Book sales and Food Banks

Earlier this year, USDA announced that they would be cutting over $1 billion in support for food banks and school lunch programs. This money had been earmarked to purchase fresh food from local farms and producers for these programs, which meant that not only would food banks and those who rely on them be harmed, but also local farmers who had planned on a portion of their crops to be purchased through the program. At the same time, Ohio's budget, passed this summer, also cut statewide funding for food banks.

My day job location has hosted a monthly produce pick up with one of the area food banks since the beginning of the pandemic. Cars will be lined up down the street, and people will literally wait for hours to get their bags of fresh produce and other staples. And the demand has only been increasing at the same time that state and federal funding has been cut for these programs.

Last year alone, Akron-Canton Regional Foodbank distributed 40 million pounds of food and other essential items, distributed 11 million pounds of fresh produce, providing 31.4 million meals. Every dollar received by the Foodbank provides multiple meals. I can't think of any organizations that can stretch a dollar like our food banks can. If any "waste" is happening, it's not happening in our food banks.

So let's talk about book sales.

All sales of The Roads at Night Looked Like Our Futures: A 40 Over 40 Poetry Anthology, will directly benefit the Akron-Canton Regional Foodbank. And your first opportunity to purchase the anthology will be at our book launch event on Sunday, August 17, 2pm, at the Akron-Summit County Public Library Main Branch (60 S High St, Akron, OH 44326). We're asking for a $10 donation per book. We'll be collecting cash onsite, or if you prefer to donate by card, we'll have a qr code to connect you directly to the Foodbank's website. 

Join us Sunday! All contributors will have the opportunity to read their poems from the anthology, and it should be a great celebration. 

 I'll see you there! 

Book Launch!

 

Sunday, August 17, 2025
2pm-4pm
Akron-Summit County Public Library-Main Branch
60 S High St, Akron, OH 44326

Join us! 

The Roads at Night Looked Like Our Futures: A 40 Over 40 Poetry Anthology will be launched with a reading and celebration event, featuring poets from the anthology. This project is generously funded by an ArtsForward Grant. All proceeds from sales of the book benefit the Akron-Canton Regional Foodbank. This event is free and open to the public. All are welcome! Join us!

Poets appearing in the anthology include: Michelle Moore, Cheryl A Townsend, Geoffrey A. Landis, Barbara Sabol, Tom Barlow, R Lansing, Marc Mannheimer, Haylee Schwenk, Keith Allison, Adrian Schnall, Diane Kendig, Dr. Mary E. Weems, Thomas Dukes, J. J. Shapiro, Philip Metres, Michael Shoffstall, Diane Renee Fencl, Connie Kopko Kramer, Jessica Bowers Ross, Dail Duncan, Barbara Marie Minney, dan smith, Laurie Kincer, Pamela R. Anderson-Bartholet, Stasha Powell, renee hope, Lori Ruth Ingram, Alan S. Ambrisco, Joanna Schroeder, Constance V. Plumley, Charles Malone, Diane Suchetka, Chandra Alderman, Chuck Carlise, Lacie Semenovich, Caryl Church-Jesseph, Ray McNiece, Adam Brodsky, Christine Wright, Cora McCann Liderbach, David Kniceley, Zachary T. Kalinoski, Steve Brightman, Shaneen Harris, Michelle R. Smith, and Theresa Göttl Brightman.

Reminder! Don't wait!

 If you're like me, you see a deadline, and that date feels so far off that you just put it off for a bit. You tell yourself, "I have SOOO much time to put together the perfect submission for this!" You file it in an email folder that you SWEAR to yourself you're going to look at and remind yourself. You promise yourself you will do it tonight, or tomorrow, or definitely by the weekend.

This is your two-ish week warning.

The deadline to submit to the 40 Over 40 Anthology is April 30, which might sound like a lot of time when it's only April 14, but you know you get distracted by things like work and chores and holidays and family stuff and the next thing you know, it will be May 1.

**
Because I know the algorithm means this might be your first time hearing about this--the 40 Over 40 Anthology is funded by an ArtsForward grant. Poets in Northeast Ohio (or who have a past or present connection to the area) who are over the age of 40 may submit between now and April 30 to be included in an anthology to be released in August 2025. Submissions are free, and accepted poets will receive a $40 honorarium, copy of the print publication, and an invitation to read at the book launch celebration at Akron Main Library on Sunday, August 17. Full details in the link below.
**

So don't wait.

Don't.
Wait.

Send your submission now, and enjoy that feeling of ease and satisfaction when you've accomplished a thing on your to-do list that is something you wanted to do for yourself. And then you did it! Huzzah!

Send your poems.

 

Submit HERE!

Meet the judges!

 

I didn't want to be selecting the poems for the 40 Over 40 anthology (submit here!) myself and turn this into a collection of my personal favorite things. It was important to me to assemble a judging panel of brilliant, talented poets with different styles to help compile a great collection. It was also important to me to make sure that we had a blind judging process.

I could not be more excited that all three of these individuals wanted to be part of this project. Below, get to know a little about them and--most importantly if you're submitting--what they look for when reading poems.

 

Michelle R. Smith is a writer, poet, educator, cultural facilitator, and native Clevelander. She is the Programming Director for Literary Cleveland. She is the author of the poetry collections Ariel in Black (2015) and The Vagina Analogues (2020). She has been published in The Normal School, The Gasconade Review, New Note Poetry, Merge Magazine, and io Literary Magazine.

Michelle says: "I appreciate soul, song, story, sensory detail, and spareness in poetry. I like emotionality, elegance, intelligence, and craftsmanship."
 
 
Shaneen Harris’s works include Reflections of My Thoughts: I used to believe in unicorns, and I still do, Because God Said So, and Simply Complex (spoken word CD). Her poem “Clergy Woman Eats Her Shadow” was a finalist in the Wolverine Farm Broadside Poetry Prize. Her writings have appeared in Postcard Poems and Prose Magazine, Rubbertop Review, Crab Orchard Review: Ka-Ching the Money Issue, Watershed Review, Rattle, and the Tampa Review. She served as host of Poetry Unchained and TBN’s Joy in Our Town and Co-Editor of When There Are Nine. Shaneen’s married and the proud momma of three adult children.

