*This column was published October 2006 in The Blue and Gold, a community-based newspaper for Centralia College.
Once again, election season is here.
Now is the time to align with candidates, parties and issues. Now is the time to listen to long-winded speeches and rebuttals. Now is the time for inflated promises to the public and smear campaigns.
Now, as autumn leaves snap free from trees and blanket the ground, billboards and picket signs crop up in city streets and residential lawns.
As Americans, we are conditioned to cast our votes each year to keep the wheels of democracy turning. Many Americans take pride in this yearly tradition while countless others choose not to participate in the political process. In the grand scheme of things, people's voices wither gain sympathy and shine or drown in the clamor and die.
Personally, I believe it's not only my right to vote, but it's my duty. But I often find myself disillusioned by the two-party system and the corruption that bubbles beneath the hype.
Plus, there are issues I feel strongly about that politicians don't or won't address.
No doubt I could write to legislators and senators or collage my beat-up Chevy Malibu with bumper stickers. Or plop myself on a street corner and broadcast my views with a megaphone.
But I see more effective means to express my politics.
Essentially, it all boils down to my role as a consumer. I try to make a considerable number of purchases with conscience, by asking myself questions like: "Does this business or corporation pay their employees a decent wage?" or "What farming practices went into the the process of growing this banana?"
I admit, asking myself such questions is not the norm. We often assess our purchases based on price and convenience. That's why Wal-Mart and McDonald's have grown like scotch broom across the nation. But hey,we can't all be rich, right? And, who has time to fix nutritious dinners every night?
Everywhere, we are bombarded with advertising that seeps into our subconscious. Corporations vie for our customer loyalty by designing commercials that prey on our most primitive fears and desires. McDonald's spends millions of dollars luring in toddlers with Beanie Babies in hopes of gaining customers that will forever remain nostalgic for happy meals.
The one thing that threads our diverse population together is the consumer impulse. And that impulse feeds the economy and crowns corporations with unprecedented power. Face it--corporate conglomerations possess more pull on politicians than the voices of millions. But, as consumers, we have the choice to make conscious purchases, to vote with our dollar.
Boycott is one of the most powerful political tools that can be enacted on a grassroots level. Obviously, one can unearth history and learn from the organized boycotts of the civil rights movement and the American Revolution. But here, I offer a more recent and local example.
Over the summer, swarms of letters to the editor filled the opinion page of The Olympian on one single issue. A rumor started that Ralph's Thriftway in Olympia refused to carry the emergency contraceptive Plan B.
Some people wrote that they were appalled at Thriftway and refused to set foot in the store again. Others said they admired the store's owners for maintaining their moral ground by not selling Plan B.
What both sides did agree on is that refusing to shop at Thriftway damaged the store.
Whether Thriftway's choices were right or wrong, no doubt the incident had a major impact on business. Each time I drove by, I noticed more and more vacant slots in the parking lot.
All of this is in result of citizens questioning whether or not they wished to support this business's values and practices.
While boycotting particular businesses makes a strong statement, there are more subtle ways of putting your money where your mouth is.
For instance, over the summer I began to educate myself about food and how it's produced. One book in particular--"Fast Food Nation" by Eric Schlosser--horrified me with its details about the meat packing and agricultural businesses and the synthetic chemicals found in food.
This new found awareness prompted me to support the organic and whole foods movement. So I began to shop at my local co-op and buy locally grown produce at the farmer's market.
My purchases helped support environmental, social and economical issues I cared about. More importantly, I felt healthy and energetic. I even shed a few pounds. And to my surprise, my grocery bill actually decreased.
No matter what your personal politics, it is beneficial to educate yourself about the products and businesses you support with your hard-earned money.
The world revolves around money. That's the reality. Each dollar we spend carries personal consequences and ripples outward, slightly shifting the dynamics of our communities, nation and planet.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Vaccine protects women from cervical cancer
*This news article was published November 2006 in The Blue and Gold, a community-based newspaper for Centralia College.
The Food and Drug Administration has approved a new vaccine that will fight cervical cancer for women worldwide.
The vaccine is designed to protect girls and women from four potentially dangerous strands of the human papillomavirus. These four strands cause 70 percent of all cervical cancers and 90 percent of genital warts, according to the Washington State Department of Health.
Gardasil, the name of the vaccine, is licensed for the use of females ages 9 to 26. Gardasil is administrated through a series of three shots over a six-month period.
Although further research is needed, current studies indicate the vaccine's protection can last up to five years.
The vaccine is most effective as a preventive measure for young females who are not yet sexually active. The federal Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices recommends the vaccine for girls ages 11 and 12.
Older, sexually active females can also benefit from the vaccine. But the vaccine is weakened if they have already acquired one or more of the four types of HPV the vaccine covers, reports the national Center for Disease Control and Prevention.
HPV is a highly common virus transmitted by both men and women through genital contact. At least 50 percent of all sexually active people carry the virus as some point in their lives.
More than one hundred variants of the virus have been discovered, and about 40 types can infect the genital areas of men and women. In most types, people experience no symptoms and eventually the virus leaves the body.
Some strands of the virus can infect a woman's cervix and trigger a change is cell makeup. If infection persists and no treatment in sought, these abnormal cells gradually develop into cancer.
The American Cancer Society estimates that in 2006 almost 10,000 women in the United States will be diagnosed with cervical cancer, while another 3,700 will die of the disease.
Because the vaccine cannot fully protect women from cervical cancer, it is important women continue to receive routine Pap tests.
According to the Washington State Department of Health, the capability of condoms to protect against HPV is uncertain, because the virus can pass from one person to another from any exposed genital area.
Only abstinence can fully protect people from HPV and its possible repercussions.
Michele Perrin, communications manager for the Washington State Department of Health, said many agencies are seeking ways to make the vaccine affordable and accessible.
During the next legislative season, the state Department of Health plans to ask for money to provide free immunization shots for females under the age of 19, Perrin said.
And as time progresses, more health insurance plans may cover the vaccine's series of shots that normally sell at a total retail price of $360.
"We encourage those who are interested in the vaccine to check their health plans and see if it's covered," Perrin said.
But the future is unclear if uninsured women age 19 or older will find financial access to the vaccine. Merck, the company that developed Gardasil, wants to create a patient assistance program to help women ages 19-26 get vaccinated, Perrin said.
A lot of media buzz has circulated around the issue of vaccinating pubescent girls. Some people think vaccinating young girls will encourage sexual promiscuity.
Perrin advises parents to seek out accurate information before they make decisions that will affect the future of their daughters' health.
