Being Proactive II

Women: Protect yourselves from AIDS. HIV-positive men who don't wear condoms is a growing lethal danger to us. What is the best possible protection from this? Besides refusing to have sex without a condom, there is a gel containing microbicides; applied by women pre-sex, it could guard against HIV infection. There is one problem, though: It doesn't exist yet. Appoximately 20 such products are in development, and experts and scitentist project that they would help prevent 6 million HIV infections within three years of their release. They will never materialize, however, without more funding. Encourage legistaors to help pass the Microbicide Development Act (Senate bill No. 550, House bill No. 3854) and let's get something done to stop this epidemic which is killing us at a faster and more alarming rate.

(information provided in December 2005 Glamour Magazine)

Oh, Amy!

This past Saturday I went to the annual Miami Book Fair and listened to one of my favorite authors, Amy Tan, speak on writing, storytelling, and what is like to be a writer. Most of her talk was familiar to me after having read "The Opposite of Fate," my favorite book written by her to date. Although she was supposed to be promoting her new novel, "Saving Fish From Drowning," she decided to "wing it" and talk about how her mother became her muse. So much can be learned from their relationship with each other, thus from reading anything written by this magnificent force. Amy Tan truly is an inspiration. I encourage all avid readers and lovers of good English to try on one of her books. I think you'll like the fit.

I'm off to NY for Turkey Day. Let's give thanks to the pilgrims for killing the Native Americans and stealing their land by indulging in the feast the "Indians" taught them to make.

What a holiday.

Being Proactive

After having been affected by Wilma, I now truly understand and can appreciate the plight victims have (and still are) gone/going through. It is doubly hard for women and those with dependents to survive, much less rebuild. As a community, we need to get funds directly to those who are in most need. A great way of doing this on an individual level is to write or email letters to urge your local representatives to provide job training, extended welfare benefits, and funding, so men and women can reconstruct their homes, businesses and start moving forward from the wreckage their lives have become. Let's all lend a hand to help those in the south that were affected by Katrina, Rita and Wilma make even better lives for themselves than the ones they were forced from.

Property Value

I know the value of this site is going down, but only because I'm taking a real estate class that's got my head filled with computations and definitions I haev no hope of memorizing for the exam. Bear with me, folks, the property value will increase on my blog in the near future. No need to unload the investment it takes to type in the address to my blog. More new and thought-provoking essays will arrive shortly.

World Champions!

For all of those who said it couldn't be done: In your face!!! The Chicago White Sox are number 1! I can't wait to go back to the Chi and get some Sox gear!

We actually did it. How you like that Cub fans..?

Go White Sox!

That's all I have to say about that!

Go 'Head! It's Your Birthday!

Yes it is! This is my birthday weekend and I have already started the celebrations. You might not be hearing from me for a couple of days, so I will leave you with this silly little poem that I wrote:

Yagé (Celebration of Self)

I blanket myself in the comfort of knowing
I am.

I am anything and everything I choose:
strong, sexy, simple, and sweet,
caring, cruel, charismatic, and complex,
all at the same time.
Whether mean, moronic, maniacal, or moody,
loving, lucid, laid-back, or light-of-heart,
I am beautiful in all my passions.

I am Me and it’s a beautiful thing!

Unconquerable, though they try.
I am the Sphinx, reveling and dancing
in the splendor of their awe.
Confident? Sure, but still humble.
I cherish every deep breath.
I know my place in this world,
I just happen to love where I stand
because no matter how everyone views me,
I know how I see myself;
that’s the most important thing.

I matter.

Don’t hate that I celebrate my birthday everyday.
If I won’t, who will? Only I can provide myself with
true happiness.
I’m tired of writing love poems about other people.
It’s time to write a love poem to myself and
celebrate who I have become, who
I am.

Yeah, it’s hard being me, but I love every minute!

©2005 Vicky Therese Davis

See ya when I'm a year older!

As Told by My Grandmother

The other day a stranger complimented me on my hands and told me they were very pretty. It made me look at my them in greater detail later on that night. I thought of a time when I was sitting with my grandmother at her little round kitchen table -- where all the family congregates at any time of day or night -- looking at old pictures. She was handing me an old sepia photograph of her when she was in her early twenties; she was absolutely beautiful. My grandmother studied the picture as if looking at it for the first time as well, then she remarked at how much we favored each other. As I took the photo from her to see for myself, our hands touched, and for the first time we both realized that we had the same hands; hers were just older and more worn (as I'm sure mine will be). She was looking at her past and I my future. We both looked at each other and laughed so hard we cried. That was five years ago, but boy does it feel so recent.

This memory compelled me to look through some of my old things and I came across some short stories my grandmother wrote. My dad copied them for me after she passed away last year. It was her birthday last week, so I felt it only right to bring her back to the forefront of my and my family's minds to recount a story written in her hand, so much like mine, about her own grandmother. And to think we both shared a passion for writing, too!


"As Told by My Grandmother..." by Maurine Davis

My grandmother lived on a farm in Woodlawn, Tennesse. Her name was Addie Estella Morrow. She was about four feet and eight inches tall. A little dumpy lady with white hair that she wore in a bun. She was the mother of nine children. But only four were living by the time I came along.

She always had stories to tell us about the time she and my grandfather bought a three hundred acre farm from a German friend of theirs who didn't like his fellow neighbors and they didn't like him. So he sold his farm to a black man, my grandfather. He was the only black man in the area who owned such a property.

So one night the Klu Klux Klan Night Riders came riding up on their horses all dressed in their white hooded robes and asked him to come outside. He didn't respond at first however, but after many entreaties he opened the door wide and let his double-barreled shotgun respond to their request.

After that, the only sound heard was the resounding of horses hooves galloping away.


I guess spunk runs in the family too!!!

A Wise Man Once Said...

I really admire Cornel West's mind and always listen when he has something to say on topics that interest me (and more often than not, he is speaking about something that interests me). This recent acknowledgement he made on Hurricane Katrina was sent to me in an email and I feel compelled to share it with everyone:

“I'm not asking for a revolution, I am asking for reform. A Marshall Plan for the South could be the first step."


