Sadly, we missed Emily’s Birthday Celebration again this year. Over the years, it has become a real Montgomery County Literary Arts Council (MCLAC) tradition. Of course, it’s the friendships that we miss the most. We usually make it to the Houston area in December, but around Christmas.
“It sifts from Leaden Sieves –
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road –
— from “It sifts from Leaden Sieves – (291)” by Emily Dickenson
Last week the Montgomery Country Literary Arts Council had another one of their annual Emily Dickinson Birthday Celebrations and for two years I have missed this celebrated annual event. So, I have selected a few photos from past celebrations to share in my online celebration of Emily’s birthday. Long live the celebration!
Night, and I travelling.
An open door by the wayside,
Throwing out a shaft of warm yellow light.
A whiff of peat-smoke;
A gleam of delf on the dresser within;
A woman’s voice crooning, as if to a child.
I pass on into the darkness.
AJ Murphy past away 2003, a close friend
and the heart and soul of a young organization,
“Friends of The Blues, Montgomery County.”
In May of that year, the Friends held a celebration
at the Texas Arts Venue in downtown Conroe, Texas. Click here for an article that appeared in the Houston Chronicle.
As a former teacher, I praise every word in this posting. Teachers are in grave need of our support and respect. As a retired teacher, now volunteer naturalist, I spend time outdoors teaching kids about nature, the best job of my life. — kenne
The summer of 2004 I received a call from my best friend to pick him up from the hospital. He had been in the psychiatric unit for about a week for suicidal ideation. When I arrived he hugged me, had a smile on his face, and then wanted to show me around. I was surprised that I could come into where he was staying. I was introduced to a couple of staff members and a patient that he had gotten to know. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember her blond hair, pale round face, rectangle glasses, and how exhausted she looked. Her slumped shoulders, dark circles under her eyes, and defeated posture has been stained in my mind ever since. And she was a teacher.
At the time, I wasn’t an educator. So, with my ignorance I remember thinking, “What is a teacher doing in the psychiatric…
Poetry and Music Soluting The Common Man.
Julian Tuwim’s poem nails it.
In my younger days,
I worked with many a Harlan Clancy —
Tom Russell writes and sings
about in the album “Folk Hotel,”
referencing Aaron Copland’s anthem,
“Fanfare for the Common Man.”
In those early days,
the winters could be harsh,
and having spent many
a Christmas in the cold north,
I end this trilogy to The Common Man
with Merle Haggard,
“If We Make It Through December.”
— kenne
The Common Man
When plastered billboards scream with slogans
‘fight for your country, go to battle’
When media’s print assaults your senses,
‘Support our leaders’ shrieks and rattles…
And fools who don’t know any better
Believe the old, eternal lie
That we must march and shoot and kill
Murder, and burn, and bomb, and grill…
When press begins the battle-cry
That nation needs to unify
And for your country you must die…
Dear brainwashed friend, my neighbor dear
Brother from this, or other nation
Know that the cries of anger, fear,
Are nothing but manipulation
by fat-cats, kings who covet riches,
And feed off your sweat and blood – the leeches!
When call to arms engulfs the land
It means that somewhere oil was found,
Shooting ‘blackgold’ from underground!
It means they found a sneaky way
To make more money, grab more gold
But this is not what you are told!
Don’t spill your blood for bucks or oil
Break, burn your rifle, shout: ‘NO DEAL!’
Let the rich scoundrels, kings, and bankers
Send their own children to get killed!
May your loud voice be amplified
By roar of other common men
The battle-weary of all nations:
WE WON’T BE CONNED TO WAR AGAIN!
— Julian Tuwim
Tim Russell writes, Harlan Clancy
“. . . out there in the middle of Ohio,
a place you’ll never likely go . . .
Euro tourists never make it there . . .
the America of the shit jobs, farms,
remote ranches, wrecking yards,
inner-city brothels, shooting galleries,
used car lots, and back street bars that
still have Narco corridos, or Otis Redding,
or George Jones on the jukebox.”
“Mother” — Abstract Art by kenne
Mountain Cabin — Photo-Artistry by kenne
“What?” — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Friend, 
“The Common Man” — Photo-Artistry by kenne
