i had just
stopped by
aunt bea’s
and
was relating
a problem
i was having
with a friend
of mine
i said
she always wants
to pay
for things
i
just want
to have things
balanced
you know
what I mean
i could see
aunt bea’s eyebrows
rise
just above the borders
of her
reading glasses
oh
she said
that
accountant syndrome
where
relational spreadsheet columns
must always
zero out
my dear
friendship
is not about
balancing
the books
at the end
of the day
it’s about
love
my being
is a jigsaw puzzle
one of those
more than
a
thousand pieces
kind
so it’s
just
impossible
for me
to name
a single love
that
has influenced me
for all time
i mean
each piece
of the puzzle
has been colored
and
defined
by
a different
love
so
there can be
no
singularity
no
single
book
can claim
the fame
or
blame
for
what
this mind
conveys
Charles W. Martin (Read Between the Minds) …. Charlie …. “slpmartin” … was the first blogger-poet that I started to follow with some regularity. That was back in February 2010. Charlie had – if memory serves (which it doesn’t always these days) – recently retired and just returned from a trip to Africa – Tunisia, I think – and had shared a few poems about dusty streets and ancient wisdom and social inequities. At the time he was also sharing poems that had been published in his first book, Read Between the Minds.
I was struck by two things in Charlie’s poetry: his unremitting concern for social and political issues and his unique style. Charlie wrote about having lost patience with the poetic forms he was taught in school. He developed a spare and direct style that worked for him. As it happens it works well for readers and is perfectly suited to blogging, where brevity is the popular preference.
As time went on, Charlie created and introduced us to the kick-in-the-pants wisdom of Aunt Bea, whom we all came to love. It wasn’t long before Charlie created two other personalities, each with a distinct voice.
aunt bea
was reading
the paper
when i stopped by
for a visit
she noted that
there had been
a number of
indictments
of
political leaders
for fraud
and
failure
to serve
the public need
most
of these indictments
she said
were unfounded
in her opinion
since
the word
indictment
suggests
the person
may
be
innocent
– Charles W. Martin
Charlie’s backstory:
Charles W. Martin earned his Ph.D. in Speech and Language Pathology (hence the “slp” in his url) with an emphasis in statistics. His credentials allowed him to pursue a career that included teaching, research and administration in university settings, treating patients and providing administrative leadership in clinical settings.
Charlie worked as a speech pathologist professional in the public schools where he diagnosed and treated communication disorders caused by a wide range of health conditions and contextual factors. Charlie brought passion to each of his professional positions but he was always focused on mentoring his students and improving the quality of life for his clients and patients.
Throughout Charlie’s educational training and career he maintained a devotion to the arts (literature/poetry, the theater, music and photography). He was a published poet before he completed his graduate work. Since his retirement in 2010, he has turned his full attention to his poetry and photography. He publishes a poem and a photographic art piece each day at Read Between the Minds, Poetry, Photograph and Random Thoughts of Life.
Charlie’s second self-published work
Aunt Bea’s backstory:
Charlie wrote me saying that “Aunt Bea, my mother’s twin sister, represents all six of the aunts, my mother, and grandmother. Aunt Bea’s voice is one I’ve heard almost every day of my life. The poems are family observations, lessons, and advice given to me and every other family member who had the good sense to listen. Her homespun philosophy most likely will not be found in any collegiate textbooks or for that matter in any local town crier newspaper catering to city dwellers. Indeed, she has a different way of viewing the world – a bit old-fashioned, sassy, and steely at times but a viewpoint which has engaged my imagination and heart.”
Heads-up Australia: Aunt Bea is heading your way. I predict she’ll turn down-under right-side up.
