You will not be able to earn your degree in your pajamas
You will not be able to order toilet paper from Instacart
You will not be able to Door Dash or Postmate or Uber Eat
Or update your Facebook profile, Snapchat Map or WhatsApp because
The revolution is not on your phone
The revolution will not be brought to you
By targeted Instagram ads for cheap sundresses
Or fraudulent Go Fund Me appeals
Or you shaking your ass on Tik Tok
The revolution is not on your phone
The revolution does not star
Social media influencers
Or a fight with…
Yes, it is another poem, because the world needs more poems?
April is National Poetry Month so it is a great time to revisit some of your favorite poems and maybe even write a few yourself.
While watching a Saturday Night Live sketch last weekend I laughed so hard that I almost spit out my carefully curated selection of Jelly Bellies. In the sketch, a college-aged son told his parents that he no longer wanted to be a doctor and had changed his major to creative writing to be a poet. …
It’s National Poetry Month! I’m no poet but it’s liberating to try . . .
I am definitely not a poet. I like reading things that rhyme and I hum along to song lyrics, but I was not that person looking forward to the poetry unit in eleventh grade English class. I can’t tell you the themes of any Shakespearian sonnet. But I have learned that reading and even dabbling in writing poetry is fun. I’ve needed some additional fun in my life this year (like everyone else). It’s National Poetry Month, so why not? …
When Drew Brees, the New Orleans Saints quarterback, announced his retirement I was cleaning out my pantry. I started bawling. I’m not a Saints fan, but Brees was my last continuing link to my beloved grandmother.
Our last conversation was about Drew Brees.
“What do you think of him?,” I asked.
“You know, I’ve been reading in the newspaper that we didn’t make the right choice, but I think he’ll be O.K,” my grandmother replied. A short while later she was gone.
We shared a love for the San Diego Chargers, an affinity that my grandmother instilled from my birth…
My writing prompt today is, “One think I don’t want to write about.” That’s easy. It starts with me walking my dog. Four years ago I felt safe, secure and happy walking my dog down my own street, near my own house in my adopted home town. I was carefree and often lost in my own thoughts about work, and novels I’d like to read and what to have for dinner. …
Let’s retire the term “white privilege.” Like many terms born during times of racial upheaval, the term is now doing more harm than good. Labels don’t end racism, true human connections do.
As a middle-aged black woman, the term “white privilege” makes me cringe. I know that its origin is well-meaning — it is meant to symbolize what blacks have always known — that in most ways being white makes life easier. Most white people don’t reflect on, or fret over, being able to complete mundane daily tasks without the threat of being killed (i.e., jogging, grocery shopping, walking to…
I haven’t thought about ventilators in the 15 years since my daughter was on one . . . but here we are.
Prior to the coronavirus pandemic, did you ever think about ventilators? Now, huddled in our homes with clingy golden retrievers and homeschooled children, we can’t escape discussions about ventilators. New York needs more, the government says we have plenty, some don’t work, others are over-priced, my state only has 400, and scores of people are dying alone on them. Ventilators. Ventilators. Ventilators.
I haven’t thought about ventilators for fifteen years. My daughter was born more than three months…
My Mom and I had never tried a juice cleanse before. On the road, with no bathrooms — seems like a great time to dive in! My family has lived in San Diego, California since the late 1940s when my grandfather was stationed there with the Navy. After his Naval career was over he and my grandmother did not move back to the South after experiencing the freedom, sunny days and beaches of “America’s Finest City.” My mother and her four siblings were raised in San Diego, as well as their progeny. Most never left.
As an adult, I made…
How One Kind Act Boosted The Confidence Of A Young Lawyer
I first met Mr. Baker (not his real name, but close enough) on a hotel bed in West Hollywood; an unlikely place for a law firm interview. I was there for a job fair where thousands of baby crab lawyers crawled over one another in an attempt to escape the terror of student loan debt, crippling self-doubt and the sinking realization that living at home with overbearing parents forever was a distinct possibility.
All of us crabs scurried about into various hotel rooms that had seen better days and…
Gen X-er, recovering lawyer, frustrated writer, Lego enthusiast and serial creative. Published in The Start Up and Age of Awareness.