In a few weeks, I will be having surgery for a malignant tumor in my thyroid. The outcome is unknown, but the prognosis is excellent. The surgery has been delayed until the surgeon receives pulmonology and cardiac clearance. I have stenosis (shut closed) in a porcine tricuspid heart valve, placed twelve years ago.
I feel very positive about the outcome of the surgery and treatment, and believe that I will be so much healthier and stronger after I recover. Still, any cancer diagnosis is a frightening and emotional process. In the days after I received the diagnosis, I thought I could place this energy into my writings, especially my current novel project, Aquarius Rich; yet, I often find myself in a creative block these days, usually in the form of severe fatigue.
So instead, I am projecting all of the pain, uncertainty and fear, as well as my strength, hope, and the blessings of my circumstances into blog journals. This is the first entry, prior to the scheduling of surgery, and having completed the pre-op testing that was required.
May 29, 2012: No More Boring Weekends: Evidence of The Secret Working in My Life
I’m resting today and I decided to enjoy it. More than that, I find myself blessed that I can rest today, as masses return to their jobs, their routines,and their stresses after a long Holiday Weekend.
I spent the Memorial Day Weekend inside my home 98% of the time. I got out to the store.
Here was yet another Holiday Weekend that I would spend homebound, either uninvited or unable to attend the backyard and outdoor events that signal the beginning of summer. I become depressed, bored and anxious as these holidays begin.
Yet by the end of the weekend, I realized that I was quite tired from a fun and active weekend. I had visited with friends; I bowled a 237, lost at tennis, and ran drag races around the world with Wii; I joined conversations through social media; ate lots of ice cream, fresh pineapple, and sunburst tomatoes; I spent time talking with both of my kids long distance. When I wasn’t busy with friends and family, I lounged in my new chair, ran my bare toes through my thick shag rug while reading Biopiracy, the Plunder of Nature and Knowledge.
Vandana Shiva’s thesis on the natural rights of indigenous populations compares Columbus’ discoveries and the colonization of indigenous peoples with the 20th century plundering and colonization of biology and indigenous knowledge by Multinational Corporations. The European’s piracy was granted legal under the power of the Papal Bull of Donation, giving all “empty lands…discovered and yet to be discovered” to Europe and to be ruled by Christian Princes. The MNCs receive their power from 20th Century treaties such as GATT (General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade)and TRIPs (Trade Related Intellectual Property Rights). These acts along with patent laws grant them ownership of all “empty life”…discovered and yet to be discovered. I was researching the criminalization of the exchange of knowledge through The Economic Espionage Act of 1996 and the Patriot Act of 2001, to support the argument that government regulation and taxation of Cannabis will lead to corporate ownership of the Cannabis genome and control of the creative discovery and production.
When I read that 72 million Native Americans were reduced to two million in the name of creative discovery, my baseless fears of a lonely weekend seemed so very trivial and narcissistic.
As I mentioned above, I did get out to the store, mainly because I ran out of Ice Cream. That’s how much I like ice cream, besides the fact that it is one of the few things that I can eat right now. Plus it’s creamy and sweet and cold and feels good going down my throat, sliding past the malignant tumor that obstructs my throat and melting into the furnace that is my stomach. I bought two half gallons: German Chocolate Cake is my current binge; the other flavor was a “Seasonal Special” called Banana Cream Pie. The label said, Pieces of flakey pie crust in sweet creamy ice cream swirled with Banana Sauce. OMG! How wonderful life is when you have ice cream!
No more lonely, boring Holiday Weekends. I’m not saying that there won’t be lots of holidays when I will find myself home alone and no plans. I realized that I may sometimes be alone, but I have no reason to be lonely. I discovered that throughout the weekend, I will have celebrated and enjoyed the many blessings of my life. “The Secret” tells us to attract what we want in our life through our thoughts and actions, and those things will begin to appear. Begin looking for the evidence of their appearance, the author advises. The evidence of the blessings of friendship and love was too strong for me to ignore. I will no longer attract misery by expecting boredom and unhappiness.
