
I Used to Love Christmas Movies...
I have been watching White Christmas for 65 years so
tonight, the first film shot in VistaVision and Technicolor
rolls onto my tv screen; but the evening news, with far more
advanced tools, has begun to seep into my holiday films ...
When Hamas attacked Jerusalem in October,
Israel Defense Forces immediately began reprisals.
For them, the intifadas and brief wars in recent history
have turned déjà vu news into all-out war.
In the dining car of a train, two couples in a booth
sing and play games with
snow white napkins suddenly
go black and turn into ashes as fragments of fire
and debris rain on them from a bombed house nearby.
Two men casually walk near a red new England barn
but
the ground they walk on is sandy, the air hot, and
surrounding buildings have been bombed beyond recognition.
Later, while the stars sing and dance under bright
stage lights, the
pink mist” of the swirling particles
of exploded human bodies is still visible.
Santa appears in his fat jolly bearded best, gayly waving
to parade watchers of all ages who have lined the street
to celebrate
a brief ceasefire, and the exchange of
two dozen hostages; who pass foreign aid workers
with food and medicine for those who remain,
whose hope is threadbare but persistent, whose homeland
is a battlefield, and whose hospitals are cemeteries.
It is not Christmas yet, so Love actually has not been re-born yet;
but for now, a romantic comedy, set within a month of Christmas,
features ten separate stories depicting ten different aspects of love,
We are reporting from the rubble of buildings, and homes
that are no longer alive, from horror that ripped
like lightening through both sides of this war...
Peace
not until George Baily appreciates
himself, his family, and friends, through some flashbacks:
since 8th Century BCE,
Palestine has been controlled by Ancient Egypt, Persia,
Alexander the Great and his successors, the Roman Empire,
Muslim caliphates, Crusaders, the Ottoman Empire,
the United Kingdom, numerous treaties, governments,
and boundary lines.
A small bell-shaped Christmas ornament joyfully rings
the news that an angel has got his wings.
Three thousand years of war has resolved nothing. Neither
the conquerors nor the conquered are ever blameless,
since victory seems to change hands so frequently.
The language of Peace
has not been heard in this region for thousands of years.
Subtitles and interventions have merely bought
short-term solutions. War does not ever stop war...
it merely goes on hiatus until the bloody sequel appears.
Friday Morning, 2:00 a.m.
sleeping through the evening news
Explosions
keep my head low
breathe
Fire and smoke below
Run don’t stop
Get to the roof
I drag myself up the stairs
high adrenalin,
Lungs straining
deep coughs
I must keep moving
until I can rise from the couch
The evening news program explodes into my room
ands grabs me by the tips of my white knuckles
It is more real than a dream
The tv is off now,
there is silence
and I am comfortable
The couch is a recliner
my back is relaxed,
my legs are up
been a long day,
just getting to this quiet time
has its price
It is another episode , this one
a tv news feature
on aggression, war, and terror;
a reality check for people like me
privileged, to live on the outside
of the tv news
Chasing History
I keep a steady pace,
twenty-six steps and several generations
from the curb to the library door.
I look around me
to be sure that no one follows.
The library is cavernous, empty, quiet,
and seldom used. The Council puts news on
screens and speakers throughout the city,
and answers all our questions for us.
Anxious. Beyond a two-story high door,
a man smiles from a dark wood desk;
for him at least, my visit is welcome.
The library itself is a historical building
only open to a few select scholars.
Second floor rear. Dim light.
A sign labels contents for each row.
My target is a book on
(women’s health)
These 20th century books
are branded feminist, banned
for positive responsible content,
and viewpoints that affirm
the radical notion that
women are free, and
a democratic society of free people
demands that we must claim
our entitlement to
reproductive rights
women’s health,
respected homosexuality,
Certain that I am alone,
I start to read.
“I am not pregnant, but I’ve been feeling
strange. The fish I ate last night
didn't settle well with me…”
I had told my boss.
But I don't know if I'm pregnant or not.
I am worried, Jack left four weeks ago,
and I just don't know anything about
being pregnant or unpregnant. But
I am here, and I am glad I found
the last “public” library in Florida.
Now I just don’t know what to do next.