Exiles from a City and from a Nation

By Cornel West
The Observer UK
Sunday 11 September 2005

It takes something as big as Hurricane Katrina and the misery we saw among the poor black people of New Orleans to get America to focus on race and poverty. It happens about once every 30 or 40 years.

What we saw unfold in the days after the hurricane was the most naked manifestation of conservative social policy towards the poor, where the message for decades has been: 'You are on your own'. Well, they really were on their own for five days in that Superdome, and it was Darwinism in action - the survival of the fittest. People said: 'It looks like something out of the Third World.' Well, New Orleans was Third World long before the hurricane.

It's not just Katrina, it's povertina. People were quick to call them refugees because they looked as if they were from another country. They are. Exiles in America. Their humanity had been rendered invisible so they were never given high priority when the well-to-do got out and the helicopters came for the few. Almost everyone stuck on rooftops, in the shelters, and dying by the side of the road was poor black.

In the end George Bush has to take responsibility. When [the rapper] Kanye West said the President does not care about black people, he was right, although the effects of his policies are different from what goes on in his soul. You have to distinguish between a racist intent and the racist consequences of his policies. Bush is still a 'frat boy', making jokes and trying to please everyone while the Neanderthals behind him push him more to the right.

Poverty has increased for the last four or five years. A million more Americans became poor last year, even as the super-wealthy became much richer. So where is the trickle-down, the equality of opportunity? Healthcare and education and the social safety net being ripped away - and that flawed structure was nowhere more evident than in a place such as New Orleans, 68 per cent black. The average adult income in some parishes of the city is under $8,000 (£4,350) a year. The average national income is $33,000, though for African-Americans it is about $24,000. It has one of the highest city murder rates in the US. From slave ships to the Superdome was not that big a journey.

New Orleans has always been a city that lived on the edge. The white blues man himself, Tennessee Williams, had it down in A Streetcar Named Desire - with Elysian Fields and cemeteries and the quest for paradise. When you live so close to death, behind the levees, you live more intensely, sexually, gastronomically, psychologically. Louis Armstrong came out of that unbelievable cultural breakthrough unprecedented in the history of American civilization. The rural blues, the urban jazz. It is the tragic-comic lyricism that gives you the courage to get through the darkest storm.

Charlie Parker would have killed somebody if he had not blown his horn. The history of black people in America is one of unbelievable resilience in the face of crushing white supremacist powers.

This kind of dignity in your struggle cuts both ways, though, because it does not mobilize a collective uprising against the elites. That was the Black Panther movement. You probably need both. There would have been no Panthers without jazz. If I had been of Martin Luther King's generation I would never have gone to Harvard or Princeton.

They shot brother Martin dead like a dog in 1968 when the mobilization of the black poor was just getting started. At least one of his surviving legacies was the quadrupling in the size of the black middle class. But Oprah [Winfrey] the billionaire and the black judges and chief executives and movie stars do not mean equality, or even equality of opportunity yet. Black faces in high places does not mean racism is over. Condoleezza Rice has sold her soul.

Now the black bourgeoisie have an even heavier obligation to fight for the 33 per cent of black children living in poverty - and to alleviate the spiritual crisis of hopelessness among young black men.

Bush talks about God, but he has forgotten the point of prophetic Christianity is compassion and justice for those who have least. Hip-hop has the anger that comes out of post-industrial, free-market America, but it lacks the progressiveness that produces organizations that will threaten the status quo. There has not been a giant since King, someone prepared to die and create an insurgency where many are prepared to die to upset the corporate elite. The Democrats are spineless.

There is the danger of nihilism and in the Superdome around the fourth day, there it was - husbands held at gunpoint while their wives were raped, someone stomped to death, people throwing themselves off the mezzanine floor, dozens of bodies.

It was a war of all against all - 'you're on your own' - in the centre of the American empire. But now that the aid is pouring in, vital as it is, do not confuse charity with justice. I'm not asking for a revolution, I am asking for reform. A Marshall Plan for the South could be the first step.

--------
Dr Cornel West is professor of African American studies and religion at Princeton University. His great grandfather was a slave. He is a rap artist and appeared as Counselor West in Matrix Reloaded and Matrix Revolutions.
-------
Interview by Joanna Walters, in Princeton, New Jersey

I'm Back in Action!

This is the longest I have been away, and not by choice, either. Hurrican Katrina had her grip on my internet capabilities until late last week. I will not complain, however, because the devasation she left behind in the Gulf Coast is incomparable. My heart and thoughts go out to those who are suffering in that region. Having to begin new lives after such a disaster, I can't even imagine being in their shoes. But as the news reporters have been saying recently (prompted, surprisingly, by Rev. Al Sharpton), they are not refugees, they are survivors; they will find ways to start over.

I will say this, though: I am tired of seeing nothing but the depressing sights on TV of the mess Katrina left behind; I am tired of rising gas prices and the cost of living; I am tired of our leaders constantly letting us down, abandoning and neglecting us; I am tired of Kanye West's big mouth, and as a result, feel sorry for Mike Myers who had to play it cool when Kanye decided to spout off his personal opinions at the wrong time; I am tired of everything in this country being narrowed down to "race relations." I am "sick and tired of being sick and tired!"

What I do love seeing is how civilians in this country band together when our fellow citizens need our help. It was visible during 9/11 and it is apparent now. Lately, watching the rescue efforts is the only thing that warms me. The compassion that we suppress in daily life releases itself in abundance when tragedy strikes, and being able to actually see it in the faces and efforts that people are making is what makes me feel proud to be American.

For all of those in the Gulf Coast, we hear and see you. Even if our leaders abandoned you, we will not. You are in good hands now.

Dabbling...

I know, I've been slacking off again. Enough people have told me they're sick of coming to the site and not seeing any updates. For this, I apologize; I just get caught up in the every day-ness of things and it can't be helped sometimes (although I am more conscious of it).