-kmarie
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN
Originally released by the Moody Blues in 1969, Nights in White Satin was re-released in approximately 1974 as a single. With “FM” stereo still in it’s infancy, the pop “AM” stations, who would not play songs longer than two minutes, left off the chilling “poem” (early rock-rap?), that was an integral part of the original song. Being a rock purist and aficionado, even in middle school, I had the original recording on vinyl. MANY years later, I still remember the words by heart…
NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN, ending poetry
Breathe deep, the gathering gloom;
Watch lights fade in every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament-
Another day’s useless in years spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one;
A lonely man cries for love and has none;
A new mother picks up and suckles her son;
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb, that rules the night;
Removes the color from our sight –
Red is grey and yellow white.
But we decide which is right;
And which is an illusion.
©1969 The Moody Blues, from the album version of “Nights in White Satin”.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
THE LAST DAY
If today were to be my last day
Would anyone know that I’d gone away?
How many days do you think would pass
Before someone would miss my ass?
How many days would fly right by
Before someone just wanted to say “high”,
hello!
And after no answer for a day or two,
Would they come by and say, “hey you!
Anyone home? I rang the bell,
But inside your house is as quiet as hell.
I’d like to visit, if you’d answer your door,
I got no money to go elsewhere and score.”
If this was to be my last night,
If I suddenly was gone and out of sight,
How long would it be before anyone came?
Someone who knew me and knew my name?
A day, a week, a month or two
After I’d moved on into the blue
Will anyone miss me or even care
That I’m no longer here to share?
I pose this question in deep despair
Wondering how and when and why and where
I lost my way on this winding road
And strayed from family friends and the crowd.
Righteous and indignant, my path was my own
Never afraid of the day I’d be alone.
After two failed marriages, both in short time
I accepted that love would never be mine.
The past was gone, and with it all I knew
I started over from scratch at the age of thirty two.
To redeem the person that I could be
Meant to mother the children God gave to me.
If today was to be my last day,
Would anyone know I’d gone away?
I thought myself good and thoughtful and wise
To be so alone to me is a surprise.
I must have missed something along the way
For to be alone at the end of the day
Came insidiously through the long years
Of quiet nights and hidden tears
And somehow managed to come into line
With my final destiny…
At least this time.
Monday, February 6, 2012
SHADES OF GRAY
All the things surrounding me
mean nothing much at all,
For what in Life left for me is hid behind a wall
Of Fate and Hope and Luck and Chance,
Of Happenings and Circumstance.
There’s safety in the still of night,
When no one else can see
The tears, the pain, the loneliness that life has left with me.
And I watch the colors fade away,
As life becomes Shades of Gray.
-kmarie
mean nothing much at all,
For what in Life left for me is hid behind a wall
Of Fate and Hope and Luck and Chance,
Of Happenings and Circumstance.
There’s safety in the still of night,
When no one else can see
The tears, the pain, the loneliness that life has left with me.
And I watch the colors fade away,
As life becomes Shades of Gray.
-kmarie
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Some Notes of Gratitude
Kim Marie and The Green Association for Sustainability
THANK YOU … I am grateful for the 3,500 + of you that took the time to read my writings.
THANK YOU – I am grateful for technology, which has opened up a world of literacy and creativity never before available.
THANK YOU – To NORML, and the other many similar groups fighting for basic human rights.
The ending of my dream before it reached even the lowest baseline I had hoped, is not due to one or two or even three problems with my health. It is an issue that has developed after years of abuse and malpractice by the medical community, particularly in the Southwest U.S. In a complicated and dangerous open heart surgery, my tricuspid heart valve was replaced in 1998, in Phoenix, Arizona. With proper medical care, I was able to continue my University studies into Graduate School and beyond; I raised two wonderful children to adulthood.