Shaneen says what she looks for in poetry is "the poem's ability to make me believe that it is the originator. For instance, if it’s a poem about love, it’s written in a way that is a fresh perspective. I also look at the word choice and flow of the poem. More complexity isn’t always deeper on meaning. Did the last word of a line make me want to read the next one?"

 

 

Steve Brightman lives in Akron OH. His most recent full-length collection of poems, The Circus of His Bones (Kung Fu Treachery Press), is a pandemic baby, birthed in 2020. Other collections of his include The Wild Gospel of Careening and Other Tales from the Rumble Strip, Leaving the Flatlands to the Amateurs, In Brilliant Explosions Alone, and 13 Ways of Looking at Lou Reed.
 

When asked what he looks for in a poem, Steve says:

"It’s a short list, but a big ask.

1) I want to see the specific in a universal way

2) I want to see the universal in a specific way

3) I want to see the world reflected back to me or revealed to me in a way I haven’t yet seen"

 

Now that you've met the judges, plan your submissions and send them in before April 30th!
Submit here!

Peace,
T

Meet the workshop leaders!

As part of the 40 Over 40 project, I also wanted to include poetry workshops to foster the craft of writing. I didn't want this project to only be about publishing a book. Full stop. I wanted the project to be about poetry in the community. I wanted some place for people to find fresh inspiration, or to explore the craft in a safe space, even without any poetry experience.

And I am thrilled to have Diane Kendig and Barbara Sabol on board to teach two upcoming workshops. Diane will be talking about the list poem, but looking at it in new ways you've never considered. Barbara will be sharing her thoughts on the ode, and how adaptable and relevant it is to modern poetry.


Both workshops will take place at Summit Artspace (140 E. Market Street, Akron, OH) at 2pm. Bring a pen and notebook (or laptop, if you prefer) and an excitement to explore new poetry ideas.



Saturday, March 15 - LISTING, with Diane Kendig

Lists, whether you make them down the page or in a cloud, get us started, keep us on track, and
send us off to get our work done. In poetry, first, of course, there is the list poem. Like
Christopher’s long list of his cat’s tributes, Jubilate agno. But there are contemporary poems that
use the idea of lists, like Nancy Willard’s “Questions My Son Asked Me, Answers I Never Gave
Him.” And poems that have lists within them but aren’t all lists, like Lynn Powell’s “Blue.”
We are going to start by brainstorming some lists. Then we will look at different types of list-
inspiring poems and turn our storm into poems asea, listing perhaps as they sail.


Diane Kendig‘s latest books are Woman with a Fan and Prison Terms, and she co-edited the tribute anthology, In the Company of Russell Atkins. Kendig led the University of Findlay creative writing program including a prison writing workshop for 18 years and now back home in Canton, she curates Cuyahoga County Public Library’s weblog “Read + Write” and writes for “Free Poetry Cleveland.”


Saturday, April 26 - The Ode, with Barbara Sabol

The Ode: Considering the Contemporary Praise Poem
In this workshop we will briefly review the history of the ode as a form of lyric praise, discuss
features of the contemporary ode (and anti-ode) with reference to example poems, and engage in
writing and sharing our own odes.

Barbara Sabol was named Ohio Poet of the Year for her collection, WATERMARK (Alternating
Current Press, 2023.) Her book, IMAGINE A TOWN, won the 2019 Sheila-Na-Gig Editions
Poetry Prize. Other honors include an Individual Excellence Award from the Ohio Arts Council.
She conducts workshops through Literary Cleveland and the Cuyahoga Falls Library. Barbara
lives in Akron, Ohio with her bird carver husband and wonder dog.

I hope to see at one or both of these upcoming workshops!
Life, Love, Light,
T

Submission link is live!

 Send your poems here!

When you want something to happen, sometimes you need to do it yourself

The world is a weird place right now. I've found myself swinging wildly from heartbroken anger, to creative excitement, and the artists in my life keep reminding me that both are important, that we need the art to remind us about what we're fighting for.

So I'm sharing about this project that will be taking up a large portion of my time in 2025.

40 Over 40: A Poetry Anthology

I'm going to publish an anthology of local poets, in Summit and surrounding counties, who are over 40 years old.

The idea came to me a few years ago when I was scanning submission listings for various prizes, awards, and fellowships, many of which were targeted at young writers, and thinking about those lists that have titles like, "30 writers under 30 to watch!" I realized that I was aging out of those kinds of recognitions. I started wondering about people who don't come to their craft until later in life. I started thinking about people who don't have the name recognition, but have put in the time to learn their craft. Life doesn't stop at 30. Some of us are just finding our feet under us in our 40s or even later.

When you want to see something happen, sometimes you need to do it yourself.

I put the idea out into the world and applied for an ArtsForward grant, and in a head-snapping who-what-me way, ArtsNow gave me the money to do it!

So I'm thrilled that I have the opportunity to make this anthology happen, in the WAY I want to make it happen. I wanted to recognize poets over 40 (we're not asking how MUCH over 40!) writing exciting work, and to pay those who are accepted into the anthology (more on that in the follow ups about submission details). I wanted to make sure that I had the ability to compensate everyone who was involved for their time--not just in copies, but in a way that says your work and expertise is valued.

If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it the right way. And ArtsNow is giving me that opportunity.


A few dates to note right now:

March 1-April 30 - Submissions will be open! Submissions are free! I will be posting the link everywhere, but it will also be on this page!

March 15 and April 26 at 2pm, we will be hosting two FREE community poetry workshops at Summit Artspace! If you need inspiration, or just want to create some work, we'll have two guest teachers leading you through some exercises to help you create new poems. These classes will be just one more way to support writers (and anyone curious about learning more about writing poetry) in the community. Diane Kendig will be teaching on 3/15, and Barbara Sabol will be teaching on 4/26!

I'll be sharing more exciting details soon, so stay tuned to this page here. But start looking for the poems you want to submit to the anthology.