Meanwhile, I've been dabbling in this poetry form that has recently caught my attention: tanka. It's of Japanese origin and consists of five lines. Each line has a different syllable pattern, much like haiku. I like to think of tanka poems as extented haiku because of the similar patterns. While haiku lines run in syllables of 5/7/5, tanka lines form the pattern 5/7/5/7/7. After reading up on this form of poetry, I've created a few of my own. And thanks to the help of my poetry mentor who goes by the moniker "A Total View," I am starting to get a pretty good feel for it. Here are a couple of my latest attempts (some I have already revised countless times). Let me know what you think!

#1: A Knight He is Not

Splayed across my bed
is a man not of my dreams.
He smells of stale sweat
and hoards my soiled bed sheets.
I wish I never met him.

#2: Uncharted Territory

Unfamiliar
hills, verdant climbs and valleys,
have led me off course.
Fighting my way through the green,
I am cut by blades of grass.

Here are my most recent ones, so consider this an unveiling of sorts:

#3: Fortune Teller

“Will you read my palm?”
“Sure I will. Open your hand
and put it face up.
Now ball it into a fist.
Destiny is in your hand.”

#4: The Aftermath

She reads from a book,
but can’t focus on the tale.
She attempts once more;
the words have lost all meaning.
She stops, looks outside, and cries.

I'm curious what the responses will be to these... ;)
Until next time--I promise I won't stay away so long!!

In Memorium

This past weekend was my family reunion. It was a very important one for us because my grandmother's death last year was quite tragic. She was such a lovely woman for all of us tolook up to; anyone who could say they knew her were touched by her. I wasn't able to attend this year's family reunion, although I wish this were not so, and I have decided to post the poem I wrote for her funeral. I still miss her dearly.

Goodbye: A Requiem

Only for a short while have you loaned us to each other.
Because we take form in your act of drawing us together,
We breathe in your songs to us and give them life for
The brief spans we are here. But only for so
Short a while have you loaned us to each other.
We must make the most of our times together.

Grandmother, I will miss you more than our language has
The vocabulary to help me articulate.
The only comfort I find in your absence is knowing
You are home where you belong.
I thank Him for blessing us with you, and the
Sacred memories that have been ingrained in me.

You will forever be loved, missed, and a nearby thought.
I will not, however, mourn your death,
But I will indeed, celebrate your life.

© 2004 by Vicky Therese Davis

This doesn't even begin to describe how I truly feel, but suffice it to say, she was very special to me, and I will carry all my memories of her with me till my death.

Minority Report

A few months ago someone told me that blacks could lose their right to vote. At first I didn't believe them until I researched it. In 1965 the 15th Amendment guaranteed us the right to vote, but it has been manipulated in subsections/acts. Surprise, surprise; nothing for minorities is ever so cut-and-dry, or should I insert the pun: “Nothing is ever so black and white.”

In section 5 of the 15th amendment there is something called the "Pre-clearance Act," which basically states that all voting districts have to be cleared by the Attorney General. The "Pre-clearance Act" is not a permanent addition to the Amendment, but it needs to be. In 1982 Ronald Regan gave it a 25 year extension. Now if we sit back and do the math, we have until 2007. We need to write our congressman and bring this issue into the open. This just doesn't affect blacks but all other minorities and poor communities. Look up the 15th Amendment on the internet and find information on this topic. I will put what I’ve found so far below. This issue is still a little sketchy to me, so I will continue to research this topic further to see how alarmed I need to be. We all need to stay informed, no matter what!

The 1982 Amendments
Congress decided in 1982 that Section 5 should be renewed for twenty-five years. Congress also adopted a new standard, which went into effect in 1985, providing how jurisdictions could terminate (or "bail out" from) coverage under the special provisions of Section 4. Furthermore, after extensive hearings, Congress decided that Section 2 should be amended to prohibit vote dilution, according to essentially the same objective factors employed in White v. Register, but without a requirement of proof of discriminatory purpose.

VOTING RIGHTS ACT OF 1965
Section 2:
A nationwide provision that prohibits the use of voting laws, practices or procedures that discriminate in either purpose or effect on the basis of race, color, or membership in a minority language group. All types of voting practices and procedures are covered by Section 2, including those relating to registration, voting, candidacy qualification, and types of election systems.

Section 4:
This portion sets forth the formula under which a political jurisdiction is "covered" by and, therefore, subject to the pre-clearance provisions of Section 5 of the Voting Rights Act.

Section 4 has various dates that trigger coverage. For example: if a jurisdiction used a "test or device" such as a literacy test as of November 1, 1964 and less than 50% of the age-eligible citizens were registered or voted in 1964, it became a covered jurisdiction. Section 4 further notes that if the jurisdiction provided English-Only voter registration/election materials, contained a registered voting age citizenry (or citizens actually voting) of less than 50%, and contained a single language minority group of greater than 5% of its citizens.

Covered jurisdictions include the entire States of Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina, Texas, and Virginia and counties and towns in California, Colorado, Connecticut, Florida, Hawaii, Idaho, Maine, Massachusetts, Michigan, New Hampshire, New York, North Carolina, South Dakota and Wyoming.

Section 5 was designed to prevent states and other government entities with a history of voting discrimination from continuing to devise new ways to discriminate after the abolishment of prior discriminatory practices. Section 5 requires certain covered jurisdictions to submit any proposed voting changes in their election law or practices, prior to implementation, for federal approval by either the Attorney General of the United States or the Federal District Court for the District of Columbia. Covered jurisdictions must demonstrate that the proposed voting changes do not have the purpose or the effect of discriminating against protected racial or language minorities. This process is referred to as the pre-clearance process.

Minority Language Groups: The minority language groups covered by the Voting Rights Act are Native Americans, Asian Americans, Alaska Natives, and persons of Spanish heritage.

Minority Language Provisions: The Voting Rights Act was amended in 1975 and 1992 to include political jurisdictions with language minority groups and requires such jurisdictions to furnish bi-lingual assistance to language minority citizens at all stages of the voting process and in all elections.