I moved to Houston, the nearest big city, with grand hopes of Museums, Art, Culture, Opportunity…of big deals and important people, of talent and possibilities.
And yes, they are all here.
What is missing is a little thing called health care. If I were brave, I would tell you that I am homebound. But I’m not that brave, and the words “HOMEBOUND” and “DEAD” have the same meanings for me.
Giving up on dreams is so painful. The only way to do it is to cut it out of myself. I have tried to find another path to take; yet I look deeply within and without and I see no road, no path, no trail, no footprints; there is no voice calling “Here!”.
There is no soft wind rustling through the trees and brush and vines that guard this unlit path. Hidden under the cover of lambs-wool, the dark eyes of malevolent wolves watch, and before I have discovered their ruse, they have scavenged the meat from my bones and left my carcass to rot.
kmarie
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
DRAFT POETRY IN MOTION: UNREQUITTED
July 11, 2011
March 26, 2011
January 12, 2017
UNREQUITTED
By K. Marie
I held my breath, I held my tongue
yearning to believe the sight,
Wanting this time, to be right,
I wished, I prayed to not be wrong.
Melody, your gun to my head
quiet hammer click I heard,
foolish fantasies, I yearned,
Instead to take you straight to bed.
I built them tough I built them strong
to keep out hurt, pain, and lies,
murmurs that were clearly wrong,
While you were gently kissing my thighs.
Sweet whispers and a puff of breath
crumbled walls one at a time,
brick by brick, too high to climb,
You gave me a choice, life or death.
Poetry in Motion:
The creation of poetry, prose, and even copywriting, is to communicate. Whether you call it poetry, prose, slam, or rap, it starts with an idea, a rhythm, a beat, a word, a hook, a rime or meter. Conceived easily or not, it starts as a formless bunch of words, rimes, hooks, beats. It is shaped by the fears, joys, tragedies, milestones, and memories of its creator. Over time it takes shape and becomes a living, growing entity, carved and shaped over days, weeks, months, even years. It is born in pain and is nurtured until becomes its reflection.“Unrequitted” was written in two writing sessions, the first being a free write of words and rhymes, which were then cut and pasted into the following early draft form.
Follow the creative process, as I create a prose from these random words.
The first edit is to remove a line I’m just not feeling!
DRAFT 1
WORKING TITLE: UNREQUITTED
By K. Marie
I held my breath, I held my tongue
Yearning to believe the sight,
Wanting this time to be right.
How could I have been so wrong?
A quiet hammer click I heard
Foolish fantasies I yearned
Instead to take you to bed.
In sweet whispers and subtle words,
And a puff of breath,
You crumbled my walls built one at a time,
Brick by brick, too high to climb,
Strong and thick
To keep out the hurt
The pain and the lies
Like the ones you told me
While kissing my thighs.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
THE SKATING POOL - A Short Short Story
THE SKATING POOL
It was a phenomenon of the times and random acts of nature and man that California was in a drought for most of the 1970’s. Conservation efforts eventually forced the draining of the State’s ecology of swimming pools. In Southern California, urethane wheels popularized skateboarding, and the ready-made half-pipes of empty pools created an Olympic sport.
We were five average teens who aspired to be above average skaters, The Tomcats, spending our time scouting empty pools to skate…until one August night.
"We gonna hit that pool that Marco set up” I reminded Slider, passing a poorly rolled joint. I turned onto a residential road, up a steep winding hill with cul-de-sacs to each side. We pulled into one of the circles and parked behind a redwood fence.
Skid and Buzz were already there, and piled out of their Bug, swinging their boards above their heads. Marco was to meet us there.
We heard the swish of the Copter flying overhead and dove to the bottom of the fence as the Copter’s beam searched the neighborhood. Peering through the redwood fence boards, I saw a shadow race around to the front of the house with the empty pool and out of site. We stayed quietly until the Copter was gone.