"Families need to talk to their children about responsible sexual behavior, and the vaccine should be a part of that comprehensive conversation," Perrin said.
While their is great hope for the vaccine and how it will change the health of women, it will take 10 or 20 years to see and impact, Perrin said, because cervical cancer develops so slowly.
Globally, the new vaccine can help diminish the number of women who die from cervical cancer.
According to the Public Library of Science, each year nearly 500,00 women around the world are diagnosed with cervical caner and more than 250,00 die from the disease.
An overwhelming majority of these deaths take place in developing nations where there are no routine precancer screening programs.
The Food and Drug Administration has approved a new vaccine that will fight cervical cancer for women worldwide.
The vaccine is designed to protect girls and women from four potentially dangerous strands of the human papillomavirus. These four strands cause 70 percent of all cervical cancers and 90 percent of genital warts, according to the Washington State Department of Health.
Gardasil, the name of the vaccine, is licensed for the use of females ages 9 to 26. Gardasil is administrated through a series of three shots over a six-month period.
Although further research is needed, current studies indicate the vaccine's protection can last up to five years.
The vaccine is most effective as a preventive measure for young females who are not yet sexually active. The federal Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices recommends the vaccine for girls ages 11 and 12.
Older, sexually active females can also benefit from the vaccine. But the vaccine is weakened if they have already acquired one or more of the four types of HPV the vaccine covers, reports the national Center for Disease Control and Prevention.
HPV is a highly common virus transmitted by both men and women through genital contact. At least 50 percent of all sexually active people carry the virus as some point in their lives.
More than one hundred variants of the virus have been discovered, and about 40 types can infect the genital areas of men and women. In most types, people experience no symptoms and eventually the virus leaves the body.
Some strands of the virus can infect a woman's cervix and trigger a change is cell makeup. If infection persists and no treatment in sought, these abnormal cells gradually develop into cancer.
The American Cancer Society estimates that in 2006 almost 10,000 women in the United States will be diagnosed with cervical cancer, while another 3,700 will die of the disease.
Because the vaccine cannot fully protect women from cervical cancer, it is important women continue to receive routine Pap tests.
According to the Washington State Department of Health, the capability of condoms to protect against HPV is uncertain, because the virus can pass from one person to another from any exposed genital area.
Only abstinence can fully protect people from HPV and its possible repercussions.
Michele Perrin, communications manager for the Washington State Department of Health, said many agencies are seeking ways to make the vaccine affordable and accessible.
During the next legislative season, the state Department of Health plans to ask for money to provide free immunization shots for females under the age of 19, Perrin said.
And as time progresses, more health insurance plans may cover the vaccine's series of shots that normally sell at a total retail price of $360.
"We encourage those who are interested in the vaccine to check their health plans and see if it's covered," Perrin said.
But the future is unclear if uninsured women age 19 or older will find financial access to the vaccine. Merck, the company that developed Gardasil, wants to create a patient assistance program to help women ages 19-26 get vaccinated, Perrin said.
A lot of media buzz has circulated around the issue of vaccinating pubescent girls. Some people think vaccinating young girls will encourage sexual promiscuity.
Perrin advises parents to seek out accurate information before they make decisions that will affect the future of their daughters' health.
"Families need to talk to their children about responsible sexual behavior, and the vaccine should be a part of that comprehensive conversation," Perrin said.
While their is great hope for the vaccine and how it will change the health of women, it will take 10 or 20 years to see and impact, Perrin said, because cervical cancer develops so slowly.
Globally, the new vaccine can help diminish the number of women who die from cervical cancer.
According to the Public Library of Science, each year nearly 500,00 women around the world are diagnosed with cervical caner and more than 250,00 die from the disease.
An overwhelming majority of these deaths take place in developing nations where there are no routine precancer screening programs.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Challenge young people with good literature
*This column was originally published November 2006 in The Blue and Gold, a community-based newspaper for Centralia College
Once again, a group of grownups have objected to a work of literature, for fear its content will confuse and warp the minds of young people.
Several language arts teachers in the Puyallup School District want to remove "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman" by Ernest J. Gaines from the required eighth grade reading list.
According to an Oct. 16 article in The News Tribune, the teachers oppose the book as an instructional material because they say it contains racial slurs and sexual situations that are inappropriate for eighth graders.
The book, which was originally chosen by the school board to promote multicultural awareness, is a history-inspired novel that tells the stories of African Americans through the perspective of a 110-year-old black woman.
Personally, I have never read "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman." But, hearing about the controversy makes me bloodthirsty to buy a copy. And I bet a million bucks the students in question are also curious to see what the big deal is about.
I do not understand why adults get so adamant about what young people should and should not read. I suppose they get riled up over sexual references, ungodly language and subversive ideas because they want to safeguard their children from the evils of the world.
Judy Blume, one of the nation's most censored authors in the nation, once wrote "Let children read whatever they want and then talk about it with them. If parents and kids can talk together, we won't have as much censorship because we won't have as much fear."
I suspect those Puyallup teachers partially object to "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman" because they are afraid to discuss unsettling topics with young people. They may be more comfortable presenting a reality that' sugarcoated that none that exposes the ugly injustices of mankind.
Unfortunately, today's teenagers do not frolic in fields of innocence. From frightening episodes of school violence to sexual predators on the Internet, they face a number of dangers and need forums to discuss them.
Books rich in artistic content are wonderful ways to raise issue awareness in young people.
By nature, reading is an activity that encourages reflective and critical thinking. Because reading requires long periods of concentration, the lessons unfolded in books are more fully explored than with other forms of media.
In today's hypermedia landscape, teachers and parents should rejoice each time a child picks up and enjoys a book--no matter what smut it may contain, because the average American child watches three to four hours of television a day.
That means by the time they turn 18, they will have spent more time sucked in by the tube than learning in the classroom, according to the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry.
I think it's ironic that the Harry Potter series has received as much backlash as it has. The series' ability to inspire millions of children to turn of the TV and read is flat-out phenomenal.
But, instead of taking delight in children using their imagination, some people went on a crusade to ban Harry Potter books. They saw the books as anti-Christian, because of their use of magic and sorcery, as if J.K. Rowling were an instrument of the devil preying on children's souls.
In our nation, the right to intellectual freedom is key to democracy--its protected under the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights. I am thankful to live in a country where the Internet isn't censored for political content as it is in China, and where I can check out Hitler's despicable "Mein Kampf" at my local library if I wanted to.
But the intellectual freedom of minors is a delicate issue. It will always be contested as long as childhood is seen as a time of innocence.
Understandably, adults must protect their children from the ills of the world. They must, to an extent, check and filter their children's influences and experiences. Parents and teachers should implant the initial gears of a child's moral compass.