Life, Love, and Light.
T

Looking back on 2024, and forward to 2025

Early in 2024, I had the opportunity to teach a four-week writing workshop to a group of middle school students participating in Proyecto RAICES, a program for Hispanic and Latinx students. I never thought much about teaching before, and never really expected to teach younger kids. But the chance to use poetry out in the world hooked me, and I said yes. I had no lesson plans, I'd be starting from scratch. All I had was poetry, and a few vague ideas I'd been incubating for a while. And fear. New things, even if they're good things, are always scary. Even if your only audience is a dozen middle school kids whose opinions will neither make nor break you, it's still scary.

I did my best not to have any expectations about what the kids knew or had already been exposed to, or for what kind of work we might create together. But with some help and some flexibility--on my part and theirs--we wrote poetry together.

Teaching those sessions ended up being one of the most positive experiences I've ever had with poetry.

I learned so much from those kids, about what works and doesn't in a teaching setting, how to pivot and adapt on my feet when something isn't working. That where adults will politely go along with something even if a lesson is falling flat, kids will make it known when they're bored or disinterested--or when they're absolutely engaged--if not through their words then their behavior and body language. And if they weren't engaged, that was my problem, not theirs. They were excited when I was excited.

The program was made possible by a grant from ArtsForward, and I'm so grateful to them and to Yoly Miller for inviting me to be part of the project. You can read some of the poems written in our workshops at Proyecto Letras.

In 2025, I will be putting together an anthology of poetry from local poets, also funded by ArtsForward. This organization has been funding some exciting new projects in the Akron area, and I'm eager to bring forth this literary project. I'll be putting together a "40 over 40" anthology of poets--in contrast with so many "30 under 30" lists--to celebrate the talent of experienced poets in Summit County and surrounding areas, as well as some other writing events surrounding the book and its release next summer. Stay tuned for announcements about poetry submissions.

I'm so grateful to ArtsForward for the opportunity to make this happen, and I feel blessed to be in the place I am at the time that I am. I'm not overlooking that Akron has plenty of challenges and pain, but I also believe that the art we have, the talented people we have, the good we have here, when harnessed, can also heal and meet those challenges.

Peace in 2025.

A few thoughts on process...

Ohio has always been my home. I've done a fair amount of travel, but I've never lived outside of northeast Ohio. This place is home. It's where the people and things I know and love exist. It is comfort. Have I always loved Ohio? Love for a place is a strange idea. I love the people. I love the communities that have been built here. I love my family. I love my friends. I love my house. But do I love Ohio? I don't know if that's something I would have said a year ago.

In 2023, I had the chance to hear Adrian Matejka on book tour, and he said that when he's writing a poem, something needs to surprise him. It was something that I already knew in my bones, but I had never verbalized it or thought about it in that exact way, in those exact words. When I sit down knowing exactly where the poem is going and what it's going to say, it might end up being an okay poem, but it is never a good poem. The good poems, the best poems, start with me expecting it to take one route, and then the poem taking me on a completely different journey. Poets know that the best poems are written when the poem, not the poet, is in control.

So when Dee Fairweather reached out to Mary Defer and me about her idea for Ohio Reclaimed, I immediately said yes, but I didn't know what about Ohio could still surprise me. I expected to do a lot of research, learn a lot of history about these sites, but I wasn't sure that I would be able to connect on a more creative level with the subject matter.

While discussing how to approach the project, we started planning trips to visit the sites that would be the focus of the project. Seeing something in person gives details that I wouldn't be able to scoop up from doing some research or looking at old photos, and again, I expected to have to rely heavily on those details to make the poems good enough. I didn't think I'd find anything surprising.

Then we made our first site visits, and everything changed for me.

Yes, I met history. Yes, I met interesting facts.

But almost immediately, I met something surprising: hope.

And that was something I could wrap a poem around. Not just one, but a dozen of them.

Those of us who live in Ohio know that we're blessed with our county, state, and national parks. Our parks are something I know I've taken for granted, but we have so many wonderful wild or semi-wild spaces. But despite spending a decent amount of time in and around them for my entire life (see: Ohio has always been my home), I never looked at them from this angle before--an angle from which I saw hope.

A number of the places we visited had been some kind of industrial operation, places that, within living memory, had been devoid of trees or any other green growth, but now sat in the middle of a reforested, thriving area. Without, and sometimes with, the help of people, the earth can recover, life can recover. The work of Ohio Reclaimed is this beautiful illustration of the way that damage, mistakes, harm that we inflict, whether intentionally or not, can be healed, can be recovered.

It renewed my sense of wonder in a place I thought I knew so well. It made me fall in love with Ohio. The voice in most of the poems from Ohio Reclaimed is named as Nature, but the more I think about it, I wonder if maybe it isn't Ohio herself, speaking through these poems, talking to us, showing us our faults, correcting, fixing, healing.

I'm going to be honest: these last few weeks have not been an easy time to live in Ohio. I've felt so much disappointment, disillusionment, and hurt over certain outcomes. In the aftermath, I've seen some people saying very seriously that they're going to leave the state, move somewhere they feel safer, encouraging others not to come here, not to visit, not to vacation or spend money here.

I won't be leaving. This is my home, and always has been, and it feels that way just as much now as it has ever been. Regardless of what the numbers look like on paper, there is so much about Ohio to be loved. Despite things that go wrong, despite the people in the statehouse making decisions I wish they wouldn't make, Ohio is still my home. And I love it. This place with so many of the people I love, this place that has so much promise, this place that deliberately, stubbornly heals itself over and over. This place that rather than destroy us, is willing to give us another chance to do the right thing. Another chance, and another chance, and another chance. She's the parent who won't give up on us.

I'm not saying there's no work involved. We don't get to sit back and let Ohio just fix everything on her own. It took concerted effort to reforest these areas, to learn what once was and put it back to rights in a thoughtful and true way. But it can be done. All is not lost. It never is. There is hope. And it starts with love.

Peace.
T


 "Ohio Reclaimed: What Once Was" is still on view at Summit Artspace (140 E Market St, Akron, OH) through December 14th! See the art, read and listen to the poems. Chapbooks of the poems in the show are EXCLUSIVELY available for purchase only at Summit Artspace through the run of the show. Pick up your copy while you're there.