Marco wasn’t to be found so we jumped the fence, passing the skateboards overhead. I hit the ground and scratched my elbows on lava rock as Slider landed next to me. We stood in thought and examined the shape and depth of the pool, as if we were expert Olympian athletes about to go for the Gold..
“Marco!” Buzz called out in a loud whisper. No answer.
I peered into the dark pool. It sloped sharply in the deep end, so that it was impossible to see the bottom. A black film of algae and water and waste had settled that may have been three inches or three feet.
I placed my board first with my left foot, took a swift push with my right foot and placed it on to the back of the board. I curled around the shallow end, carving a figure eight and controlling the board with my back foot, pushing the trucks up the pool sides, three or four feet. On the next run, the tip of my board hit the tiling at the five foot mark and I crouched and leaned into the turn with the same moves that surfers make. Around the rim, my body twisting to make the next left and cross my path again in a figure eight, this time a little deeper.
I was close to the dark stagnant water and I felt the wheels slide on algae. The board slipped from beneath me, and I flew into the blackness of rancid and stale water. My back hit the bottom, knocking the air out of me and drawing dirty water in. The chemical smell of fermentation burned in my nose.
I struggled in the mess, trying to figure which way was up, when my flailing arms hit against something. I grabbed hold, it was an arm, and I pictured Slider leaning over the muck to help me. It slipped away and I grasped for him again, wheezing for air. I caught on and pulled my face out of the water, still holding tight to that which had saved me. Once again I could hear the swish of the Copter, circling, sounding closer and louder and surreal until it was directly over the pool. The light circled around until it held the entire scene in its beam. A gasp of terror heaved from my chest as the rest of the gang stood motionless on the pool steps. Tight in my grip was Marco, cold, blue, and dead.
It was a phenomenon of the times and random acts of nature and man that California was in a drought for most of the 1970’s. Conservation efforts eventually forced the draining of the State’s ecology of swimming pools. In Southern California, urethane wheels popularized skateboarding, and the ready-made half-pipes of empty pools created an Olympic sport.
We were five average teens who aspired to be above average skaters, The Tomcats, spending our time scouting empty pools to skate…until one August night.
"We gonna hit that pool that Marco set up” I reminded Slider, passing a poorly rolled joint. I turned onto a residential road, up a steep winding hill with cul-de-sacs to each side. We pulled into one of the circles and parked behind a redwood fence.
Skid and Buzz were already there, and piled out of their Bug, swinging their boards above their heads. Marco was to meet us there.
We heard the swish of the Copter flying overhead and dove to the bottom of the fence as the Copter’s beam searched the neighborhood. Peering through the redwood fence boards, I saw a shadow race around to the front of the house with the empty pool and out of site. We stayed quietly until the Copter was gone.
Marco wasn’t to be found so we jumped the fence, passing the skateboards overhead. I hit the ground and scratched my elbows on lava rock as Slider landed next to me. We stood in thought and examined the shape and depth of the pool, as if we were expert Olympian athletes about to go for the Gold..
“Marco!” Buzz called out in a loud whisper. No answer.
I peered into the dark pool. It sloped sharply in the deep end, so that it was impossible to see the bottom. A black film of algae and water and waste had settled that may have been three inches or three feet.
I placed my board first with my left foot, took a swift push with my right foot and placed it on to the back of the board. I curled around the shallow end, carving a figure eight and controlling the board with my back foot, pushing the trucks up the pool sides, three or four feet. On the next run, the tip of my board hit the tiling at the five foot mark and I crouched and leaned into the turn with the same moves that surfers make. Around the rim, my body twisting to make the next left and cross my path again in a figure eight, this time a little deeper.
I was close to the dark stagnant water and I felt the wheels slide on algae. The board slipped from beneath me, and I flew into the blackness of rancid and stale water. My back hit the bottom, knocking the air out of me and drawing dirty water in. The chemical smell of fermentation burned in my nose.