But also, let us hope to raise children with minds capable of exploring infinite possibilities. Let us hope our children can chew on tough issues and stay strong. Let us ope they leave the nests as thoughtful being who can draw solutions to the world's heaviest problems.
And one way to achieve this is to give them books--lots and lots of books.
Sadly, the only voice missing in the "Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman" debate is the voice of the eighth graders.
Perhaps the concerns of those teachers are legitimate. But how will they truly know how the books will affect eighth graders until they read and respond to it?
I say, let this year's eighth graders be the judge of what literature they can handle.
I doubt one book with a few racy passages will damage them forever.
Once again, a group of grownups have objected to a work of literature, for fear its content will confuse and warp the minds of young people.
Several language arts teachers in the Puyallup School District want to remove "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman" by Ernest J. Gaines from the required eighth grade reading list.
According to an Oct. 16 article in The News Tribune, the teachers oppose the book as an instructional material because they say it contains racial slurs and sexual situations that are inappropriate for eighth graders.
The book, which was originally chosen by the school board to promote multicultural awareness, is a history-inspired novel that tells the stories of African Americans through the perspective of a 110-year-old black woman.
Personally, I have never read "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman." But, hearing about the controversy makes me bloodthirsty to buy a copy. And I bet a million bucks the students in question are also curious to see what the big deal is about.
I do not understand why adults get so adamant about what young people should and should not read. I suppose they get riled up over sexual references, ungodly language and subversive ideas because they want to safeguard their children from the evils of the world.
Judy Blume, one of the nation's most censored authors in the nation, once wrote "Let children read whatever they want and then talk about it with them. If parents and kids can talk together, we won't have as much censorship because we won't have as much fear."
I suspect those Puyallup teachers partially object to "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman" because they are afraid to discuss unsettling topics with young people. They may be more comfortable presenting a reality that' sugarcoated that none that exposes the ugly injustices of mankind.
Unfortunately, today's teenagers do not frolic in fields of innocence. From frightening episodes of school violence to sexual predators on the Internet, they face a number of dangers and need forums to discuss them.
Books rich in artistic content are wonderful ways to raise issue awareness in young people.
By nature, reading is an activity that encourages reflective and critical thinking. Because reading requires long periods of concentration, the lessons unfolded in books are more fully explored than with other forms of media.
In today's hypermedia landscape, teachers and parents should rejoice each time a child picks up and enjoys a book--no matter what smut it may contain, because the average American child watches three to four hours of television a day.
That means by the time they turn 18, they will have spent more time sucked in by the tube than learning in the classroom, according to the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry.
I think it's ironic that the Harry Potter series has received as much backlash as it has. The series' ability to inspire millions of children to turn of the TV and read is flat-out phenomenal.
But, instead of taking delight in children using their imagination, some people went on a crusade to ban Harry Potter books. They saw the books as anti-Christian, because of their use of magic and sorcery, as if J.K. Rowling were an instrument of the devil preying on children's souls.
In our nation, the right to intellectual freedom is key to democracy--its protected under the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights. I am thankful to live in a country where the Internet isn't censored for political content as it is in China, and where I can check out Hitler's despicable "Mein Kampf" at my local library if I wanted to.
But the intellectual freedom of minors is a delicate issue. It will always be contested as long as childhood is seen as a time of innocence.
Understandably, adults must protect their children from the ills of the world. They must, to an extent, check and filter their children's influences and experiences. Parents and teachers should implant the initial gears of a child's moral compass.
But also, let us hope to raise children with minds capable of exploring infinite possibilities. Let us hope our children can chew on tough issues and stay strong. Let us ope they leave the nests as thoughtful being who can draw solutions to the world's heaviest problems.
And one way to achieve this is to give them books--lots and lots of books.
Sadly, the only voice missing in the "Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman" debate is the voice of the eighth graders.
Perhaps the concerns of those teachers are legitimate. But how will they truly know how the books will affect eighth graders until they read and respond to it?
I say, let this year's eighth graders be the judge of what literature they can handle.
I doubt one book with a few racy passages will damage them forever.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Running on empty until pay day
* This column was published in May 2006 in The Blue and Gold, a community-based newspaper for Centralia College
You've heard the grumble over gas prices--from the mouths of friends and family to the rhetoric of politicians and oil company representatives.
Everyone has opinions, speculations, theories.
But not everyone feels the crunch.
Economists are saying that the sudden 40-cent surge of gas prices will mostly affect the wallets of small businesses and low-income workers. One the other side of the continuum, large corporations and those with higher salaries will hardly feel the increase on their finances.
What the increase in gas prices does most is expose the gross inequality between those who have and those who have not in this country.
Over recent years, the lower middle class and the working poor have endured radical upturns in housing and health care costs. Out-of-control cost of living expenses have actually pushed working-class families downward on the economic scale.
Now, working-class families are under fire at the fuel pump, powerless and defenseless. Despite the efforts of lawmakers, gas prices are not expected to drop. And those in power will not allow the minimum wage to rise. Thus, the poor can only get poorer.
The last time inequality bubbled to the surface was during the crises of Hurricane Katrina.
The tragedy played out like a parable, a story about rich and poor, black and white.
Public officials forewarned the citizens of New Orleans to leave the city immediately. They assumed everyone could just pack up their vehicles and drive far away from the impending doom.
But the public officials did not take into account that many of the city's poor did not own vehicles. Or that the poor had no money to fill their gas tanks with, or emergency resources for shelter and food.
The poor were just plain stuck.
Like the sinking of the titanic, the financially secure were less likely to drown in the sinking waters--they had lifeboats to cling to, a means for escape. Buy the most vulnerable to the whims of our ever-changing marketplace were equally defenseless against the spilling of the oceans into the soup bowl of the city.
Our county will forever remember the images. Poor, black Americans weeping and screaming, stranded and desperate in the wreckage.
Fast-climbing gas prices may not be as detrimental as a natural disaster, but for millions, it's a crises to daily life.
Consider the was in which the working class has adapted to changes in the housing market and how that affects their dependency on fuel.
In search for affordable housing, people flocked from the suburbs to the exurbs. Yet, they still commute day-in and day-out to get to work. Greenbelts and country-sides may be serene places to live, but its the helter-skelter city centers that have all the good jobs.
With gas prices skyrocketing at lightning speeds, I doubt these commuters are still saving money by living on the outskirts of the suburbs. Housing and gas prices have created a Catch-22 for hardworking, yet financially strapped families.
But what about America's wealthy? How do they live?
Here, I offer a portrait of startling over-indulgence.