Beautiful Day

Ever since Hurricane Dennis swept through, the weather here has been glorious and so have people's moods. It seems like there is no "off season" in Miami anymore and, although it is quite hot, no one seems to care. I love it!

Beautiful Day
palm trees against a clear blue sky
the soundtrack of gently lapping ocean waves
sun-kissed skin cooling in an unhurried breeze
hibiscus flower from someone’s garden
tucked behind my ear
hair spread like a fan on my lawn chair
sinful libation wetting my insides
reading the last page of a good book
no concept of time

©2005 Vicky Therese Davis

Wouldn't it be wonderful if all our days could be like this...?

Cutting Funds

I am a big fan of NPR and PBS. So it upsets me to find out that the rumors that have been spreading around about the government cutting their funding, is true. I recently signed the petition to help stop this madness. Below is some information about the idiocy of cutting public funding and what you can do to help.

*******************************

You know that email petition that keeps circulating about how Congress is slashing funding for NPR and PBS? Well, now it's actually true.

Sign the petition telling Congress to save NPR and PBS:

The House of Representatives is about to vote on whether to slash funding for NPR and PBS, starting with "Sesame Street," "Reading Rainbow" and other commercial-free children's shows. If approved, this would be the most severe cut in the history of public broadcasting, threatening to pull the plug on Big Bird, Cookie Monster, and Oscar the Grouch.

The cuts would eliminate more than $200 million for NPR, PBS and local stations immediately, with more cuts likely in the future. The loss could kill beloved children's shows like "Clifford the Big Red Dog," "Arthur," and "Postcards from Buster." Rural stations and those serving low-income communities might not survive. Other stations would have to increase corporate sponsorships.

The House will vote on the cuts as soon as Tuesday. Can you help us reach 1 million signatures calling on Congress to save NPR and PBS?

www.moveon.org/publicbroadcasting/

Read the New York Times story on the threat to NPR and PBS at
www.moveon.org/r?r=753


I'm calling on anyone and everyone to PLEASE sign the petition and if you can, make sure this gets around!!!

Stale

In a bit of a melancholic mood today from all the bad weather that Hurrican Dennis is giving us. So I thought I'd post a little poem I wrote inspired by Nikki Giovanni a while back (since I still haven't finished my little memoir of my recent trip).

Stale

Looking at all these tired faces
That I’ve been seeing all these years
Makes my shoulders sink.

Going to this dead-end job
That I’ve been working all these years
Makes my head droop.

Making the same small talk
That I’ve been mindlessly gabbing all these years
Makes my back slump.

Living this inconsequential life
That I’ve been making for myself all these years
Makes my eyes tear.

Thinking about this banality
That I’ve allowed to settle
Gives my mouth a bad taste.

©2005 Vicky Therese Davis

Poetic Injustice

Greetings, everyone!

My apologies for staying away from the keyboard so long--I was traveling and seeing the world with my wonderful mother. I will post a little thing or two from my trip in upcoming entries. While I write them, though, I would like to bring something else to your attention: the injustices being brought upon people like Amir Sulaiman, an artist, poet, and activist, who try to enlighten and inspire us to action via their art about social issues that affect us all.

The New COINTELPRO
Def Poetry Jam Artist Under Fire

Since debuting on Def Poetry Jam, Taliy'ah member Amir Sulaiman has been heavily targeted by the Federal Government in an effort to intimidate and threaten him into abandoning his efforts to spread Islam and Social Justice through the medium of poetry and Hip Hop. Other Taliy'ah members were harassed who knew him and had family members harassed and intimidated at their places of employment by Federal Agents.

Some Taliy'ah members agreed to come in and talk to the Federal investigators provided they bring an attorney with them. This was strongly discouraged by the Agents who claimed that the attorney would not allow them to ask the questions they wished to ask. In other words, their questions were designed to incriminate the individuals involved when no wrong doing was apparent in the least.

Brother Amir has gained a strong following of his music, poetry and writings wherever they are made manifest. In turn, the FBI has expressed deep concern saying "Is Amir trying to spread Islam through Hip Hop?" Obviously THIS is their true concern, not whether or not he has done anything illegal; for if he had, they would not be asking questions, they would show the evidence of this and would have put out a warrant for his arrest. Clearly his only crime is that of spreading "Islam through Hip Hop."
______________________________________

Date: October 17th, 2004.

My name is Amir Sulaiman; I am Muslim of African decent born in America. I am a 26 year old, poet, writer, teacher, husband and father. I taped as a featured poet on HBO Def Poetry Jam in February of 2004. My episode aired August 8th through August 14th. Within six days of my performance airing, four FBI agents came to my mother-in-law's home in San Francisco. Although I have lived in Atlanta, GA since 2001 and was only visiting my in-laws in California, these agents came looking for me there. They asked for me but my brother-in-law informed them that I was not there. They waited hours for my return. As they were waiting, they questioned my brother-in-law about my background and asked about my “anti-American” poetry.

When I arrived, I told the agents I didn't want to talk to them without legal representation. In the last two months since then, they have called me on my cell phone. They have gone to the high school at which I taught and questioned the principal about me. Later they issued a grand jury subpoena for the names, addresses, phone numbers of all my students, the classes I taught, and my personal file. In addition, I learned at the Atlanta’s Hartsfiled International Airport’s ticket counter that my name has been added to the FBI’s “no-fly” list. The agents did not return my lawyers phone calls for nearly two months but continued to question my friends and associates.

This experience made me wonder, what is freedom of speech? The reality is that speech has never been free. There have been many poets, writers, and speakers who blazed the trail upon which I walk whose free speech cost them their livelihood, their families and in some cases even their lives. Whether they were inspiring the powerless or chastising the powerful, people like Amiri Baraka, Sojourner Truth and Peter Tosh paid the cost for this “free” speech we talk about.

In a new world, wrought nearly insane with paranoia, I, simply by being Muslim, have become a threat. In an old world, still stuck in the muck of racism, I, as a young Black man, am still a threat. This fear is further compounded by my refusal to remain silent in the face of such blatant hypocrisy, thievery, and tyranny. As a Muslim, as a man, as a member of the Human Family, I must speak the Truth with the loudest, most effective voice I can muster, especially when the virtue of justice has been so casually ignored. It is my sacred obligation.