Five things you can do besides wear a bracelet

If wearing a blue bracelet makes you feel better right now, ok, I guess. But the truth is that the Black, brown, and LGBTQ+ folks in your life already knew whether or not you were a safe person. The bracelet is really just for you.

But if you actually ARE in the place where you are ready to do something, here's a list of low-commitment actions you can take. Personally, I'm not there yet. I know I move slowly and need to get myself in a good place from which I can start doing the work. If you needed ideas, but, like me, need some time, bookmark this and come back to it when you're ready.

1. Support good and local (when possible) journalism.

As confidence in our institutions erodes, journalism that is actual journalism--not entertainment disguised as news, not propaganda--is becoming an endangered species.

If you have a hometown paper you trust and like, subscribe. If not, look into publicly funded news organizations. Look into your local PBS and NPR stations. For Northeast Ohio, Signal Akron and Signal Cleveland have also been doing really good work in online print journalism.

If you're not able to support these organizations at this time with donations or by becoming a member, then start using them as your news sources.

Links:

Ideastream Public Media (NEO PBS and NPR)

Signal Cleveland 

Signal Akron 

 

2. Donate to local organizations that support people who will be targeted over the next 4 years.

If you have disposable income right now and your goal is supporting Black people, brown people, LGBTQ+ people, and immigrants, there are organizations near you doing this already. Set up a donation with them--make it monthly so it will continue even after this initial rage wears off and we fade into waves of complacence and frustration and you won't need to remember to do it.

A few links to orgs in my area:

International Institute of Akron --helps refugees and immigrants achieve an empowered life with dignity, connection, and belonging.

ASIA (Asian Services in Action)--the largest health and human services agency serving the AAPI community of Northeast Ohio.

Freedom Bloc --On a mission to build black leadership and political infrastructure in Black communities through civic education and engagement, leadership development and economic reinvestment.

Plexus --Plexus LGBT + Allied Chamber of Commerce

Big Love Network --Big Love is Akron’s local environmental health equity organization.  We are an evolving network facilitating neighbor-led/creative placemaking, sustainability, and health equity efforts throughout Akron as a means for social change.

 

3. Support your local arts, artists, and small local businesses.

The arts build healthy communities, and believe it or not, healthy economies! It's a crucial part of your local social and yes, financial, infrastructure. If you can't support a local org with money right now, support them by patronizing them with your presence--many have free or very low cost admission. I'm listing local organizations here, but I promise, wherever you are, there is a small gallery, venue, or museum you can support. Buy holiday gifts from local artists, shop Small Business Saturday events and art and craft fairs. Even if you don't buy anything, collect business cards from your favorites so you remember to default to them when buying gifts rather than shopping through big tech websites.

Links to some Akron-local orgs you can support with your funds and/or presence:

Summit Artspace --quickly becoming my favorite source and resource for the arts in Akron. They support not only artists, but the community. 

The Nightlight --An exceptional arthouse cinema experience—for everyone.

Akron Soul Train --Akron Soul Train is an artist residency program connecting and empowering the community and artists by granting residencies that provide resources for all creative disciplines to foster a more vibrant downtown Akron.

CATAC --seeks to provide a home base to nurture emerging local artists and those of international reputation creating new work and experimenting with new forms of expression.

Akron Bazaar and Cleveland Bazaar --northeast Ohio’s longest-running indie craft show, with over eighteen years of fantastic events on our track record since 2004.

The Rialto Theatre --Akron’s premier live music venue

There are literally dozens more just in Akron and the surrounding areas...

4. Donate or volunteer at your local foodbank.

Foodbanks are overwhelmingly cited as the organizations that make donations go further than humanly possible. Ok, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but these are the only organizations that can find a way to turn $1 into three free meals for those in need. And regardless of whether the economy is up or down, regardless of your neighborhood, food insecurity is real, and I promise you, worse than you could imagine. My day-job hosts food bank pickups once a month, and folks are lined up in their cars for a mile, waiting for literally hours to get a couple bags of groceries. These orgs will always need volunteers and money. Always.

Akron-Canton Regional Foodbank

Greater Cleveland Foodbank 

 

5. Support your local public library.

Wherever you are, your library will accept donations. But more importantly, you support them by your presence. Every year they report their attendance numbers statewide and nationally to show that they are a critical resource in the community.

And they are.

When free and open access to information is eroded, everyone suffers. But your local library isn't only about books and movies and music. It absolutely is, but it's infinitely more.

As access to public resources continues to erode, the responsibility for filling the gaps left by failing and dismantled social safety nets is filled, intentionally or not, by the libraries.

Just some of the things that you may not immediately associate with what libraries do:

• Maker spaces, with 3D printers, laser cutters, Cricut machines, embroidery and quilting machines, CNC cutters, free access to Adobe suite software, vinyl printers, and so much more that I'm not even remotely tech savvy enough to understand but maybe you are
• Free meals for kids, and food pantry pick ups
• Assistance with applying for various social services
• Free computer and internet access
• Free Microsoft Certification classes
• Free career assistance
  

And--your libraries are under attack right now, and over the coming years it is only expected to get worse.

As book and material challenges and bans become more frequent and libraries are placed in the crosshairs for doing nothing more than providing information to anyone who wants it, they need your support. Here in Ohio, the statehouse attempted but failed (so far) at defunding public libraries that provide materials they want to censor. You can read about it here.

So what can you do? Show up. Vote for every library levy on your ballot as they show up in the coming years. If you haven't visited your library in a minute, step through those doors. Get a card. Ask for a list of programs and register and attend an author talk, writing workshop, a cooking class, a storytime with your kids, a program to learn how to use all those fancy maker machines I listed above. Make the library a weekly visit.

Beyond that, libraries need you to call your Ohio state representatives and Ohio senators. Make it a weekly call--schedule five minutes a week and put a reminder in your phone. In Ohio, we are blessed with something called the Public Library Fund, which uses a percentage of statewide tax revenue to fund public libraries across Ohio. It's one of the reasons the libraries in Ohio surpass some of those in even the biggest cities in the nation. Yes, those.