The Seattle times published an article on April 24 under the headline "Wealthy baby boomers increasingly drawn to luxury RV lifestyle."
The article reported on the recent trend of people purchasing 26-foot, million-dollar RVs. These colossal homes-on-wheels, that appear like Ritz Carlton Hotel suites, get only 6.5 miles a gallon. And fill-ups rack up to $300.
After guzzling gas mile after mile down the highway, these wealthy baby-boomers park their monster RVs at exclusive A-list parks with amenities such as golf courses and spas.
Clearly, for them, gas prices are not an issue.
Perhaps these wealthy Americans are deserving of their fortunes and should enjoy them.
But, how long can our system survive under this model of inequality? When, if ever, will the rich wake from their self-serving oblivion and choose to share the wealth in sake of all?
In search of the American Dream, the rich and poor are driving down two separate highways, divided by a high blockade.
The road the poor travel has always been full of potholes. They stumble along the way, but they grow strong when they rise and move on.
But they're running out of gas. They wonder how far on fumes they can go.
Until payday, they live in perpetual risk of breaking down, out of sight from those who have the resources to help.
You've heard the grumble over gas prices--from the mouths of friends and family to the rhetoric of politicians and oil company representatives.
Everyone has opinions, speculations, theories.
But not everyone feels the crunch.
Economists are saying that the sudden 40-cent surge of gas prices will mostly affect the wallets of small businesses and low-income workers. One the other side of the continuum, large corporations and those with higher salaries will hardly feel the increase on their finances.
What the increase in gas prices does most is expose the gross inequality between those who have and those who have not in this country.
Over recent years, the lower middle class and the working poor have endured radical upturns in housing and health care costs. Out-of-control cost of living expenses have actually pushed working-class families downward on the economic scale.
Now, working-class families are under fire at the fuel pump, powerless and defenseless. Despite the efforts of lawmakers, gas prices are not expected to drop. And those in power will not allow the minimum wage to rise. Thus, the poor can only get poorer.
The last time inequality bubbled to the surface was during the crises of Hurricane Katrina.
The tragedy played out like a parable, a story about rich and poor, black and white.
Public officials forewarned the citizens of New Orleans to leave the city immediately. They assumed everyone could just pack up their vehicles and drive far away from the impending doom.
But the public officials did not take into account that many of the city's poor did not own vehicles. Or that the poor had no money to fill their gas tanks with, or emergency resources for shelter and food.
The poor were just plain stuck.
Like the sinking of the titanic, the financially secure were less likely to drown in the sinking waters--they had lifeboats to cling to, a means for escape. Buy the most vulnerable to the whims of our ever-changing marketplace were equally defenseless against the spilling of the oceans into the soup bowl of the city.
Our county will forever remember the images. Poor, black Americans weeping and screaming, stranded and desperate in the wreckage.
Fast-climbing gas prices may not be as detrimental as a natural disaster, but for millions, it's a crises to daily life.
Consider the was in which the working class has adapted to changes in the housing market and how that affects their dependency on fuel.
In search for affordable housing, people flocked from the suburbs to the exurbs. Yet, they still commute day-in and day-out to get to work. Greenbelts and country-sides may be serene places to live, but its the helter-skelter city centers that have all the good jobs.
With gas prices skyrocketing at lightning speeds, I doubt these commuters are still saving money by living on the outskirts of the suburbs. Housing and gas prices have created a Catch-22 for hardworking, yet financially strapped families.
But what about America's wealthy? How do they live?
Here, I offer a portrait of startling over-indulgence.
The Seattle times published an article on April 24 under the headline "Wealthy baby boomers increasingly drawn to luxury RV lifestyle."
The article reported on the recent trend of people purchasing 26-foot, million-dollar RVs. These colossal homes-on-wheels, that appear like Ritz Carlton Hotel suites, get only 6.5 miles a gallon. And fill-ups rack up to $300.
After guzzling gas mile after mile down the highway, these wealthy baby-boomers park their monster RVs at exclusive A-list parks with amenities such as golf courses and spas.
Clearly, for them, gas prices are not an issue.
Perhaps these wealthy Americans are deserving of their fortunes and should enjoy them.
But, how long can our system survive under this model of inequality? When, if ever, will the rich wake from their self-serving oblivion and choose to share the wealth in sake of all?
In search of the American Dream, the rich and poor are driving down two separate highways, divided by a high blockade.
The road the poor travel has always been full of potholes. They stumble along the way, but they grow strong when they rise and move on.
But they're running out of gas. They wonder how far on fumes they can go.
Until payday, they live in perpetual risk of breaking down, out of sight from those who have the resources to help.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
RichArt's maze of illusions intrigues visitors
*This article was published in May 2006 in The Blue and Gold, a community-based newspaper for Centralia College.
Every day, Richard Tracy continues the construction of his Art yard.
His world consists of scavenging wrecking yards and local businesses for thrown out flowerpots, shopping carts , rubber hoses and even shower stall doors. Since 1985, he has recycled the discarded and rejected fragments of industrial America into walls, sculptures and mobiles.
Tracy, who prefers to be called RichArt, sees beauty where most people don't. Tracy's craft takes the saying, "One man's junk is another's treasure," to a completely different level.
Styrofoam, for instance, is a substance of infinite potential.
Fastened by bolts and thick glue, dozens of wood-paneled walls are covered with the stuff. He cuts and collages plastic foam into jumbled patterns that are reminiscent of Cubist techniques.
Then, he sits back and welcomes the rain.
Over a period of time, the rain transforms the plastic foam's color and surface. The collages are no longer white, but rather, shades of cement and granite. The material's plasticity allows the rain to round away edges and chisel off bits and pieces.
In result, the walls appear like stone carvings from an ancient civilization.
But you have yo use your imagination to see it.
Tracy is always eager to share his fantastical world with others. Located on the corner of M Street and Harrison, the art yard's gates are open 1 to 4 p.m. daily and guided tours are free.
During his tours, Tracy's thoughts zigzag like a labyrinthine structure of his yard.
But, if you listen, you'll catch slices of lucid insight.
"Art is an illusion," Tracy says.
His belief in this statement is apparent--his art yard is one giant maze stocked with illusions.
Some many only view his wire and wood sculptures as mere assemblies of junk. But, to the imaginative, the place is a fortress of magic, bejewelled by dandelions and bluebells. Every junk-creation hints of something else.
Clumps of tangled wire look like thorn bushes in wintertime.
Creatures with crutches for legs and Styrofoam balls for noses looks like Frankenstein roots and sci-fi monsters.