Islam, my way of life, does not allow me to remain still and quiet while a war is being waged not only against Islam and Muslims, but against the Human Family and Life itself. As the hadith of prophet Muhammad (pbuh&f) states, “Whoever among you sees wrongdoing should change it with his hand. If he is unable, then with his speech. If he is unable, then with his heart, and that is the weakest level of faith.”

I was born and raised in America. My mother and father were born and raised in America and their parents were born and raised in America. I consider America my country. This is beyond the sentiments of patriotism or pride. It is a matter of fact. My people have deep roots and a long history in this land. They have invested their blood in the soil of the South, in the factories of the North and the frontiers of the West. Upon the backs of my foreparents, this nation was built. My family’s history in this country precedes the White House, the Pentagon even the Constitution. America is my country.

Although I do not agree with the policies of the leaders of this nation, their fate and my fate are irresistibly tied together. The decisions of our leaders affect my three little daughters, my parents, my home. This is what impassions my voice and intensifies my warning.

When I present poetry, it is not that I am speaking as Amir Sulaiman. Many people recognize my voice as their own. I have traveled the country presenting my poetry before audiences of many different racial, ethnic, religious, economic, and political backgrounds. They have encouraged me. They have implored me, even commanded me to continue using my poetry to broadcast their voices in ways and in places that they cannot. The people have found their sentiments in my heart and their voice in my words. This is a great blessing and an equally great responsibility. I must warn for fear that we, the people, be assigned to the same fate as our leaders who have created enemies then created wars in order to create revenue.

The artist is to be a warner for society at large. Often the artist is like Cassandra, the character is Greek mythology that was blessed with the ability to see the future but cursed with the promise that no one would ever believe her. Jesus, Muhammad, Ghandi and Malik Shabazz (Malcolm X) were all warners. All of them had loved ones in a society being led down a road towards destruction. All of them also had enemies trying to extinguish their message. Many governments and empires have made the error of silencing the warner. To silence the warner, in a strategy to prevent what is being warned against, is to unplug the fire alarm hoping that will prevent the house from burning down.

The vicious are only kindling a fire about their ankles. In fact, their habit of repression only fuels the brewing discontent and adds fire to the flames. They are dousing the fire with gasoline wondering why the flames only grow more intense and the hatred grows more severe. Both History and prophecy promise a day of awful reckoning for a society that has grown repressive, gluttonous and tyrannical.

My poetry is a sacred obligation that does not require the approval of the FBI or any other government department or agency. I will not ask for my right to speak, as that right has been given to me by the Most High. I only ask for more voices to come forward in the name of justice for the sake of all of us and our families. In truth, coming forward in the name of justice is a sacred obligation upon us all. We must give hope to the hopeless souls, warning to the obstinate tyrants and try to contribute to a more livable life for the Human Family.

Peace
Amir Sulaiman

Moral Obligation

A very interesting question was raised the other day: Would our sense of moral obligation lessen and/or eventually diminish if religion became nonexistent? I know people always say there are three things you should avoid in conversation: sex, religion, and politics. Well, all that’s going out the window here. After all, that’s why I have a blog, to raise issues and state the things that are on my mind, right? Right.

That said, let’s dig into the issue of moral obligation and its relation to religion. I went to Catholic grammar and high schools. I have a Catholic mother and a Pentecostal father who is also a reverend. Having studied these two religions in depth, having friends of varied denominations who have taught me about their beliefs and the dogmas of their religions, as well as researching different schools of philosophy/thought, I have pondered this matter a good deal and have come to one conclusion: I do not believe moral obligation stems from religion. To be more precise, I think that structured religion(s) uses moral obligations in order to create religious laws; morality (as we define it) spawned religious beliefs. Religious institutions were founded on man’s ideas since man’s first thought.

To delve a little further, science has been disproving religion’s fanciful theories for centuries with more logical ones. But, with every new theory, moral obligation has not changed and will not if cared for, not necessarily by a religious institution, but by a family unit and healthy environment. One’s upbringing determines how moral a person is, and one does not have to be raised with religion as the only example of morality or source for instilling moral responsibility. Morality and religion are two separate entities that have been unnecessarily linked. And I don’t think I would be remiss in saying that people hesitate in accepting this way of thought because most structured religions have engrained their superstitions, along with a false sense of security, into their parishioners.

Although it seems that things have become more chaotic, I don't think morality has diminished over time, I think we are more exposed to its presence through all of the terrible images that have been glamorized in the media. Morality is part of being human; conversely, so is immorality. And as we change with the times, so do our standards and ways in which we live. Even religious leaders change their laws to reflect the times. Because moral and metaphysical laws have all been created by man, we shouldn’t be surprised when conflicts arise and amendments are made.

I think the Golden Rule is effective enough in teaching people to take moral responsibility seriously. It’s more logical, practical, and concrete than instilling the fear of God and Hell to make a person “good.” One of my many problems with religion is that moral lessons (and everything else) are instilled with fear and punishment, rather than logic. “You can’t do this, or else all hell and damnation will be upon you!” I’d rather have no reason at all than a bogus one to make me want to be a morally good person. We should all lead ethical lives because there’s no need in making life even harder to deal with. You don’t need religion to teach you not to kill, steal, respect your parents, etc. It should be common sense when applying the Golden Rule; it’s gold for a reason. I’d rather live my life in a way that, if I found out there really is hell and damnation to pay for my transgressions, I’d have nothing to worry about anyway.

Almost French

I get totally infatuated with almost all things French. It's been this way since my last visit to Paris over a year ago. I'm sure it doesn't help that I went to a school of French origin for nine years and that many things have stuck with me into adulthood. I have even entertained dropping everything and moving there to start a whole new life, there or Italy. I would take on a lover, have beautiful clothes, eat all the sumptuous foods, drink all the marvelous wines, all while maintaining an envious figure. I would be so chic and fabulous and speak fluent French with a perfect Parisian accent, because I would, after all, be living in the heart of the city.