So here's a quick script to use when you call if you need help:

"Hi, my name is [your name] and I am a constituent at [your address]. I'm calling because I want to support my public libraries across Ohio, and I am asking you to keep the PLF at current levels of funding. I am also asking you to support the freedom of information by preventing any efforts to tie those library funds to the materials our libraries offer." (You can add a thank you at the end if you want. Depending on whether or not you like your rep, maybe you don't want.)

That's it. You'll probably reach voicemail without even talking to a real person.

Here's how to find your Ohio reps:

Ohio House of Representatives

Ohio Senate

---

This list is NOT even close to all-inclusive. And this list is largely hyper local. So if you know of other orgs, share them with your friends who are asking, "What do we do now?" There is always something to do. No one person needs to do it all. But everyone can do one thing. When we're ready.

Frodo: I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.

Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times; but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring. In which case, you were also meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought.

I believe that we were meant to be in this time and were given the gifts to do what is needed in the world right now.

Life. Love. Light.
T

Baseball, but really, time and nostalgia, and really, baseball

Time does strange somersaults when I start thinking about math and dates. For example, there's an age gap between my husband and me. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it doesn't feel like there's any time between us at all. But it's a wide enough gap that when we start talking about, say, graduation years or how old we were during certain historical events, it brings that time into sharp relief.

My husband and I are both baseball fans--Steve moreso than I am, but as with so many pop culture things that stick with a person from youth, he connected with one World Series team in particular at an important time in his life. When he talks about those players and that team, he is sharing with me the histories and traditions of his people. It's beautiful and emotional because he has that connection with those memories.

And while Steve was still very much a Cleveland baseball fan during the mid-nineties, in the hey-day of Cleveland ball, those '95-'97 teams were the ones that I connected with (even though, sadly, they never actually won a World Series at the time). I remember the first time I shocked him with a baseball nugget of trivia when I told him that I would always believe there's an alternate universe somewhere that the strike-shortened season of 1994 actually ended with Cleveland winning the World Series. That was my team--Kenny Lofton, Albert Belle, Carlos "by land, by sea" Ba-er-ga!

But what brought those '90s baseball seasons into even sharper relief was my dad showing me how momentous those times were.

My dad wasn't born in the US, but as a kid growing up here, he started following Cleveland baseball "about '63 or '64". In over 30 years of being a fan, he'd barely seen a team with a winning record, much less a playoff contender. When my brother and I were small, my parents would pack us up in the car with a cooler filled with hotdogs, and we would have a picnic at old Municipal Stadium with 50 other folks spread out over 80,000 seats, and maybe somewhere in there a ballgame would break out. People would flip the wooden seats in the cavernous upper deck to spell out words like "Go Tribe". Our family and any friends with us would take up a whole row or two just for ourselves, because no one else was sitting nearby. When John Adams beat the drum, it ECHOED, and everyone would grab the seat of the nearest empty chair and slam it up and down with the drumming.

And maaaaan, giveaways back then. Not these bobbleheads that sorta-maybe look like the player if you squint enough. We went to one afternoon game where they gave away bats--real, regulation, full-sized, Louisville Slugger, wooden baseball bats. They were painted bright red, and had the team logo and sponsorships painted on them in white, and you can bet we played with them in the backyard for years. I think my dad still may have them in the garage somewhere, relics of the before-times, when winning baseball in Cleveland was still a dream.

In '95, the first time the team made it to the playoffs in a generation, my dad saved the newspapers, recorded the clinch celebrations on VHS, bought "Central Division Champion" t-shirts and treated them like Sunday best. It wasn't just a winning team. It was the first winning team in a generation.

The World Series in '95 was tough. The World Series in '97 was tougher. And since then, we've had a number of winning, even good, almost magical teams. '07 nearly broke my dad, when Cleveland lost to the Red Sox and he swore, "I'm never watching sports again!" Of course, he did.

Then we had 2016 and the rain delay game seven heartbreak. Then 2017 and The Streak, but it wasn't enough to get us through.

Now it's October 2024, and I'm getting ready to watch (or more likely not watch) a World Series that remained out of reach from the Guardians again. When I do that somersault math, I realize that I'm the same age my dad was for those mid-nineties teams. I feel a tiny bit of that cynicism creeping in, the cynicism where my dad seems to be permanently planted now whenever we talk baseball. But despite all his lifetime of watching losing teams, or watching winning teams that couldn't quite win that last game, I can still hear the hope there. It's a hope that didn't want to fully admit that all of us thought this was the year we could win the big trophy, a hope that good things can still happen, and that we'll get to see them happen soon.

Maybe I'm only talking about baseball now. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I want to see the Guardians win for me, but maybe I also want them to win, just a little bit more, for my dad. Maybe I want us all to believe that there's still hope, there's always hope. Not just for baseball.

A word on pronouns

 First, I use them. You use them. We all use them.

What people really mean when they say they won't use "pronouns" is that they refuse to self-identify their pronouns.

But pronoun identification is not a burden, or something that will only serve one small segment of the population. It's a curb cut.

Curb cuts are the small ramps cut into sidewalks at crosswalks. They were mandated by law through the ADA to assist those with physical disabilities and mobility difficulties. Yes, they help people who use wheelchairs, walkers, or other mobility assistance. But curb cuts also help people pushing strollers, pulling wagons, making deliveries, pulling wheeled luggage, riding scooters, etc. Anyone who's had to push, pull, or ride something across the street from sidewalk to sidewalk has had their life made easier by a curb cut. (If you're interested in this idea, check out the work of Angela Glover Blackwell who has written more on the Curb Cut Effect.)

Regularly self-identifying pronouns is also a curb cut. Because yes, it will help those in the LGBTQ+ community. 

But do you know who else will benefit from pronoun identification? People named "Alex." Or "Jamie." Or "Adrian." Or those with any other first names that society considers to be gender neutral. 

Anyone with a name that does not have gender connotation commonly recognized by mainstream American society will be helped. This includes people of color, immigrants, people with very modern names, people with very traditional names, and many people I've neglected to mention here (because I know I have my own gaps).

