Untitled #012617

What a sad existence

To want love

And only receive a semblance loyalty,

To have power

And no control.

How pathetic it is

To be able to snap your fingers

And your will be done,

Only to have your intentions

Work against you,

To discover that respect

Doesn’t always accompany a title.

Petulance and bribery

Got you everything you wanted at home,

But aren’t in Manhattan anymore.

Your position amongst the aristocracy

Is worth less than piss in this town.

What does a city boy know about wolves and snakes?

If you knew your history

You’d understand the ending

Even before you began.

You’d know your vessel has holes in it

And that your crew drilled the holes.

You don’t know how to walk on water

Or doggy paddle.

What a sad reality,

That you really think you are wearing new clothes.

new_dress_dsc09958

Photo Credit: Владимир_Шеляпин

Excerpt: Persistence of Vision

The following is the title poem of my book, Persistence of Vision. I’m posting this as a response to the Daily Post Prompt to write about Vision.  The poem was inspired by three things:

  • A performance by The Blue Man Group called, “Rods and Cones.” This is where I first heard of the medical theory called, “persistence of vision.” (Their breakdown of the theory is far more entertaining that what you will find on wikipedia. Check it out!)
  • The belief that the Amish hold regarding having their pictures taken.
  • The I35W Bridge Collapse in Minnesota in 2007. One of the first responders to the catastrophe described trying to take pictures of how visually overwhelming the scene was by saying, “Some things are only meant for the eyes.”

I hope you enjoy this piece! (P.S. I’m going to file this under “V” for vision in the A to Z Blog Challenge!)

Tunnel Vision by Kate Mereand-Sinha
Tunnel Vision by Kate Mereand-Sinha

Persistence of Vision

The soul gets lost
when you try to still time.
Modern technology can’t
do the moment justice.
Some things
are only meant
for the eyes to receive.

The memory serves
as the best recorder.
It’s a broad canvas
that establishes the scenes
in proper emotional perspective.

Pictures, moving and still,
have their place.
They coax the memory,
which has been buried in time,
to awaken and recall
every movement and sound,
and smell and emotion,
so the soul can be stirred
and the heart can be moved
by the image once more.

Still, an image won’t fit in a frame.
Some things are only meant for the eyes.

When I was young…

Image of NPR memo as found on http://nprchives.tumblr.com/post/84119269701/a-memo-from-20-years-ago-today-key-quote-the
Image of NPR memo as found on http://nprchives.tumblr.com/post/84119269701/a-memo-from-20-years-ago-today-key-quote-the

This memo from NPR announcing the introduction of the internet to their business made me laugh. It took me back to my childhood, when the personal computer was just starting to become a big thing.

When I was young, my father taught me and my brothers basic programming on a Commodore 64, our first home computer.  He refused to get us the Atari gaming system, much to our disappointment. We did get a Nintendo a few years later. Duck Hunt was our favorite game….but, I’m getting off track.  Dad figured that it was better for us to learn how to use a computer so we could get a really good job by the time we graduated from high school…about years later. He was right. (Thanks Dad!)

I didn’t realize at that time that having access to a home computer was such a big deal. I know everyone didn’t have one, but because my father worked on computers for a living, it wasn’t so strange for us to have one.

It is amazing how much technology has changed since then. We’ve gone from huge, bulky screens and boxes on our desktop to computers that fix into our pocket.  The internet used to be accessible by phone…no, not a cell phone, but a phone plugged into a wall. Sending and receiving a fax was considered the fast way to communicate in print. Now, we text and video chat on our cell phones. It all makes you wonder how much all of this will change over the next 20 or 30 years. I look forward to finding out!

Last Supper In Sudan

I’m cheating a bit with this post for the A to Z Challenge.  I know the title starts with ‘L’ but this post is for the letter “S” as in, ‘Supper’ and ‘Sudan.’

I wrote this poem in 2010. My cousin posted the Pulitzer Prize winning photo, captured by photographer, Kevin Carter, on Facebook and it moved me. It’s horrible, and heartbreaking but it’s real. Kevin Carter committed suicide the year after capturing this image. He was haunted by the things he saw in the Sudan.  It’s not certain if this child survived.  You can find more information about this picture and the photographer here.