Their surfaces are infested with splotches of rust. Their torsos are made from cages, smashed-down wooden crates. Pom-poms extend from their heads to mimic pony-tailed hair.
But curiously, they wear sunglasses, giving them a human quality. Their bodies are grotesque, but their faces are funny and kind.
While many locals have neglected to visit Tracy's outdoor museum, its existence has leaked far beyond Centralia's city boundaries.
People from afar travel to Centralia just to explore RichArt's ruins. Among the curious have been writers, photographers and even television crews, who have sought out Tracy fro his work and eccentric personality.
Most notably, Tracy is the subject of a short documentary titled "RichArt," which has played in several art museums and film festivals.
On the Internet, people can discover the Art Yard on www.roadsideamerica.com, an online guide to offbeat tourist attractions.
But whether people come from in-town or from across the world, Tracy takes delight in all visitors and encourages them to create. In fact, for 22 years, Tracy conducted art lessons in his own yard.
"There's been people who've really cut into my heart," Tracy says.
His favorite population group to work with are five-year-olds.
"A five year old knows exactly how to do art because they don't take reality seriously," Tracy says. "When they play house, it becomes their reality."
Tracy also attributes nature as a great source of creativity. Rain, sunlight and wind all play active roles in the artistic process.
He loves how aluminum glimmers in the sun. Or how mobiles of wok-lids and soda cans crash in the wind like children banging on cymbals.
"There's nothing better than what nature can do," Tracy says. "And nature can take over."
Especially when nature comes in the form of plants and fungi. Weeds, wildflowers and even mold thrive among his creations.
Perhaps Tracy would safeguard his artwork from nature if they were made from expensive materials. But junk art is a frugal art, the original and ongoing reason why Tracy keeps it up.
Every day, Richard Tracy continues the construction of his Art yard.
His world consists of scavenging wrecking yards and local businesses for thrown out flowerpots, shopping carts , rubber hoses and even shower stall doors. Since 1985, he has recycled the discarded and rejected fragments of industrial America into walls, sculptures and mobiles.
Tracy, who prefers to be called RichArt, sees beauty where most people don't. Tracy's craft takes the saying, "One man's junk is another's treasure," to a completely different level.
Styrofoam, for instance, is a substance of infinite potential.
Fastened by bolts and thick glue, dozens of wood-paneled walls are covered with the stuff. He cuts and collages plastic foam into jumbled patterns that are reminiscent of Cubist techniques.
Then, he sits back and welcomes the rain.
Over a period of time, the rain transforms the plastic foam's color and surface. The collages are no longer white, but rather, shades of cement and granite. The material's plasticity allows the rain to round away edges and chisel off bits and pieces.
In result, the walls appear like stone carvings from an ancient civilization.
But you have yo use your imagination to see it.
Tracy is always eager to share his fantastical world with others. Located on the corner of M Street and Harrison, the art yard's gates are open 1 to 4 p.m. daily and guided tours are free.
During his tours, Tracy's thoughts zigzag like a labyrinthine structure of his yard.
But, if you listen, you'll catch slices of lucid insight.
"Art is an illusion," Tracy says.
His belief in this statement is apparent--his art yard is one giant maze stocked with illusions.
Some many only view his wire and wood sculptures as mere assemblies of junk. But, to the imaginative, the place is a fortress of magic, bejewelled by dandelions and bluebells. Every junk-creation hints of something else.
Clumps of tangled wire look like thorn bushes in wintertime.
Creatures with crutches for legs and Styrofoam balls for noses looks like Frankenstein roots and sci-fi monsters.
Their surfaces are infested with splotches of rust. Their torsos are made from cages, smashed-down wooden crates. Pom-poms extend from their heads to mimic pony-tailed hair.
But curiously, they wear sunglasses, giving them a human quality. Their bodies are grotesque, but their faces are funny and kind.
While many locals have neglected to visit Tracy's outdoor museum, its existence has leaked far beyond Centralia's city boundaries.
People from afar travel to Centralia just to explore RichArt's ruins. Among the curious have been writers, photographers and even television crews, who have sought out Tracy fro his work and eccentric personality.
Most notably, Tracy is the subject of a short documentary titled "RichArt," which has played in several art museums and film festivals.
On the Internet, people can discover the Art Yard on www.roadsideamerica.com, an online guide to offbeat tourist attractions.
But whether people come from in-town or from across the world, Tracy takes delight in all visitors and encourages them to create. In fact, for 22 years, Tracy conducted art lessons in his own yard.
"There's been people who've really cut into my heart," Tracy says.
His favorite population group to work with are five-year-olds.
"A five year old knows exactly how to do art because they don't take reality seriously," Tracy says. "When they play house, it becomes their reality."
Tracy also attributes nature as a great source of creativity. Rain, sunlight and wind all play active roles in the artistic process.
He loves how aluminum glimmers in the sun. Or how mobiles of wok-lids and soda cans crash in the wind like children banging on cymbals.
"There's nothing better than what nature can do," Tracy says. "And nature can take over."
Especially when nature comes in the form of plants and fungi. Weeds, wildflowers and even mold thrive among his creations.
Perhaps Tracy would safeguard his artwork from nature if they were made from expensive materials. But junk art is a frugal art, the original and ongoing reason why Tracy keeps it up.
Speaker discusses travel as an act of peace
* The following article was published in February 2006 in The Blue and Gold, a community newspaper for Centralia College
When students choose to travel abroad, they often backpack across Europe or explore the Mayan ruins. But what about journeying to the Middle East, a region both feared and misunderstood?
Students were given a taste of the Middle East at the Corbet Theatre during a a Lyceum presentation last month.
Char Simons, a freelance writer and faculty member of The Evergreen State College, gave a presentation "Travel as an Act of Peace: Tales of the Middle East."
Simons used over 70 photographs to show an in-depth travelogue of her own Middle East adventures.
Interest began in 1979
Simons' personal connection to the Middle East spans back to 1979 when she was a college student in the Midwest. During that time, revolution turned Iran upside down, by toppling the shah and installing an Islamic government.
These events led to the deterioration of the relationship between Iran and the United States. Because the United States supported the shah, Iranian militants stormed the U.S. embassy in Tehran and took 66 Americans hostage.
At the time, Simons had many Iranian friends at college and took an interest in their culture. On campus, her friends enjoyed relative comfort--but off campus they faced contempt.
Once, while having lunch at a restaurant, a man in his 60s approached her and a friend and asked, "What religion are you?"
Moments like these led Simons to believe that while Americans harvested many opinions about the Middle East, they were based on scarce and inaccurate information.