I'll give you one big example of how pronoun identification would help me in my own day job. Part of my job involves calling or sending a letter to people who have submitted an application for a service. If the person's first name is one that I'm not familiar with as gendered, I have occasionally found myself embarrassed by misgendering, or awkwardly using "they" to avoid misgendering, the person I am trying to reach. Selfishly, I want to be saved from embarrassment. But also, I want to save the person I'm addressing the embarrassment and awkwardness of being misgendered--because that also brings an entire additional dynamic to the conversation. They are now in the uncomfortable position of needing to decide whether or not they correct me, and regardless of their choice, an additional level of discomfort been added to the interaction.

If everyone used pronoun identification reflexively, it would smooth those interactions. Rote business interactions would continue to be just that: rote. If I have to call my bank or the doctor's office or whatever it happens to be, I want it to be as quick and easy as possible and limited to the scope of the reason I called. I don't need additional levels of discomfort and frustration built into those interactions--and neither does anyone else.

So let's make everyday interactions easier, smoother, and more comfortable for everyone--regardless of how they identify themselves. It's such a small and simple thing to make one tiny part of someone's day a little easier.

Words are hard.....

 This year, I told myself I was going to dive back into writing. It had been gnawing at me, various ideas percolating, bubbling, screaming to be let out of my head and onto the page.

So of course, as I decide I'm going to write, all words leave my brain. I've felt foggy, sticky in the mind. It's even been hard to simply sit down with a book and make it past the same page my bookmark has been on for more than a month. Several different varieties of chaos may be to blame. Or maybe not.

My mind hasn't been in a words-kind-of mode right now. It's an unnatural state for me. Even when I wasn't writing productively in recent years, I'd post several hundred word rants about anything and everything on social media. Words are one of my most natural states of expression.

It's uncomfortable that I am not even a little motivated to write right now. Even this little snippet here feels taxing and clunky.

And yet, I want to make stuff, work on design, getting ideas for patterns, videos, how to implement different ideas. Colors and fibers I want to use. I'm even thinking about ideas to modify and customize my shoes. I'm on my phone researching how to stitch things onto shoes. The words aren't there, but the "make stuff" side of my brain is in overdrive.

I heard once that the healthiest artists were always sculptors. I don't know the truth of that or if there's data to back it up. But I bet I could name at least a dozen writers who suffered from addiction, depression, and other mental illness in less than a minute. Plenty of painters suffered similarly. So maybe there is something to working with your hands, making things, physical objects rather than transitory words or two-dimensional images, that keeps a mind healthy. Maybe not.

Maybe my brain pushing me into the physical end of creativity is the same way that my body craves a diet of fresh greens after a holiday sugar binge--inherently, my body knows that I need a specific kind of nourishment and tells me to seek it out to balance some of the more unhealthy choices or circumstances of late. Rather than fight it and try to do something I'm not in a frame of mind to attack at this moment, maybe the best course of action is to dig in where it feels healthiest at the moment. Set the story and poem ideas aside for a bit--not forgotten or thrown out, just saved and stored for a more opportune moment. And trust that everything will come around again when I'm in a better place to receive the inspiration for it.

Find your magic

Maybe magic exists in all of us.

Maybe the magic isn't only for a chosen few, but it is an essential part of being living, breathing, human, physical, and spiritual beings. We misunderstand that it only exists for a small handful of superstars and creative geniuses, when in truth it exists inside of all of us.

Maybe the magic is actually a poison when it is inside a person. Maybe that magic was never really meant to be inside our bodies, flowing through our veins, permeating muscles and organs, infiltrating every cell of our beings.

Maybe the only way to live a fully healthy human existence is to get the magic out from inside of our bodies and put it out into the world.

Some people exorcise their magic by playing sports or engaging in other physical feats.

Some people paint or draw. 

Some people invent new technologies. 

Some people teach. 

Some people heal and take care of others. 

Some people write. 

Some people play music. 

Some people sing. 

Some people have the unbelievable ability to love every human being they come into contact with. 

Some people cook. 

Some people build. 

Some people fix and repair. 

Some people plant and garden and farm. 

Some people care for animals. 

Some people care for the earth. 

Some people stitch. Some people wire circuits. Some people create curriculum. Some people minister. Some people pray. Some people carve and sculpt. Some people clean and tend. Some people organize and simplify. Some people connect people with other people, or connect people with the things and services they need. Some people innovate.

And everyone has something--and probably multiple somethings--to let the magic out.

Because when we hold it inside, when we never let it out, it fouls our blood, it turns into illness and stress  and meanness, a hardness to the world.

When it is stored inside of us, it turns rotten. But when we release it through any one of the hundreds and thousands of actions that people are placed on this planet to do, it becomes not only inert, but it transforms from a poison into an actively positive force in the world, bringing joy to others and inspiring them to find ways to release their own magic.

Stop Feeding the AI

I remember reading an article maybe a decade or so ago about the impending automation revolution, describing self-driving cars and other technologies that seemed (to me) impossible at the time, but are very real now in 2023.

One of the things mentioned in the article was how the automation of those kinds of tasks (jobs) would free up humans to do other things. At the time, I thought, “What ‘other things’ are you expected to do if that was how you made a living?”

Now I understand the idea was that people would be freed from monotonous or even physically harmful tasks in order to pursue endeavors that truly mattered to them. The leap from point A to point B is maybe not as smooth as that old article made it seem, especially when we’re talking about the livelihoods of tens of thousands of people that would be outsourced to ‘employees’ that can work tirelessly 24/7 without break, salary, or benefits. But who wouldn’t love to have a robot scrub the bathtub for you, wash and fold your clothes, or clean your windows? How many people already have robots in their houses (still imperfect though they may be) that will mop and vacuum their floors?

The implication is that when we would be freed from these tasks that consume so much of our time, humanity would enter this new age of enlightenment, a digital era renaissance, in which we would have the time to write symphonies, paint masterpieces, and finally write that great American novel. Freed from drudgery, we could dream and create. After all, it is a true tragedy to imagine how many Beethovens or Picassos were lost to factories, fields, and plantations over the history of humanity, and how much richer would our lives would have been if they’d had the resources for their genius to shine.