After reading Sarah Turnbull's Almost French, her chronicle of moving to France on a whim to be with a French man and becoming a free lance writer inspired me to wonder what life would be like if I did move to France temporarily and then came back to the life I am currently living.It might not be such a good thing.

Dual Citizenship

She left for Paris to discover a new world.
When she got there, exhilarating adventures unfurled.
She danced in the glow of the Eiffel Tower
And absorbed from it its romantic power.
Every night she feasted on rare delights;
So filled with content, her eyes shone bright
Like the brilliantly colored glass in a local parfumerie.
She took in life’s entire splendor via Parisian majesty.
Never had she thought it possible to feel like this.
When she returned home, she knew she would miss
Her lover, the food, shopping, and snobbish accents;
Joie de vivre, great wine and cramped provincial apartments.
At home, she was now to be faced with a great challenge:
Not to compare her reacquired life with the French mélange
Of passions that were so easily expressed.
If not careful, her life would be a mess,
Not fitting in anymore with her friends
Because she had left so many loose ends
Untied across the great Atlantic.
The more she thought of it, she grew frantic.
Her ribs ached for the life she left there,
But still longed for the place where
Most of her beloved memories lived and breathed.
But could she keep these fresher memoirs sheathed,
So they would not cut her heart unexpectedly at every turn?
She loathed the always present acidic burn.

Where is home now?

©2005 Vicky Therese Davis

I guess I would just have to stay there. Pity, pity!

Worthless Marriage

“I won’t do what I’ve seen so many girls do. I won’t waste all my love, all my energy, all my intellect…on some useless man who devotes himself to golf or to selling bonds in the City. When I marry, it will be to someone who’ll really contribute. I mean to humanity, to a better world. Is that such an awful ambition? I don’t come to places like this in search of famous men…I come in search of distinguished ones… But I won’t accept it’s my fate to waste my life on some pleasant, polite, morally worthless man.”

So says Sarah Hemmings, the fiery female lead in Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel, When We Were Orphans. I’m sure this is a question among many unmarried and strong-minded females. My answer is no, it is not such an “awful ambition.” I must say she is not far off; rather it is quite admirable, especially when compared to the ubiquitous image of gold-digging vultures that seems to prevail, lingering in the thoughts of successful unmarried men who have grown wary of “picking the wrong one.”

Well, I’m leery, too. I’ve got a lot to offer and don’t want it wasted on a morally worthless man. None of us should have to accept it’s our fate to squander ourselves on men who are “pleasant, polite, and morally worthless.” The world is filled to the brim with hollow marriages already. Men aren’t the only ones struggling with the vulture factor, either. Successful women have a lot to lose as well, especially now that we are taking more dominant roles in the workplace and at home, and we need to be more cautious (thank lawyers for pre-nups!). Lady Astor is credited for saying, “I married beneath me – all women do.” Why must that be? Of course, I understand her sarcasm here, but still, am I being too idealistic here in thinking it is possible to find someone of equal ambition? Was Sarah Hemmings also? If she was when she made her above declaration, then I echo her enthusiastically. There is nothing wrong with trying to find, or holding out for someone that wishes to better the world in which he/she was born. We should all want to contribute in some manner anyway. A couple joined with that common goal, along with of course, love and all the other romantic sentiments, will be all the stronger and happier when they can genuinely support each other’s aims.

Wanting an ambitious, distinguished partner is completely different than wanting a rich and/or famous one; the latter is just plain gold-digging. It just so happens that sometimes, ambitious and distinguished are linked to rich. We just need to be able to discern for ourselves which of these adjectives is the more attractive one for us, and that will tell us about our true natures.

I can go on debating this topic a lot more, but choose not to get into the nitty-gritty details on a blog. Her statement just seemed an interesting one and I felt like briefly addressing it with people and give them something to think about as well when out there searching. On my part, however, I will stand firm and hold out for the one who will attempt to better the world with me, so that in the meantime, we can enrich each other. But, that’s just me!

Step into Liquid

Since the rain has no thoughts of letting up anytime soon (it is hurricane season afterall), I have grown sick of all the gloomy faces and clouds and frefuse to write anymore about the horrible weather. Instead, let us ride the choppy waves of the ocean together in my poem, "Step into Liquid."

I watch the ocean’s waves
Gently breaking on the shore.
The water rolls so smoothly
That I wish my body could transform
Into this cleansing liquid that
Hypnotizes my mind and causes
Me to dream of faraway places
Anywhere but here
And makes me wish the waves that
Pull the sand with its deceptive undertow
Will drag me out into the depths where
I can finally be one with the elements,
Feeling the earth’s pulse with every ebb and flow.

I look at the white caps and silently
Wish I could dissolve like the tiny bubbles;
Vaporize into the air and be invisible,
Disappear into the ether so my intentions seem undetectable.
No, I recant that dream; better to be water,
Covering the earth en masse with my unpredictability.
I could rise up when angry and change color to reflect my moods.
Serene at one moment and raging the next; the facets of my personality
All a part of Nature’s balance.

In retrospect, never mind; being me is best.
I have the ability to be all things now,
In human form, the way it was intended.
Using the written word, I can become anything I so desire.
Even in my mind, I am all things, because all things are in me.
The Author of Nature has given me the ability—
Nay, the responsibility,
To make manifest my goals.
This is my life’s work, and so I willingly
Step into it, embracing the challenge that is
Me.

©2005 Vicky Therese Davis

I am an Anarchist.

While browzing through one of my many poetry sites, I came across this interesting speech about the true definition of anarchy. Everything in it was so well stated, I don't quite know what else to add, only: Oh how the media distorts the true meanings of things! After reading the Anarchist Goldman's speech, I must say, I guess I am an anarchist, too.