I struggled in the mess, trying to figure which way was up, when my flailing arms hit against something. I grabbed hold, it was an arm, and I pictured Slider leaning over the muck to help me. It slipped away and I grasped for him again, wheezing for air. I caught on and pulled my face out of the water, still holding tight to that which had saved me. Once again I could hear the swish of the Copter, circling, sounding closer and louder and surreal until it was directly over the pool. The light circled around until it held the entire scene in its beam. A gasp of terror heaved from my chest as the rest of the gang stood motionless on the pool steps. Tight in my grip was Marco, cold, blue, and dead.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
I MISS YOUR KISS
I MISS YOUR KISS
I miss your kiss on my body
On my lips, and on my breast,
On that place at the back of my neck,
Your lips finding new places to rest,
Like a weary sojourner traveling through places
Exploring the landscape of love’s enlaces,
You learn by heart my geography
As your kisses memorize my topography.
c 2010 K Rojas
I miss your kiss on my body
On my lips, and on my breast,
On that place at the back of my neck,
Your lips finding new places to rest,
Like a weary sojourner traveling through places
Exploring the landscape of love’s enlaces,
You learn by heart my geography
As your kisses memorize my topography.
c 2010 K Rojas
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Kim Marie Rojas (AmicaGregata) on Twitter
How the Dead Live
Friends who could help but won't;
families who should care but don't;
physicians who could cure but can't;
cons who take because they can.
Kim Marie Rojas (AmicaGregata) on Twitter
The Green Association for Sustainability
Friends who could help but won't;
families who should care but don't;
physicians who could cure but can't;
cons who take because they can.
Kim Marie Rojas (AmicaGregata) on Twitter
The Green Association for Sustainability
Friday, June 4, 2010
IF laws have been broken?
Friday, June 04, 2010
Thoughts on BP, the Gulf Coast.
Already criticized for giving British Petroleum too much power in the Deepwater Horizon disaster, Obama issued what the Houston Chronicle now considers “tough talk”, vowing to prosecute those responsible, according to the Chronicle.
What Obama said was, ““If our laws were broken, leading to this death and destruction, my solemn pledge is that we will bring those responsible to justice ,” IF?
Tell that to the thousands of people who are incarcerated for no arguable reason but a nonsense law; but one can destroy the oceans, human and animal life, cultures and livelihoods without breaking any laws?
Early on I heard Deepwater Horizon referred to as a "Natural Manmade Disaster". There is nothing natural about this.
See Houston Chronicle article at: http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/business/energy/7032499.html
Amica Gregata
Thoughts on BP, the Gulf Coast.
Already criticized for giving British Petroleum too much power in the Deepwater Horizon disaster, Obama issued what the Houston Chronicle now considers “tough talk”, vowing to prosecute those responsible, according to the Chronicle.
What Obama said was, ““If our laws were broken, leading to this death and destruction, my solemn pledge is that we will bring those responsible to justice ,” IF?
Tell that to the thousands of people who are incarcerated for no arguable reason but a nonsense law; but one can destroy the oceans, human and animal life, cultures and livelihoods without breaking any laws?
Early on I heard Deepwater Horizon referred to as a "Natural Manmade Disaster". There is nothing natural about this.
See Houston Chronicle article at: http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/business/energy/7032499.html
Amica Gregata
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
WHAT IF
What If?
I always thought that when it came,
I’d be ready for the end.
By that time I’d be resigned and tame,
Death would appear a welcome friend.
But what if I still want to live,
Still want to learn and grow?
What if I still have gifts to give,
And I’m not yet ready to go?
What if I’m too young still,
Not old enough to die?
What if I want to wait until
I’ve experienced life
Before I say
…GOODBYE...
—Samantha Reid
http://www.projectghb.org/remembered/samantha.htm
NO ME LO DAS
No Me Lo Das
Callate! Pa’ que
No dejas caer mentiras
de la boca anchada
Y no moscas
pueden entrar la cerrada.
No me lo das tu corazon,
amarillo como un limon.
