We live in times of anxiousness,
Much of life seems such a mess,
And many wonder what they can do,
To help us all, to get us through.
For sure speak out and share your voice,
But there is another vital choice,
And that’s to do a powerful good,
By donating some of your blood.
Now right away some say oh no,
Those needles scare so much you know,
And while the jab indeed does sting,
Here is the more important thing.
By being brave and offering arm,
You help another suffering harm,
A person injured, enduring strife,
Which you can help, to save a life.
In just an hour of your time,
You can be hero, feel sublime,
And then they give you snacks and juice,
So your dear blood can reproduce.
Each time you go and give a pint,
You exit feeling like a giant,
Like Fantastic Four or Superman,
You can do this, I know you can.

Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players, a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at gene@alamedapost.com. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane.

The post ‘A Celebration of Blood Donation’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

I’m probably going to say some triggering things,

but I’m hoping you stay around to listen,

to hear this.

I mean it’s been heavy on my mind that you’re not feeling fine and I hope I’m

not crossing the line,

by trying to stay close by your side.

But,

your energy feels like do or die.

I be hugging you while praying you’ll

survive and thrive and it’s weighing heavy on my spine.

I see you around and can notice a fraudulent frown,

flipped upside down …

eyes tired, weighed down by life with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

But you keep trying to sit up straight.

Go on dates, focus on your career, family and community.

You like to pop out and show love.

Dedication.

Commitment.

You spend time with the bruhs,

but

they don’t know all your business.

Y’all ain’t really talking about much.

All too busy trying to prove to the world that none of  you have a crutch.

Every once in a while you might share your feelings with someone you semi-trust,

but often it’s blown off like dust.

Swept under the rug or not discussed enough.

So the pressure continues to build up,

and to prevent from exploding,

you learn multiple ways to slowly bust.

Maybe through lust, drugs, rage,

maybe writing on a page.

Oh the fear of shame.

Sometimes sadness starts to look like anger.

You and danger are far from being strangers.

Y’all been lovers for so long that y’all got your own little song…

And you sing-along when you’re alone because trouble always picks up the phone.

It knows when you’re not ok.

It knows all about your day.

Some days you choose risky behavior because you haven’t ever felt safe.

Not safe enough to tell your full story,

without the risk of being judged as a man.

So instead of being who you are,

you revert to who you were or who society said you should be.

Knowingly or subconsciously.

You know back in the days,

traditionally speaking,

people would say a man ain’t supposed to cry, but that’s the biggest lie.

That’s part of the reason why so many men die or have a difficult time valuing human life.

They have so many emotions bottled inside, with no outlet to subside.

Men have been emotionally deprived throughout time.

So why are we surprised  when the death tolls rise?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s right or justified.

I’m just saying I get how society played its role.

Truth be told.

Men,

I don’t mind to watch you cry, and gently wipe your eyes.

You shouldn’t have to suffer in silence or resort to violence.

Tomorrow ain’t promised, but we should all have something to look forward to.

I’m looking forward to more men feeling comfortable living in their truth.

I’m looking forward to society continuing to tell the youth

that emotions and expressing yourself is healthy,

and you ain’t got nothing to prove.

So to conclude…

I might have said some things that are uncomfortable to hear,

but thank you for being a listening ear, and if ever you want to talk, just know I’m here.

See Shanti Lair-Croom’s previous work, and stay up-to-date with her on Instagram.

The post ‘Triggered’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

As the academic year nears its end, the book of learning shows
glowing signs of love and wear—dog-eared pages,
some stained blue by jelly fingers, cello tape mending tears,
with certain words shining highlighter yellow
and thought scribbles decorating the margins.

A multitude of bookmarks divide distinct sections,
and here and there a page is absent.
So many hands held this essential tome—
teacher and pupil, helpful parents as homework partners
once dinner and dishes were done,
now and then an older sibling making sure the maths add up.

See it put up on the classroom shelf,
joining the glory library in this museum of hope and wonder,
whose doors now close
for the occupants need grass and beach and wild biking.

Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players, a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at gene@alamedapost.com. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane.

The post ‘End of the School Year’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

The Ferry Ride Home

On the ferry back to the island, the water twinkles turquoise.
A pig-tailed head licks the ice cream dripping
onto her plump pink fist.

A biker in the tightest pants you’ve ever seen squeezes
the last drop from his reusable water bottle
—the day’s odyssey nearly at a close.

A mom sighs as her little one bashes an action figure
against the side of the boat, yelping
like a bobcat.