After college, she lived and taught English in Turkey. She freelanced articles here and there about the region. But, her passions for the region eventually settled.
Bringing cultures together
Then 9/11 shook the world.
In the aftermath, the same misconceptions arose and ignited a fire within her, Simons said.
She wanted to help people push past the confusion that clouded the Middle East for Americans, so she invited students and community members along on study tours.
Her tour groups weave through Jordan and Lebanon, sometimes exploring Syria and Egypt as well. She chooses these places because they are Arab countries, and recognizes a reciprocal relationship to foster.
Most Americans have never met an Arab and most Arabs have never met an American, but both have opinions about the other, Simons said. Bringing these cultures together leads to the shedding of misunderstanding.
These nations are small but diverse. The landscapes are painted with deserts, forests and mountains. Each country is an intricate mosaic of culture and politics.
She and her fellow travelers sight see--they climb Mount Sinai and snorkel in the Red Sea. But they also interact with journalists, activists and locals.
Their favorite event, camping under the stars with the Bedouin people, the name meaning nomad in Arabic.
Women in the Middle East
Last year, her group was invited to a Bedouin wedding--a ritual quite unlike our own. The wedding took place in the Wadi Rum desert of Jordon. Like our weddings, there is an emphasis on feasting and socializing, but there are no vows at the alter--in fact, the men and women are segregated into two black tents separated as far as a football field.
Simons' group was invited into the men's tent. Later, lit only with the night's stars, the men linked arms and chanted. Then--and only if the women wished to--women emerged from their shadowy tent in a wispy, sensual dance, Simons said.
This dance, where the women call the shots, Simons said, challenged the number one assumption Americans have about the Middle East--that the women are oppressed.
What's ironic is that Arab women think American women are oppressed, with cosmetic surgeries and obligations to cook, clean, rear kids and work a full-time job, said Simons.
Americans are familiarized with media images of women veiled head to toe in black. Simons said these images are mostly from the stricter Saudi Arabia and are used as political tools. This leads to a generalization of the Middle East that blows the veil out of proportion.
There actually is a wide range of women's dress in the Middle East. In Lebanon, someone could buy hip-hugger jeans in a Safeway. In a cafe, a girl could be wearing a tank top, but wear a jacket outside for modesty.
Simons displayed photos of a veiled Christian nun and of market windows showcasing women's evening gowns and lingerie.
Plus, there is the climate factor--the veils are practical because they keep the body and head cool in the intense heat.
Violence and Danger
The idea that violence and danger lurk everywhere is another popular misconception, Simons said.
Even when they are Syria, which borders Iraq, Simons said she felt like they were a million miles away from the war because the violence is so contained.
Of the 22 countries in the Middle East, only three have violent contact--Iraq, Afghanistan and Israel.
Simons said to fear visiting the Middle East for these conflicts "it s like deciding not to visit Centralia because of you hear there are gang fights in Missoula."
According to the United Nations Interpol, an international police organization, the Middle East has the same level of violent crime as Europe--which isn't much--and dramatically less petty crimes, such as theft, than the United States.
At the same time, Simons' groups do interact with people and places effected by the war.
Simons showed a photograph of the Jordan River that borders Jordan and Israel, where Jesus Christ was baptized. What's not in the image is the armed soldiers lined along the river.
Another photograph depicted a cafe, when her group met with the activist group stopthewall.org, whose goal is to educate people about the apartheid wall Israel built. Simons said the wall is bigger than the Berlin wall ever was.
Still more images tell stories of Palestinian refugee camps, which Simons said are cinder block cities with populations as large as 70,000.
After the presentation, a few students lingered behind.
Curt Taylor, 18, said he was surprised how closely related the Middle Eastern world was to ours, with the Western influences on clothes.
Laura Scharber, 18, came to the presentation because of her avid interest in the Middle East. She said talks like these "broaden our understanding...because the media only gives one side, and even if they give another, there's more than two sides."
Simons believes young people should explore the world as a rite of passage.
"After high school or college, work or live in a different country," she said. "You'll never look at the world the same."
When students choose to travel abroad, they often backpack across Europe or explore the Mayan ruins. But what about journeying to the Middle East, a region both feared and misunderstood?
Students were given a taste of the Middle East at the Corbet Theatre during a a Lyceum presentation last month.
Char Simons, a freelance writer and faculty member of The Evergreen State College, gave a presentation "Travel as an Act of Peace: Tales of the Middle East."
Simons used over 70 photographs to show an in-depth travelogue of her own Middle East adventures.
Interest began in 1979
Simons' personal connection to the Middle East spans back to 1979 when she was a college student in the Midwest. During that time, revolution turned Iran upside down, by toppling the shah and installing an Islamic government.
These events led to the deterioration of the relationship between Iran and the United States. Because the United States supported the shah, Iranian militants stormed the U.S. embassy in Tehran and took 66 Americans hostage.
At the time, Simons had many Iranian friends at college and took an interest in their culture. On campus, her friends enjoyed relative comfort--but off campus they faced contempt.
Once, while having lunch at a restaurant, a man in his 60s approached her and a friend and asked, "What religion are you?"
Moments like these led Simons to believe that while Americans harvested many opinions about the Middle East, they were based on scarce and inaccurate information.
After college, she lived and taught English in Turkey. She freelanced articles here and there about the region. But, her passions for the region eventually settled.
Bringing cultures together
Then 9/11 shook the world.
In the aftermath, the same misconceptions arose and ignited a fire within her, Simons said.
She wanted to help people push past the confusion that clouded the Middle East for Americans, so she invited students and community members along on study tours.
Her tour groups weave through Jordan and Lebanon, sometimes exploring Syria and Egypt as well. She chooses these places because they are Arab countries, and recognizes a reciprocal relationship to foster.
Most Americans have never met an Arab and most Arabs have never met an American, but both have opinions about the other, Simons said. Bringing these cultures together leads to the shedding of misunderstanding.
These nations are small but diverse. The landscapes are painted with deserts, forests and mountains. Each country is an intricate mosaic of culture and politics.
She and her fellow travelers sight see--they climb Mount Sinai and snorkel in the Red Sea. But they also interact with journalists, activists and locals.
Their favorite event, camping under the stars with the Bedouin people, the name meaning nomad in Arabic.
Women in the Middle East
Last year, her group was invited to a Bedouin wedding--a ritual quite unlike our own. The wedding took place in the Wadi Rum desert of Jordon. Like our weddings, there is an emphasis on feasting and socializing, but there are no vows at the alter--in fact, the men and women are segregated into two black tents separated as far as a football field.
