape
1
He* said of a carnival, “There were tents within tents,”
And an exotic bazaar swam into my field of vision,
Monkeys in one tent,
Bright tropical birds in the next,
And jewels of untold worth in another,
And line after line of tents within tents,
Receding one after another after another
Like the multiplied reflections of
Facing mirrors.

2

She* wrote, “The falcon bullets the sky at 200 mph,”
And my thoughts cry with the falcon, “Paradox! Paradox!
A bullet travels about 1500 mph
Reality says that a falcon is not a bullet
(That much is obvious).
But Metaphor floats to the surface
And rejoices in this truth about the raptor:
That falcon is fast.

3

He* wrote, “Some XXL customer broke through a 5/4″ deck board,”
And I am pleased by the term “XXL”
And the use of a clothing size to describe a large person.
I have a quick video play in my head of an XXL, drink in hand,
Standing on the deck
And suddenly breaking through,
Gone as if that tremendous bulk
Never existed.
I also like the appearance of “5/4.”
Because it is an improper fraction,
It engages my sympathy,
A charming but naughty boy among numbers,
Standing fast with his sister
The irrational number.

Dan Verner

September 6, 2015

1.* My son-in-law and GMU librarian Chris Magee.
2.* My friend and writer Colleen LaMay.
3.* My brother and retired Delta Airlines pilot Ron Verner.

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A Poem for Today

Blue Sky and Ocean

         Coming to My Senses

Just a sense of balance
And one of self worth
A sense of awesome wonder
For the creatures of the earth.
A full sense of humor and
Of well-being, too, and
A sense of contentment
For doing what I do.
A good sense of smell
Of color and of light
A sense of well-being
To see me through the night.
At times a sense of sadness
Of loss and of dismay
Which we all go through
With others on the way.
A sense of proper balance
A sense of judgment, too,
And a sense of community
To see us all the way through.
A sense of redemption
And one of the Spirit and of trust
With us now and forever
In the whole wide universe.

Dan Verner
August 28, 2015

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