Me prestas tu atencion,
tengo hambre como un leon.
No me lo das tu promesa a mi,
vacio como los ojos de ti.
No dejas caer mentiras
de las bocas abiertas,
Y digame las palabras
lo que son las ciertas.
© 2009, 2017 Kimmarie Rojas
Callate! Pa’ que
No dejas caer mentiras
de la boca anchada
Y no moscas
pueden entrar la cerrada.
No me lo das tu corazon,
amarillo como un limon.
Me prestas tu atencion,
tengo hambre como un leon.
No me lo das tu promesa a mi,
vacio como los ojos de ti.
No dejas caer mentiras
de las bocas abiertas,
Y digame las palabras
lo que son las ciertas.
© 2009, 2017 Kimmarie Rojas
Monday, December 21, 2009
CHRISTMAS 2009
CHRISTMAS
Christmas Alone
And miles from home
Cold hearth and empty sleigh And miles from home
Nor shall my beloveds
Pass this way.
© 2009 krojas
Thursday, December 10, 2009
RESUME by Dorothy Parker, (1893-1967)
RESUME --- 1926
by Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
Comment: An example of rhythm, using consistent end-stops, monosyllabism, and uses Trochaic ( RAzors PAIN you... ) meter rather than Iambic (which is more common as it more closely resembles natural speech) Note all lines are 4 syllables, except 6 and 8, which are 3 and 5, respectively. As a rhythmic dance, such as salsa, is still salsa with an extra step or kick, the rhythm of the poem is maintained even though the author did not follow the meter consistently, while maintaining the rhythm, as well as short dimeter (two foot) lines throughout.
by Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
Comment: An example of rhythm, using consistent end-stops, monosyllabism, and uses Trochaic ( RAzors PAIN you... ) meter rather than Iambic (which is more common as it more closely resembles natural speech) Note all lines are 4 syllables, except 6 and 8, which are 3 and 5, respectively. As a rhythmic dance, such as salsa, is still salsa with an extra step or kick, the rhythm of the poem is maintained even though the author did not follow the meter consistently, while maintaining the rhythm, as well as short dimeter (two foot) lines throughout.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
YOUR PRIDE
You choke on Your Pride
and spit bone
straight through to my Heart.
You stand on Your Ground
and I've known
blood ran from the Start.
©1999 K Rojas
Last revised 12/09 amica gregata
revised 2/12 kmarie
revised 1/17 kimmarie
and spit bone
straight through to my Heart.
You stand on Your Ground
and I've known
blood ran from the Start.
©1999 K Rojas
Last revised 12/09 amica gregata
revised 2/12 kmarie
revised 1/17 kimmarie
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
ONE THOUSAND FEET
ONE THOUSAND FEET
by Kimmarie Rojas
JOE: The Addict
JUDGE: The Regulator and Lawmaker
JURY: The Peers
JOE:
“For one thousand feet, they spread the plague
With rules and tools and laws that are vague.
The fall to death is quick and steep
With no help within one thousand feet.”
JUDGE:
“An imperfect destiny is what’s in the rig,
And it may be too late for you to renege,
But within that space the Reaper is home,
where death is by alphabet, HCV, HIV,
Auto Immune Deficiency Syndrome.
JURY:
“A light to those who rightly believe
That harm reduction can relieve
Disease and death through a simple exchange
From dirty to clean and the count is the same.
For twenty one years the federal laws stayed
To ban program funding of needle exchange,
And yes they will lift it, but in the fine print it
Reads “make them stay at one thousand feet!”
JUDGE“One thousand feet? That’s not so far -
Just like the porn shop or biker bar!
Not near the school nor near the park,
Away from our youth, over there in the dark!
They don’t need to see a line over there
Of junkies who need to sharpen their ware.”
JURY:
“Though some disagree say that one thousand feet
Is an impossible restriction on a metro street.