Those creating these automation technologies–I have to believe–are doing so with that intent in mind, the intent to free humanity for true greatness

Enter the AI bots.

Over the last few months, my social media feeds have been bombarded with AI generated images that are vibrant and amazing with their apparent “creativity”. Their advent was swiftly followed by a chorus of voices telling us that this new technology is harming them, many artists who know for a fact that their works were stolen and used without their permission to train AI bots, bots that were now generating art based on the labor and creativity of real humans. If you haven’t seen or heard anything about this controversy, just google “AI steals art” and you’ll find almost 5 million search results. At the very least, AI art is harmful, unethical, and quite possibly prosecutably illegal.

While I understand the potential good of robots that perform physical tasks for humans, thinking about these “robots” designed to perform the mental and creative labor of humans seems like nothing but heartbreak to me.

If robots that sweep the floor or save a factory worker from injurious repetitive motions are supposed to be able to give us the time to engage in meaningful work, I would love to know how in the world a bot that can generate an image in minutes for free–an image that takes a human hours of dreaming, labor, and planning–is helping humanity?

The AI bots are not only stealing the work of the artists it uses to “learn”. They’re stealing the joy of creation, which many of us would say is the purpose of being on this plane of existence in the first place.

Yes, I hear you screaming that YOU as an artist/writer/painter/designer/musician will continue joyfully to plug away in your own chosen medium regardless of what the robots do.

I’m not suggesting we can’t still create art. But think about how much of what we consume every day is art. Clothing, shoes, tv shows, movies, music, video games, furniture, not to mention books, visual art, even company logos. Until now, those were all designed and created by people. How long before CEOs decide they no longer need to pay a marketing team if they can buy an AI program to do the work? How long before newspapers and magazines no longer pay journalists to write their content? How long before every bit of entertainment we see and hear is being generated by something that was told over and over what we like until it finally spit out the Oscar-winning movie of the year. How long before the majority of art that feeds into our everyday experiences bears absolutely no trace of human creativity?

The bots aren't creating anything especially good. They are learning how to recombine images that already exist in ways that we think are interesting and will make us click “like”. It isn’t actually generating any new ideas. It isn’t creating new art. When new ideas are no longer put out into the world, I worry for the next generations and the possibility of people learning to think for themselves.

The purpose of art–all art, as I understand it–is communication. And when it ceases being about communication and shared experience, it’s dead, it’s no longer art. While I acknowledge that the AI bots are here to stay, and will likely continue getting “better” at what they are doing, they will still never have what human-to-human created art has: shared experience. It's my hope that eventually we will come full circle, back to recognizing that this robot-generated art is not the shiny new toy we thought it was, but is dead, void of any human experience behind it. And when people begin to see the soul behind art created by humans, we will circle back around to truly valuing the work, physically, mentally, and emotionally, of our fellow people, our fellow creators on this planet.

Not quite a poem

10 Things War Can Cure

1. Longevity.

2. Peace.

3. Education.

4. Abundance.

5. Home.

6. Family.

7. Lagging gun sales.

8. Quiet.

9. Sovereignty.

10. Writer's block.

A Question

Am I even a poet anymore?

One thing people don't talk much about with a breakthrough case of COVID, especially if during your illness, you're trying to isolate from the rest of your household, is the depression. Fortunately, after the end of the prescribed quarantine, most of those dark thoughts dissipated for me. But one lingered: am I even a poet anymore?

I've heard many poets over the years say they NEED to write, that they write because it is as necessary as breathing to keeping them alive, that they will write regardless of whether or not anyone is reading or listening. 

I believe there are some people who sincerely feel that. I'm not one of them.

I write because it is fun, or because I need a vehicle to share my words and ideas and thoughts. I write poetry to communicate in a way I normally wouldn't, with people who normally wouldn't  hear what I have to communicate.

But it's been a while since I've felt that I had much to communicate, that was not already being said elsewhere, more eloquently, and with more urgency. Over the past year, or two...or ...three? I've written a few poems, but most of them were an assignment of one kind or another. I've done very little recent writing that wasn't to submit on a specific topic, or to any other call to which I felt obligated--even if that obligation was only to myself. I haven't written just because I had something to write. And so this pervasive, "Am I even a poet anymore?" has been bothering me. Can I be a poet who doesn't poem?

I know a lot of people have strange reservations and feelings about self-labeling as a poet. I once encountered someone at an open mic reading who told me he couldn't call himself a "poet" unless he was doing it to make a living. Some people worry that the word "poet" is too precious, that calling yourself a poet is hubris, that calling yourself a poet is an act of holier-than-thou.

None of that baggage around the "poet" label ever bothered me. A poet is someone who writes poems. But can I still be a poet if I haven't been writing poems?

Then about a week ago, I found myself giving two readings within a few days of each other. The first was part of the Poetic Inventory of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, which is a beautiful project seeking to collect poems for every plant, animal, and insect species native to the CVNP. I felt relieved to be reading with other poets again, hearing this inspiring collection of voices. I encourage everyone to check out this project. 

Then I had the joy of reading virtually for Jonie McIntire's Uncloistered Poetry out of Toledo. It felt so good to be putting my words into the world again. 

And after all of that, I'm starting to feel, that, yes, I am a poet. Again. Maybe.

I still haven't felt pushed to return to the page, just yet. But I did feel an impetus to return here to this space. That is a start. And I will accept it as a little gift from the muse.

Thank you, friends. Life, love, and light. - TGB

One more aspect of pandemic fatigue: the curse-blessing of too much

When the pandemic started, and everyone believed that it would be a short few weeks of unexpected vacation time, the sudden proliferation of online events felt almost magical. Someone is taking me on a tour of a museum I've never visited! The zoo is hosting lunch breaks with a different animal every day! One of my favorite bands is broadcasting live from their living room this weekend! It was a fun random way to spend the weird hours of void.