“Poetry has the power to make us aware of what is hidden in the shadows…those places that we seldom see or want to see…the poet’s voice scrapes away the facade of an issue and lays bare for all to see what has been denied. By providing a voice to these mute realities, poets have throughout history altered the course of events by enlightening readers and encouraging them to take action to stop wars, halt injustice, and to reach out to their fellow man. Like those poets who have proceeded me, I am motivated by the same desire to bring about the social changes necessary to enhance the quality of life for those around me and around the world and to give voice to those who cannot speak for themselves.” Charles W. Martin
i was quite certain there were more than a thousand pieces scattered before me none of the pieces had clear markings to indicate where and when to assemble let along whether or not all the pieces where there yet i began my task and parenthood began
each thursday they roll an array of musical gear past the nurses’ station down hallways full of the scent of aging and death postponed ending their journey in the senior activities center it’s a gig they look forward to when they can bring some joy into the routine days of so many there’s mary a mother of three grandmother of more than she can count now she raised not only her own children but her children’s children she always sits near frank whose broad smile appears when they play tunes from the 60s tunes he first heard in vietnam where he lost his legs oh and there’s jordan saved his wife from a fire they say he never speaks but always hums the old standards when played so many smiles to take in and relish however all too soon it’s the last song and then the heroes applaud
if you ask
she will
not
answer
nor
will
staring into
her eyes
help you
find
the answer
for she
already knows
the answer
it was
placed
within her
when time began
and
hidden
from all men
what it means
to be
feminine
the brown bag prophet said i ain’t no philosophy barely finished high school but i’ve been reading different things bout’ the critical spirit how it can hold back religious enlightenment you know by asking too many questions trying to get to the bottom of things rather than accepting the rituals place before you as others have done but i was wondering why anyone would want to plant a seed that cannot grow
oh for the love of god
i need to get packing
i heard some folks
in washington
are gonna
repeal medical coverage
to help pay the bills
and then the 13th amendment
something about needing
cheap labor
so i need to get
my things in order
but where will i go
i can’t head for reservations
cause they’re checking
lineage if there’s a casino
and if there’s no casino
the 13th has
already been repealed
i could go to france
since i’m not a gypsy
i’d be okay in israel
since i only have one
or two arab friends
but on second thought
they have army draft
and i couldn’t shoot
anyone who looked like me
you know having
eyes, mouth, nose, etc.
i’m not japanese
so i could go china
but not germany
germany’s already said
diversity’s dead
england’s out
our rules came
from there first
maybe I could
just hitch a ride
on one of those
space shuttles
death does not have one face but many some hidden behind corporate logos where money the antipsychotic drug reduces the side effects of moral responsibility while others faces parade in public agencies the second line of social injustice holding high parasols of indifference to block out the light of morality and justice they’re the kind of reapers whose scythes are laws laws with razor-sharp rules bleeding any hope from those seeking to be free from the social roles prescribed to them those seeking to be free battle an army of reapers reapers who bring death and those who bring death do not value life no matter what the color
sometimes you hear only part of the music for the noise of life hides the melody we hear just that part outside the heart but if you could hear all the love flowing from every pore of those who care for those forgotten like notes not transcribed then you would hear the real symphony that you have sought
i have been carefully watching hummingbirds as they battle for air supremacy seeking the sweets encased in a plastic feeder with the same ferocity i must say as humans seeking the last drop of deep-sea oil human sweets of course being profit margins regardless of species the battles continue i’ve even found dead hummingbirds on the ground who in the heat of battle flew into plexiglass walls not seeing the danger like humans willing to destroy not only animal habitats but their own cuz they’re flying high on financial conquests but all the while approaching the earth’s translucent walls
aunt bea asked me to take her to home depot for a couple of rugs in the parking lot as we left a woman approached her asked if she need a house to rent aunt bea said no the woman proceeded to tell her why she had to rent her beautiful home she spoken with a heavy spanish accent very rapid and tearful something about her son bad marriage unconcerned judge and jail time seemed like her entire life story in forty-five minutes as she spoke now and then she’d switch to spanish and then back to english sometimes patting on her heart as she spoke they parted as friends as we drove home i asked aunt bea if she spoke spanish and how much she understood of the conversation aunt bea said no i don’t speak spanish and i didn’t understand much at all other than she was in deep pain but like all of us she just needed someone to listen
bapa dola said to his student always serve a guest water and chapati first if they show gratitude and express thanks then serve them wine and fruit else bid them safe journey
with the light of the new day he began his fasting knowing surely that the gates of heaven had opened but wondered if those of hell were closed tight for war was all around he could hear the sounds of death’s cruel voice wailing throughout the day embraced by dry desert winds while the songs and promises of peace were as empty as the plate before him