An Anarchist Looks At Life: Speech Before the Foyle's Twenty-Ninth Literary Luncheon
by Emma Goldman, Anarchist

March 1, 1933

Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen, the subject this noon is, "An Anarchist Looks at Life." I cannot speak for all my fellow anarchists, but for myself I wish to say that I have been so furiously busy living my life that I had not a moment left to look at it. I am aware that a period comes to everybody when we are obliged, perforce, to sit back and look at life. That period is a wise old age, but never having grown wise I do not expect to ever reach that point. Most people who look at life never live it. What they see is not life but a mere shadow of it. Have they not been taught that life is a curse visited upon them by a bungling God who has made man in his own image? Therefore most people look at life and upon life as a sort of stepping-stone to a heaven in the hereafter. They dare not live life, or get the living spirit out of life as it presents itself to them. It means a risk; it means the giving up their little material achievements. It means going against "public opinion" and the laws and rules of one's country. There are few people who have the daring and the courage to give up what they hug at their hearts. They fear that their possible gain will not be the equivalent for what they give up. As for myself, I can say that I was like Topsy. I was not born and raised--I "grewed." I grew with life, life in all its aspects, in its heights and in its depths. The price to pay was high, of course, but if I had to pay it all over again, I should gladly do it, for unless you are willing to pay the price, unless you are willing to plunge into the very depths, you will never be able to remount to the heights of life.

Naturally, life presents itself in different forms to different ages. Between the age of eight and twelve I dreamed of becoming a Judith. I longed to avenge the sufferings of my people, the Jews, to cut off the head of their Holofernos. When I was fourteen I wanted to study medicine, so as to be able to help my fellow-beings. When I was fifteen I suffered from unrequited love, and I wanted to commit suicide in a romantic way by drinking a lot of vinegar. I thought that would make me look ethereal and interesting, very pale and poetic when in my grave, but at sixteen I decided on a more exalted death. I wanted to dance myself to death.

Then came America, America with its huge factories, the pedaling of a machine for ten hours a day at two dollars fifty a week. It was followed by the greatest event in my life, which made me what I am. It was the tragedy of Chicago, in 1887, when five of the noblest men were judicially murdered by the State of Illinois. They were the famous anarchists of America--Albert Parsons, Spies, Fischer, Engels and Lingg who were legally assassinated on the 11th of November, 1887. Brave young Lingg cheated his executioners, preferring to die by his own hand, while three other comrades of the executed--Neebe, Fielden and Schwab--were doomed to prison. The death of those Chicago martyrs was my spiritual birth: their ideal became the motive of my entire life.

I realise that most of you have but a very inadequate, very strange and usually false conception of Anarchism. I do not blame you. You get your information from the daily press. Yet that is the very last place on earth to seek for truth in any state of form. Anarchism, to the great teachers and leaders in the spiritual aspect of life, was not a dogma, not a thing that drains the blood from the heart and makes people zealots, dictators or impossible bores. Anarchism is a releasing and liberating force because it teaches people to rely on their own possibilities, teaches them faith in liberty, and inspires men and women to strive for a state of social life where every one shall be free and secure. There is neither freedom nor security in the world today: whether one be rich or poor, whether his station high or low, no one is secure as long as there is a single slave in the world. No one is safe or secure as long as he must submit to the orders, whim or will of another who has the power to punish him, to send him to prison or to take his life, to dictate the terms of his existence, even from the cradle to the grave.

It is not only because of love of one's fellow-men--it is for their own sake that people must learn to understand the meaning and significance of Anarchism, and it will not be long before they will appreciate the great importance and the beauty of its philosophy.

Anarchism repudiates any attempt of a group of men or of any individual to arrange life for others. Anarchism rests on faith in humanity and its potentialities, while all other social philosophies have no faith in humanity whatever. The other philosophies insist that man cannot govern himself and that he must be ruled over. Nowadays most people believe that the stronger the Government the greater the success of society will be. It is the old belief in the rod. The more used on the child the finer will it be when grown to manhood or womanhood. We have emancipated ourselves from that stupidity. We have come to understand that education does not mean knocking in, does not mean crippling, warping and dwarfing the young growth. We have learned that freedom in the development of the child secures better results, both so far as the child and society are concerned.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is Anarchism. The greater the freedom and the opportunities for every unit in society, the finer will be the individual and the better for society; and the more creative and constructive the life of the collectivity. That, in brief, has been the ideal to which I have devoted my life.

Anarchism is not a cut-and-dried theory. It is a vital spirit embracing all of life. Therefore I do not address myself only to some particular elements in society: I do not address myself only to the workers. I address myself to the upper classes as well, for indeed they need enlightenment even more than the workers. Life itself teaches the masses, and it is a strict, effective teacher. Unfortunately life does not teach those who consider themselves the socially select, the better educated, the superior. I have always held that every form of information and instruction that helps to widen the mental horizon of men and women is most useful and should be employed. For in the last analysis, the grand adventure--which is liberty, the true inspiration of all idealists, poets and artists--is the only human adventure worth striving and living for.

I do not know how many of you have read Gorki's marvellous prose-poem called "The Snake and the Falcon." The snake cannot understand the falcon. "Why don't you rest here in the dark, in the good slimy moisture?" the snake demands. "Why soar to the heavens? Don't you know the dangers lurking there, the stress and storm awaiting you there, and the hunter's gun which will bring you down and destroy your life?" But the falcon paid no heed. It spread its wings and soared through space, its triumphant song resounding through the heavens. One day the falcon was brought down, blood streaming from its heart, and the snake said: "You fool, I warned you, I told you to stay where I am, in the dark, in the good warm moisture, where no one could find you and harm you." But with its last breath the falcon replied: "I have soared through space, I have scaled dazzling heights, I have beheld the light, I have lived, I have lived!" (personal side note: I must find a copy of this poem!)

Who would like to join me?

Enough already!

I know that hurricane season has started, but enough of the gloom already! I went for what I thought would be a pleasant walk and regretted it the minute I stepped out of the air conditioning. It felt like I was walking into soup, it was so humid. A film immediately spread across my face and my clothes began sticking to me in the most uncomfortable way. I hadn't even made it down the driveway yet!