Simons' group was invited into the men's tent. Later, lit only with the night's stars, the men linked arms and chanted. Then--and only if the women wished to--women emerged from their shadowy tent in a wispy, sensual dance, Simons said.
This dance, where the women call the shots, Simons said, challenged the number one assumption Americans have about the Middle East--that the women are oppressed.
What's ironic is that Arab women think American women are oppressed, with cosmetic surgeries and obligations to cook, clean, rear kids and work a full-time job, said Simons.
Americans are familiarized with media images of women veiled head to toe in black. Simons said these images are mostly from the stricter Saudi Arabia and are used as political tools. This leads to a generalization of the Middle East that blows the veil out of proportion.
There actually is a wide range of women's dress in the Middle East. In Lebanon, someone could buy hip-hugger jeans in a Safeway. In a cafe, a girl could be wearing a tank top, but wear a jacket outside for modesty.
Simons displayed photos of a veiled Christian nun and of market windows showcasing women's evening gowns and lingerie.
Plus, there is the climate factor--the veils are practical because they keep the body and head cool in the intense heat.
Violence and Danger
The idea that violence and danger lurk everywhere is another popular misconception, Simons said.
Even when they are Syria, which borders Iraq, Simons said she felt like they were a million miles away from the war because the violence is so contained.
Of the 22 countries in the Middle East, only three have violent contact--Iraq, Afghanistan and Israel.
Simons said to fear visiting the Middle East for these conflicts "it s like deciding not to visit Centralia because of you hear there are gang fights in Missoula."
According to the United Nations Interpol, an international police organization, the Middle East has the same level of violent crime as Europe--which isn't much--and dramatically less petty crimes, such as theft, than the United States.
At the same time, Simons' groups do interact with people and places effected by the war.
Simons showed a photograph of the Jordan River that borders Jordan and Israel, where Jesus Christ was baptized. What's not in the image is the armed soldiers lined along the river.
Another photograph depicted a cafe, when her group met with the activist group stopthewall.org, whose goal is to educate people about the apartheid wall Israel built. Simons said the wall is bigger than the Berlin wall ever was.
Still more images tell stories of Palestinian refugee camps, which Simons said are cinder block cities with populations as large as 70,000.
After the presentation, a few students lingered behind.
Curt Taylor, 18, said he was surprised how closely related the Middle Eastern world was to ours, with the Western influences on clothes.
Laura Scharber, 18, came to the presentation because of her avid interest in the Middle East. She said talks like these "broaden our understanding...because the media only gives one side, and even if they give another, there's more than two sides."
Simons believes young people should explore the world as a rite of passage.
"After high school or college, work or live in a different country," she said. "You'll never look at the world the same."
Cloudbursts
For two days a series of cloudbursts
caught the world in catatonia.
Dismal clouds cast buckets of rain
that occupy the pavement in waves,
muddy the fields, dampen broken branches,
beat upon the heads of flowers.
caught the world in catatonia.
Dismal clouds cast buckets of rain
that occupy the pavement in waves,
muddy the fields, dampen broken branches,
beat upon the heads of flowers.
The Pacific Northwest indulges in crying spells--
like a lonely widow gazing at a fading photograph
of a mustached man,
then cradles her time-woven body in tears.
From hibernation, I glance from my kitchen table
and witness a crow glide upward
with a morsel of food in its mouth.
It's ebony wings slice wisps of sky
that breathe on the house like a snoring smoker.
One crow rises to melancholy.
I turn inward into my abyss of tangled thread,
yearning to untie the knots,
but my hands get caught as in a Chinese finger trap.
The drizzle deepens the ancient blues within.
Half-gazing at the window, I return from my inner cave
and see a Mason jar full of decaying daffodils,
and a tulip held by a drinking glass,
petals the hue of bruised purple.
In sorrow, the tulip clings to the glass,
tubs its head against the window,
searches for a sun that cloaks its face with a wooly shawl.
Craft Circles with Wings of Grace
They knitted a universe, as lovers often do--
sat on a white balcony, drank lemonade,
in a feast full of sun, they simmered
in the scent of strawberries,
until the mango flesh sky squeezed dry--
sticky with summer heat,
they made love between cotton sheets.
They will die one day--
then meet again in a moonbeam,
in a sparrow's nest, in a cloud of dust.
They are interwoven--
a basket rendered by nature's hands,
delicate designs that snap so readily,
like twigs on a foot trail.
Two swallows fly fast across the horizon,
craft circles with wings of grace,
over Montana, the Cascades,
over redwoods and rivers
until Life sings one day,
in a dream, in a moment,
when the wind kisses their ears
mid-flight.
It is time, little ones
time for the sleep of centuries--
your seconds of breath
have slipped beneath your wings.
One day again they will melt
in each other's feathered plumage,
in lava flow and volcano ash,
in the gallop of mustangs,
in a land of scarlet buds
and prickly pears.
Vessels of Water
Her heart is a remote lake
swaddled in the jagged edges
of faraway mountains
and sharp tips of pine trees.
Snow capped in cold silence
they immobilize her secrets.
Her heart is a bottomless well
on a forgotten farm,
claimed by anthills and scotch broom.
Her fractured bucket buried
in her algae covered water
long, long time ago.
Her heart is the Pacific Ocean--
leagues and leauges of salt water
and undiscovered weeds:
Her heart so foreign,
She whispers, sings and screams
in waves no man can translate.
Her heart is a geyser caged in earth,
when She weeps, Her heart is so full
the pressure of isolation so harsh,
She spills and shrills all over,
for Her body can not carry
the burden of water weight.
What do you see in her waters?
Only a glistening surface,
Life's reflection on Her face,
a beauty in two dimensions,
the outline of your figure,
as you walk along Her shore.
swaddled in the jagged edges
of faraway mountains
and sharp tips of pine trees.
Snow capped in cold silence
they immobilize her secrets.
Her heart is a bottomless well
on a forgotten farm,
claimed by anthills and scotch broom.
Her fractured bucket buried
in her algae covered water
long, long time ago.
Her heart is the Pacific Ocean--
leagues and leauges of salt water
and undiscovered weeds:
Her heart so foreign,
She whispers, sings and screams
in waves no man can translate.
Her heart is a geyser caged in earth,
when She weeps, Her heart is so full
the pressure of isolation so harsh,
She spills and shrills all over,
for Her body can not carry
the burden of water weight.
What do you see in her waters?
Only a glistening surface,
Life's reflection on Her face,
a beauty in two dimensions,
the outline of your figure,
as you walk along Her shore.
The Secrets of Roses and Embreyos
We, who know so much, yet so little,
and thrive on our impulse to ask why,
Who investigate the shadows of outer space
and tread the dimensions of oceans.