Last Supper in Sudan

We are both hungry but only one of us will eat.
The predator stalks me
anticipating my last breath
and fight as I may
I know that last breath will overtake me
and before earth can cover me
The Stalker will move in to nip at my flesh.
I’m young and dying
and I don’t know what scares me more
the breath of death so near my cheek
or the talons of the predator so close my back.

Kevin Carter/CORBIS/Sygma

Remembering…

It was a sunny day. It was warm out. We were still talking about the passing of Aaliyah. My daughter was just starting first grade. I was excited! She came home completely worn out and slept through the night! The days of her sleeping four hours a night and running fully charged during the rest of the day were finally over! Katie, Matt, Al and Anne were engaged in their usual morning banter. My daughter and I laughed at their joke as we walked out the door. I drove her to school and walked her into the lobby with the other students. One of the school administrators saw me (the only parent) walking my daughter in. She smiled and said in a sing-song tone, “Miss Indie-pend-aaaaant!” I smiled and thought to myself, “Yeah…I know I’m one of those mom’s….leave me alone!” I watched as my baby hurried down the hall, bright-eyed, happy and perfectly ok with leaving my side.
I made my way back to the car and started driving home. My drive home took me past the New Castle Airport, which is adjacent to the Delaware National Guard. I considered stopping at the Burger King next to the airport for a little breakfast, but I wanted to get back home and finish watching the Today Show. I walked in the house, where the television was still on. I sat on the edge of the bed and noticed the mood on the Today Show set had changed dramatically. The cast was quiet. They were stunned. I wasn’t gone for more than 15 minutes. What could have happened in that short span of time? Another celebrity death? Just then, the image popped up on the screen. One of the Twin Towers had a gaping hole near the top of the building. There was a huge cloud of smoke pouring out of the hole. Just then, from the left of the screen, a passenger plane entered the shot and crashed into the second building. “Oh…this has to be a scene from a new movie,” I thought. Katie echoed my thoughts, but then indicated the scene on the television was very real. We were under attack. I was suddenly short of breath. I tried to remember which of my family members worked in Manhattan. I wasn’t sure if any of them were close to the building on in the building. The Today Show cut away and local news came on and ran the video of the first and second plane crash. They said schools were closing. I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I was in the car, trying to obey traffic laws. I had to get to my child.
I focussed in on the radio as I passed the airport. The signal wasn’t that great.
….we don’t know how many planes are in the air…
…the Golden Gate Bridge…

I looked up. There seemed to be no activity at the airport. No planes in or out. No military planes, no camouflage trucks on the road. Not a bird in the sky. I pulled up to the school where parents were already lined up to get their children. I grabbed my daughter and drove back home – still watching the sky. When I got home, I went back to watch the rest of news. I picked up the phone and called my brother in Georgia.
“Are you seeing this?”
“Yeah…I’m watching it now.”
“That’s home…that’s home,”
“I know, sis,” he said quietly, “I have to go.”
Then it happened. The first tower fell. Then the second. The Pentagon was hit. A plane crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. My heart broke. How could this be happening here? How could this be happening to my hometown? I thought we were safe. I haven’t felt safe since that Tuesday. I now hate driving past the New Castle Airport, especially when planes are coming into land. I was never a huge fan of bridges, but I’m on alert when I cross them now. I don’t get back to New York often, but when do get a chance to go back, I look over to left side of the bridge and can’t help but notice how naked the skyline looks.
Every year on September 11th I think about those who never made it home and the loved ones they left behind. I know about waiting for a loved one to call following such a tragedy. My father was working in New York when the first attempt to topple the buildings was made in 1993. My mother and I watched the news, and searched the soot covered faces of the passengers as they poured out of the subway at the World Trade Center. We searched for my father’s face amongst the crowd. We didn’t see him. He didn’t have a cell phone and based on the number of times we paged him in the span of an hour, he wasn’t near a land line. About two hours later, and to my and my mother’s relief, he walked through the door. He left work early that day. His train pulled out of the station before the truck-bomb went off. There are thousands of people who will never know that sense relief. There will never be a body to lay to rest. My heart goes out to them.
On September 11th I won’t be watching the news. Seeing it happen the first time was hard enough. Writing about it is just as hard. I will continue to pray for the families that were left behind, those who survived Ground Zero, and the soldiers who are still fighting. I will pray for peace.

Towers of Light