Since I was already out, I figured I might as well make the most of my venture, until I caught my reflection in a store window. My once sleek ponytail had turned into a wanna-be afro puff! I had some loose strands hanging nicely from the elastic, but the rest looked like a cross between a mangled piece of brillo and Diana Ross on a bad hair day. That, coupled with my Crisco face made me turn around and head straight back home where I will undoubtedly stay until I absolutely must come out. Talk about traumatic! (Now I have to go and get another piercing...lol)

A Tangled Mess

Try as I might, it just won’t listen.
I tug and pull, twist and tear,
But it refuses to give in.
So I try to ease the tension by
Smoothing it, patting it, stroking it lovingly.
Nothing works; the tangles won’t break free.
I wine and dine it, give it expensive food,
Take it out on the town; nothing works.
It’s costing me a fortune and I’m in a bad mood.
We’re to the point that we have to see experts.
I’m giving in, throwing in the towel; it’s a wrap.
I’ll pull it back, cover it with a cap.
My arms hurt, my head aches and now I’m late
All because of this frizzy hair that won’t cooperate!

© 2005 by Vicky T. Davis

Until next time, folks!

Rain, Rain...

It's such a rainy day today. The kind that makes you want to do nothing but cuddle in bed with a good book or a good movie. Too bad I don't have that luxury!

Watching all the rain
Purify the streets from filth
Gives me cleaner thoughts

I've Found a Hole!

Reading the June issue of Allure (yes, I do indulge in gloss), I came across an interesting bit of news. A study found that people with multiple piercings (other than mundane earlobes) tend to have been exposed to compound traumas. A poll of 196 “multiply-pierced” students, 133 of them being female, taken at the University of Florida in Gainesville, found that the more trauma a person experienced, i.e. a death of someone close, an abortion/miscarriage, divorce, verbal/physical/sexual abuse, etc., the more piercings a person was likely to have. The possible reason cited was that it signifies a person’s ability to withstand pain, and that it is a cathartic process. This finding caught my attention because I have pierced more than my earlobes and have contemplated getting more.

I began to recollect the traumas I have undergone to see if there was any relevance to this claim, whether it could be applied universally. Other than the nowadays typical divorce (is it even considered traumatic anymore?), I have suffered a number of hardships: death, various forms of abuse, near-fatal accidents, and myriad other stressful situations. On top of all that “trauma,” multiple body enhancements became fashionable during my rebellious years. So, looking at my navel ring, I wonder: “At whom should I poke my finger?” Do I blame my past, or do I blame fashion for my hole and the others I’ve entertained?

Still unable to apply this universal statement universally, I looked to my peers. Many of them have fallen victim to the piercing gun repeatedly like addicts flock to the needle for tattoos (which I’m sure will later be linked to another psychological dysfunction). I thought of the intimate stories we’ve shared and realized that they too, encountered this demon called “trauma” on several occasions. Was this a coincidence? Could this finding be true for all of the disfigured masses? I think not. The same hole (no pun intended) still persists; since these are my peers, it is plausible that they followed the piercing trend also.

Given that the poll was held on a college campus full of young impressionable minds, maybe the sample of people was not broad enough to apply universally. Young people follow trends more than any other demographic. My generation and the following one have experienced things previous generations couldn’t even comprehend. In a world of extremes, is it really fair to pigeon-hole the youths with the most piercings into “the traumatized?” I don’t think too many of us, while lying on the padded table under the neon light, thought, “This will show the world how much I’ve suffered,” not even on a subconscious level. It might have been more like, “This navel ring will look so sexy in the summer,” or “The ladies will really dig this brow bar.” The first time I pierced my navel was because I lost a bet, not because my parents got divorced when I was 5.

This study, so far, is inconclusive, in my opinion. We should stop trying to place responsibility on society or whoever else we see fit to blame for our actions. Yes, sometimes our repressed emotions surface in uncanny ways, but that does not make an individual act repeated by others to form a trend a universal cry for help. If you like piercings, but don’t have a legit reason to get one, don’t blame your grandmother’s death on your tongue ring. There is no legitimate reason to get any kind of piercing. OK, it was once a tribal custom and still is in certain parts of the world, however in metropolises all over the globe, a lot of us just think it’s cool.

*(And to my generational counterparts who have not suffered so many compound hardships, I would like to know, if not for fashion, what their excuse/reason for their multiple piercing might be. I will ask them; my study is not yet over.)*

Refining Thought

Today I was going over some short stories I'd written a while back, refining/revising them, and for some reason, it gave me a cleansing feeling. It was like I did some spring cleaning to my words and the clutter of my thoughts was taken away. I feel lighter now, refreshed and clear-headed enough to actually attempt composing something completely new. Like I know what my wardrobe lacked now that it's been downsized and I can buy new clothes. Unfortunately, since shopping isn't in the cards, I'll have to settle with sitting in front of the screen and typing my buying tendencies to rest.

Here's a haiku to express how I feel when I write:

As the ink spills forth
My most intimate wonders
My mind feels lighter

Later, everyone!

Welcome!

Greetings, everyone.

I am really excited to have started this blog; it is an important and much needed form of expression for those seeking an outlet for their feelings and thoughts, and I am obviously one of "those." So I have decided that, here, on this page, my musings and thoughts on life and how it is, will be posted for all to see and comment upon as they see fit. In "Vicky's Reflecting Pool," you will be able to read my poetry, certain thoughts I am unable to keep to myself, rants, and maybe even a book/music/movie review every now and then. I eagerly await all comments, critiques, and responses to my work and/or any issues raised.

That said, here is a piece of poetry to describe who I am. I thought it fit to introduce myself on the first post. Enjoy!

Any Questions?

Yes, I am strong.
I feel weak as hell.
I am loved and I do love.
No, I am not nor do I.
Sure I like myself.
I can’t stand who I am.
Of course, I think I’m beautiful;
I know I am.
No, I’m ugly;
Can’t stand the sight of myself.
Smart? Hell yeah!
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Yes, I am happy.
Life couldn’t be better.
I am so discontented;
My life sucks and has no point.
No, I am definitely not complicated!
Why would you ask such a question?!?!

Until next time...