But in the year since, the cornucopia of virtual events has exploded. There are poetry open mics everywhere, everyday. I can read at an open mic across the country through the magic of the internet. But there's also a lecture at the same time with world renowned scientists about climate change. And my cell phone plan is offering me a free online class that I feel obligated to take advantage of. And meanwhile there are four other lectures, table readings hosted by a local theatre, online film festivals, don't forget to watch the solstice at Stonehenge, an organizing meeting about every important cause I have ever cared about, a friend is performing an online concert with new songs, my inbox is filling up with announcements about virtual concerts and classes and talks and readings, there's a poetry gala with all kinds of amazing people attending, there's a free writing conference, and finally that union meeting I've been meaning to attend, and...

This pandemic was first a curse, then a blessing in disguise with the expanded access we all have to virtually EVERYTHING...to, feeling like a curse of too much. I want to attend EVERYTHING, and most nights, I end up on the couch binge watching West Wing anyway. Because I forget. Followed by the next day when I realize that the thing I really, REALLY wanted to watch was last night and I couldn't remember because time doesn't exist anymore, and I get angry at myself for feeling like I abandoned a friend's performance, or am a bad citizen of the world because I didn't watch the Very Important Lecture. After all, there are no more excuses for not going somewhere, because I literally don't need to go anywhere.

I think that's part of my problem. Going somewhere requires a tiny bit of planning. I'm going to a reading on Tuesday night, so I look up directions for the venue ahead of time, plan to eat dinner early, and pick out something cute to wear. I'm going to the baseball game this weekend, so I need to decide if I need to bring a hoodie or a rain poncho, which shoes will be best, figure out where the good parking lots are, and decide if I'm eating before the game or at the game. 

Real, in person events require a little forethought, a little planning, and with it, a little anticipation.

I know that complaining about access to too much is a stupidly-privileged, first-world problem. But it reflects what I think most of us miss: the connection of being physically present somewhere.

I don't believe we are a people meant to only interact with the rest of the world inside the equivalent of a video game. I don't think virtual events will every leave us again, but I sincerely hope they don't need to become a permanent substitute for the real the thing. They're great as something extra, but they shouldn't be our only. We're physical beings in a physical world. I hope we can all safely return to that world soon.

Stay safe, wear your masks, keep your distance, get your vaccines. We're so close, friends. We're so very close.

On the power of words, and the wasting of time

The pandemic, the loss of my last grandparent, totaling my car, looking ahead to one of those round number birthdays--all of these recent events have started making me feel my mortality, and with it, the very real understanding that I have no desire to waste another second of the limited time afforded to me on this earth doing something that only gains me frustration.

That is why, a few months ago, I decided I would no longer waste my words on a conversation, written or otherwise, with someone who refuses to give me the same careful consideration I try to give my own interactions with others. My time is too precious. My energy is too precious. My life is too precious.

I know for a fact that a well-written and supported opinion matters. My parents would never consider themselves activists, but they are the kinds of people who would write a strongly-worded letter to the newspaper or a politician about issues important to them. Before we had a computer, my mom would set up the electric typewriter and copy out a handwritten missive. I internalized that power of the written word, and started writing letters to City Council and the school board by the time I was in high school. I have always believed in the power of the written word as a way to express myself, confide in others, impart my experiences, and sway opinions.

But the truth is that if engaging with someone is consuming so much of my time and mental bandwidth that I can't find the space for myself, and then that person won't give my words the same respect I'm giving theirs, it's not worth it. 

People have often told me this, but I couldn't internalize it until my thoughts of impending mortality made me realize that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life that way: frustrated, consumed, and trying to find just the right way to make one more point.

It's not worth it.

My time is worth more. My life is worth more. My joy is worth more.

My words are worth more.

This is not writing poems*

Thinking about writing poems is not writing poems.

Talking about writing poems is not writing poems.

Writing about writing poems is not writing poems.

Scrolling through Insta is not writing poems.

Posting an article and composing the perfect witty caption is not writing poems.

Commenting about politics on Facebook, arguing about anything on Facebook, looking at pictures of bunnies on Facebook is not writing poems.

Outlining ideas for a themed chapbook you want to write is not writing poems.

Research is not writing poems.

Reading news online is not writing poems.

Reading a magazine, journal, or newsletter is not writing poems.

Reading a novel is not writing poems.

Reading poems is not writing poems.

Cleaning the dust from between the keys on the keyboard  with a cotton swab is not writing poems.

Cleaning the computer screen is not writing poems.

Looking for the microfiber cloth to clean the computer screen is not writing poems.

Cleaning the phone screen, while you're at it, is not writing poems.

Decluttering the desk is not writing poems.

Checking on that one thing you've been meaning to look up is not writing poems.

Searching for the blank journal you were given 4 years ago because it would be perfect to use for writing poems is not writing poems.

Thinking about ordering dinner is not writing poems.

Doing that yard work that's been put off is not writing poems.

Listening to an audiobook, while doing yard work, is not writing poems.

Getting a cold glass of water is not writing poems.

Getting a cup of tea, because now the room feels too cold after drinking a cold glass of water, is not writing poems.

Turning on the TV "just for background noise" is not writing poems.

Checking email for the 547th time today is not writing poems.

Skimming new calls for submissions is not writing poems.

Calling the parents to catch up is not writing poems.

Taking a walk is not writing poems.

Fetching a snack is not writing poems.

Re-opening the fridge 3 times because of indecisiveness about snacks is not writing poems.

Playing computer mahjong, solitaire, Minesweeper, Tetris is not writing poems.

Fretting about never having time to write poems is not writing poems.

Feeling sad about not writing poems is not writing poems.

Binge watching The Office is not writing poems.

Mopping the kitchen floor is not writing poems.

Sweeping the basement stairs that haven't been swept in six years is not writing poems.

Going on a bike ride is not writing poems.

Washing the laundry is not writing poems.

Washing the dishes is not writing poems.

Writing a blog is not writing poems.


*This is not to disparage any of the aforementioned activities. Some of these activities are genuinely helpful in writing or clearing the mind to help write, but sometimes (often) we I use these things as a crutch/excuse to not write poems because xyz must be complete before writing poems. 

Just write the poems!