A divided nation, no one can agree
Demagogues and demi-gods, elected imperfectly
Our leaders and rulers have their own destiny,
of judgment and justice, imperfectly."
JOE:
“For one thousand feet, they spread the plague
With rules and tools and laws that are vague.
For one thousand feet, a sick addict must crawl
In order to safely alleviate withdrawal.”
JURY:"Progress moves slow and the War is long,
And after One Hundred years it’s been proved wrong
Again and again, that more harm than good
Comes from laws of what shouldn’t
and laws of what should."
A compromise please of one thousand feet,
As these are our laws, imperfectly.
© 2009 Kimmarie Rojas
Please go to:
http://www.mapinc.org/alert/0419.html
to learn more about the Senate bill regarding SEP’s and Harm Reduction.
by Kimmarie Rojas
JOE: The Addict
JUDGE: The Regulator and Lawmaker
JURY: The Peers
JOE:
“For one thousand feet, they spread the plague
With rules and tools and laws that are vague.
The fall to death is quick and steep
With no help within one thousand feet.”
JUDGE:
“An imperfect destiny is what’s in the rig,
And it may be too late for you to renege,
But within that space the Reaper is home,
where death is by alphabet, HCV, HIV,
Auto Immune Deficiency Syndrome.
JURY:
“A light to those who rightly believe
That harm reduction can relieve
Disease and death through a simple exchange
From dirty to clean and the count is the same.
For twenty one years the federal laws stayed
To ban program funding of needle exchange,
And yes they will lift it, but in the fine print it
Reads “make them stay at one thousand feet!”
JUDGE“One thousand feet? That’s not so far -
Just like the porn shop or biker bar!
Not near the school nor near the park,
Away from our youth, over there in the dark!
They don’t need to see a line over there
Of junkies who need to sharpen their ware.”
JURY:
“Though some disagree say that one thousand feet
Is an impossible restriction on a metro street.
A divided nation, no one can agree
Demagogues and demi-gods, elected imperfectly
Our leaders and rulers have their own destiny,
of judgment and justice, imperfectly."
JOE:
“For one thousand feet, they spread the plague
With rules and tools and laws that are vague.
For one thousand feet, a sick addict must crawl
In order to safely alleviate withdrawal.”
JURY:"Progress moves slow and the War is long,
And after One Hundred years it’s been proved wrong
Again and again, that more harm than good
Comes from laws of what shouldn’t
and laws of what should."
A compromise please of one thousand feet,
As these are our laws, imperfectly.
© 2009 Kimmarie Rojas
Please go to:
http://www.mapinc.org/alert/0419.html
to learn more about the Senate bill regarding SEP’s and Harm Reduction.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
MY LEFT FOOT, PART V
My Left Foot
PART V
I could not hide my disappointment when the x-ray tech made the comment,
Even though it was a long-shot deal --”These broken bones still need to heal.”
“It is healing”, the doctor’s nurse said. “It’s just taking time -- you need to stay in bed!.”
I replied "that’s easier said than done, when there’s things to do and I’m the only one."
But perhaps if I HAD remained prone, I may not still be alone.
Yet such would require to bind my hands and my feet, or to find
An attentive and potent man, to stay with me at my divan!
(Naturally, the latter would be a preferable fit, as I would certainly convince someone to loosen the straps a bit…)
c 2009 Kimmarie Rojas
PART V
I could not hide my disappointment when the x-ray tech made the comment,
Even though it was a long-shot deal --”These broken bones still need to heal.”
“It is healing”, the doctor’s nurse said. “It’s just taking time -- you need to stay in bed!.”
I replied "that’s easier said than done, when there’s things to do and I’m the only one."
But perhaps if I HAD remained prone, I may not still be alone.
Yet such would require to bind my hands and my feet, or to find
An attentive and potent man, to stay with me at my divan!
(Naturally, the latter would be a preferable fit, as I would certainly convince someone to loosen the straps a bit…)
c 2009 Kimmarie Rojas
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