Lovers hold hands. One leans on the other’s shoulder,
eyes heavy, curls blowing in his mouth. The strands stick
there, unbothered as flies in honey.

A mustached 30-something reads a book about meditation,
his plaid flannel flapping in the wind,
living presently in the moment.

And one man, droopy as a Basset Hound, just stares.
With his hands in his pockets he keeps his eyes on
the horizon, as if waiting for a bomb to mushroom, or maybe a miracle.

The waves slosh, as the boat turns slow,
creeping toward the dock. The sun is orange
and low. The seagulls laugh

like they do from above, looking down at the little people
as they form their matted line, to spill out
onto the dock and make their way back home.

Kelsey Goeres is the Managing Editor of the Alameda Post. Contact her via kelsey@alamedapost.com. Her writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Kelsey-Goeres.

The post The Post Celebrates Poetry Month: ‘The Ferry Ride Home’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

The Island

The ancestral indigenous (Ohlone), steward of this land for thousands of years.
Willow trees.
“Grove of poplar trees.”
Change.
Renewal.
Growth and resilience.
That’s what Alameda means.
A bitter-sweet symphony, a blend of harmony and military activity.
Canal.
Rise and fall of tides.
Blue misty skies and butterflies.
Oh, what a fascinating place to reside.
The attractions are endless.
Hear the sounds of ocean waves and multiple languages being exchanged.
Experience historical sites, museums, events, and parades.
View hundreds of birds as they roam and chirp.
Watch them cross the road as we patiently wait in our cars.
Drive by, rent, or own Victorian homes.
See families and individuals exercising near or at the beach.
Children laugh and play, squirrely like the squirrels that are on almost every tree.
Dogs wag their tails on their leash, unless they are let free at the doggy dog party (park).
“Who lets the dogs out?”
Chase. Chase. Chase.
Interested in a date? Or a delicious plate? Come visit the “tree-lined avenue” in the East Bay of the Golden State.
Meet people from diverse backgrounds and religions.
Enjoy food from cultures all around the world in one place.
Taste the best wines and beers as folks gather and cheer.
Listen to live music, watch movies, attend shows, plays, or open mics.
Learn about high technology companies or the latest device.
So many festivities are happening in the day and night.
Willow trees… the “Grove of poplar trees” sway and sing.
This location is a harmonious island, with deep-rooted melodies.
Currently evolving in tones.
Welcome to paradise.
The Island.
Home sweet home.

See Shanti Lair-Croom’s previous work, and stay up-to-date with her on Instagram.

The post The Post Celebrates Poetry Month: ‘The Island’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

Alameda in the Time of the Great Turning

Ohlone land of the Chochenyo tribe
island of oak and redwood, sacred soil,
navy base and Gold Coast playground
Island of families, babies, beaches and barbecues
Island of egrets, pelicans, dowagers, terns
Island of crow and mourning dove

In this time of smoke, plague and rage
our quiet, tree-lined streets simmer and wait
Each moment multiplies
spirals into a future
we cannot know
Here at the pivot point
we hold our breath
and wait with faith
with trepidation
together

Alameda
Ohlone land of the Lisjan tribes
and Chochenyo tongue
may we heed the posture and prayer
of those who came before
and emulate their light tread
upon this land of plenty:
shad, stickleback, coho, goby
pipefish, sculpin, flounder, perch
coyote, mountain lion, gray fox, raccoon
ground squirrel, cottontail, opossum, deer

It is in this moment we decide:
do we make homes for the homeless
or let them languish beneath freeway underpasses?
do we care for our anguished and despairing
or stare from Crown Beach as they drown before us?
or let them suicide in a storage room
when they can no longer afford the rent?
do we send crisis workers to
assess reports of erratic behavior or
a ‘strangely’ dancing man of color
or send police to strongarm the situation?
Do we nourish the land or continue to exploit her?
Do we explore and support our plurality of color and culture
or grasp at the scraps of a failed ideology?
It is in this moment
we choose
who we want
to become

Alameda
Ohlone land of the Chochenyo tribe
and long gone oak forest
we rest on your sands and mounds
we ask for the wisdom to hold
the land and its creatures
in equal esteem
to abolish our fear
of one another
that we may tread this path
as community
as relations
together

Pelicans of Alameda

Squadrons of pelicans
wing westward and loll
in the Alameda sanctuary
20 to 30 at a time