Who engineer and persevere
yet squander and murder.
Who have flawed
yet immense organs of love.
Who imagine heavens
yet cinder earthly hells.
Who mend the damaged
yet chisel shell-shocked souls.
Who design rituals, murals and euphony,
yet assemble in crowds and shrill at the sky.
Who will go down as the most lovely
yet despicable creature
to inhabit earth.
Despite what we know,
we can only imagine
the plush, watery home of the unborn.
The lullabies of heartbeats, breath,
the soft warble of outside voices.
To live in total connection.
So many ways of knowing
alien to our experience:
The rose knows the delight of pollination,
The tingle of bee wings inside her.
The ant knows the load of a breadcrumb,
the manifold secrets of a morsel.
The sparrow knows the fabric of rainbows,
The fatness of earthbound rain.
The sequoia knows the feast of soil,
The wiles of wind through stillness.
The moth knows its delirium for lamplight,
The sizzle of death for godly bliss.
and we, mystified, ignorant and beautiful for it.
and thrive on our impulse to ask why,
Who investigate the shadows of outer space
and tread the dimensions of oceans.
Who engineer and persevere
yet squander and murder.
Who have flawed
yet immense organs of love.
Who imagine heavens
yet cinder earthly hells.
Who mend the damaged
yet chisel shell-shocked souls.
Who design rituals, murals and euphony,
yet assemble in crowds and shrill at the sky.
Who will go down as the most lovely
yet despicable creature
to inhabit earth.
Despite what we know,
we can only imagine
the plush, watery home of the unborn.
The lullabies of heartbeats, breath,
the soft warble of outside voices.
To live in total connection.
So many ways of knowing
alien to our experience:
The rose knows the delight of pollination,
The tingle of bee wings inside her.
The ant knows the load of a breadcrumb,
the manifold secrets of a morsel.
The sparrow knows the fabric of rainbows,
The fatness of earthbound rain.
The sequoia knows the feast of soil,
The wiles of wind through stillness.
The moth knows its delirium for lamplight,
The sizzle of death for godly bliss.
and we, mystified, ignorant and beautiful for it.
Hands
As you caress
the undersides of my arms
and enclose my hands in yours--
bewitched by the moon.
Concealed in your palms,
my petals curl inward,
conjured and consumed.
A Celebration of Bats
We gather at a lake where fireworks shower
this Fourth of July. Over cheeseburgers,
the plum sunset ferments into night wine.
Coarse grass scuffs my skin,
cigarette smoke lingers in my lungs.
Mosquitos stalk my flesh,
my blood, their sweet bourbon.
Roses blossom from seeds of sharp sound.
Neon candy, fish tank pebbles,
fall from the sky. The horizon
is a procession of canvasses splattered by paint.
A bebop of bright embers
buzz, zap, zing and crackle
as girls twirl with sparklers.
This feast of light and sound dazzles,
yet fades and fizzles, too fleeting for memory.
Suddenly, like a whirlwind of leaves,
bats rush from trees,
shaken into insanity by human thunder.
Their dark felt wings chant beauty
through the smog of perished fireworks.
this Fourth of July. Over cheeseburgers,
the plum sunset ferments into night wine.
Coarse grass scuffs my skin,
cigarette smoke lingers in my lungs.
Mosquitos stalk my flesh,
my blood, their sweet bourbon.
Roses blossom from seeds of sharp sound.
Neon candy, fish tank pebbles,
fall from the sky. The horizon
is a procession of canvasses splattered by paint.
A bebop of bright embers
buzz, zap, zing and crackle
as girls twirl with sparklers.
This feast of light and sound dazzles,
yet fades and fizzles, too fleeting for memory.
Suddenly, like a whirlwind of leaves,
bats rush from trees,
shaken into insanity by human thunder.
Their dark felt wings chant beauty
through the smog of perished fireworks.
The Intuition of Flesh
I am in awe of this human fusion,
of how the nucleus of us evolves,
of how we probe the landscapes
of each other's souls,
forging channels as we go.
Each day emanates a million embers:
kisses like fireflies in dark foliage,
smiles like sun-glints on a swollen lake,
laughter, like toucans in flight.
My lips, my skin surrender
to this melodious convulsing
of nerve endings,
to this surge of seratonin
that swallows the flesh whole.
Something is spoken here.
Something translated by the intuition of flesh--
for this intermingling gleams
with lightning and magic.
I can hardly contain
what I absorb through my pores--
these strokes and tingles and throbs
are rich as music and strong as wind,
leaving me high and drunk and full.
So I leap at every spasm of soul-speak,
and sigh at the sight of you.
And yes! I embrace my foolishness
of seeing the world
through rose-colored glasses--
because I know
that lovers in love
are the luckiest
on earth.
Chickadee
Two luminous bodies dash barefoot,
fearless of stepping on bumblebees,
until they reach the crooked pine.
The sisters pause for the chime of hidden birds.
Then sing, Oh Chickadee!
Chickadee-in-the-tree!
Come sing with me!
They believe in the correspondence with birds,
tiny and lucid as light bulbs.
When, each day, they chatted to a lone chickadee
perched on the battered fence, they beleived
the same bird perched there yesterday.
They mimicked the songs of silk-ribbon
raveling down limbs the squirrels scamper.
Translated their secrets into loops of euphony
offering orange slices to the soaring spirits.
They made a mattress of grass, traced outlines
of cirrus clouds, those slender phantoms
on rivers of wind. They bit the sweet tips
of violet clovers, crushed blackberries in their palms,
rummaged their mother's garden
for strawberries and Asian pears.
With legs elongated, eyelids sewn shut,
they rhapsodized spells, pleading Chickadee
to shrink their child-bodies, bless them
into flight, as they leaped from swings.
Gathered Ghosts
There are no four walls, yet we live in a box.
Ghosts gather around the brim of the bed
as we lie awake, watching,
always watching, and whispering
among themselves.
I fail to tap into you--
sensing only with blind intuition,
like walking down a flight of stairs
in the dark and knowing
you're not right behind me.
Turn off the lights, let's go to sleep.
Your voice emerges, heavy as smog--
like dirty coal-colored smoke
of damp wood and pine needles tossed on a fire.
We are not only builders and breakers
of arrangements of atoms--
but weavers of poetry.
We blush the hue of memory.
Your arm stretches across my stomach
and I know you are near sleep.
We can find a crack or a slit in the box
to climb out of, if only we move on,
I say to you--but your ears are sealed.
You are caught in sleep.
And the ghosts--
they are watching, always watching
and whispering amongst themselves.
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