Up to 6 feet of beak
Dalmatian (not the dog)
wend through 30 million years
speaking only to their kin
and silently slaying the sky

Reminding us
not to lose faith because
not all flight is armored
and feted in metal and synthetic
two-legged customers

Not all winged creatures
have been changed or
broken by human betrayal

Not all humans want
to desecrate and
commodify nature

Some
just want to watch
pelicans
fly

Kimi Sugioka is the Poet Laureate of Alameda. She also is a mother, educator, and songwriter. She earned an MFA from Naropa University and has published two books of poetry, the newest of which is Wile & Wing on Manic D Press. She has been published in numerous anthologies. As an active board member for literary arts organizations, she curates and hosts readings in Alameda and San Francisco. She believes that creating community through art is a revolutionary act. 

The post The Post Celebrates Poetry Month with Kimi Sugioka appeared first on Alameda Post.

Ball Town

Hear the indoor storm of leather balls bouncing on hardwood
as little Curry/Caitlin dream-to-be’s shove shots up swish praying

While outside mitts drag in the dirt fielding grounders
fungoed by dads who later pitch to metal bats swung Shohei hard, pigtails flailing

Welcome to Ball Town where Willie, Chris, Jason, Jimmy and Dontrelle
grew up and played until their feet fit professional sneakers and cleats,
wearing glory jerseys and winking to us back home who knew them when

Their acolytes, piled in the caravan each weekend and hauled to practice and play
before pooping out on the ride home, may not know these names, but the oldsters do,
sitting at Ole’s and Jim’s, each with an anecdote tucked in their shirt pocket
like a baseball card forever pristine

Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players, a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at gene@alamedapost.com. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane.

The post The Post Celebrates Poetry Month: ‘Ball Town’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

You may not know this fact about me,
But I’m the son of a deportee
Taken from his home in 1942,
He and his family, because they were Jews.

You may not know this fact about me,
But my father was a refugee,
He and two brothers survived the camps,
In 1951 they saw the lady’s lamp.

You may not know this fact about me,
But his immigrant life was hard you see,
Spoke with an accent, did low-skilled work,
He wore cheap pants and a secondhand shirt.

You may not know this fact about me,
But I’m the heir to his American Dream—
College, career, I own my home,
Because of my dad, now passed and gone.

You may not know this fact about me,
But from him I learned empathy,
To see how others, newcomers here,
Do all they can for those they hold dear.

Now I know this fact about you and me,
So many of us here share the same story,
Our national leader with an ugly heart,
Is after our neighbors, it’s just the start,
It’s why today in this beloved city,
We must tell the world: Here is sanctuary.

We will stand together for our family and friends,
Until the reign of this madman comes to an end.
You may not know this fact about me,
But I wear my dad’s number up under my sleeve,
A reminder of all that he went through,
His immigrant strength is in you too.

Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players, a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at gene@alamedapost.com. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane.

The post ‘You May Not Know’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

Phases

See Shanti Lair-Croom’s previous work, and stay up-to-date with her on Instagram.

The post ‘Phases’ appeared first on Alameda Post.

He makes me feel like poetry does.

 Soothing, like a back rub or like the jets throbbing in a hot tub.

I’m in tune with his every move, like a dancer in a nightclub.

He makes me feel, like poetry does…

I’m excited when he’s around.

Levitating off the ground.

Mesmerized by his sound.

It’s the tone and his mentality for me.

He displays all the things I need, want, yearn, and desire.

Even in the coldest weather he lights my fire.

He makes me feel, like poetry does…

He has the ability to make me feel timid or fearless, depending on the word play, bar, or line.

Focused, trying to define.

I get lost in time.

He makes me feel, like poetry does…

He gives me chills down my spine.

 Did I mention he’s fine?

He makes me unwind like wine.

He makes me vulnerable with every rhyme and rhythm.

He penetrates my soul whenever I’m near him.

He makes me laugh and giggle.

He makes me feel, like poetry does…

His loyalty is solid, so when he leads, I’ll follow.

He makes me live in the moment, not worried about tomorrow.

He’s so real, I feel like I hit the lotto.

He takes my hand.

He helps me to understand.

Being with him is like being in wonderland.

He makes me feel, like poetry does…

His kisses and hugs feel sent from above.

He makes me feel, like poetry does…

Most importantly, he makes me feel, he makes me feel.

 He makes me feel fulfilled…

Like poetry does.

See Shanti Lair-Croom’s previous work, and stay up-to-date with her on Instagram.

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