Harvey Schwartz – Page 6 – The Poetry Marathon

Harvey Schwartz
Harvey Schwartz

Harvey Schwartz Statement of Purpose Biography I grew up in a suburban Philadelphia area much like Archie Bunker’s. I was a Jewish kid in a predominantly Catholic neighborhood. I didn’t like Hebrew School, because it separated me from many of my friends. A priest told my friends not to play with me. This and other related events created a paradox. I felt compelled to defend the religion that I didn’t embrace. I tried to disprove the stereotypes that crashed upon me like waves at high tide. Jewish kids aren’t athletic or tough were the only ones I could address and it energized me every time I crashed the boards playing basketball. But it also taught me that the world didn’t owe me success. My love of sports was also a saving grace from the boring life that seemed preordained. I had to study science, which I hated, in order to get into a pre-dental program in college. By then I might have come to my senses sans the carrot of a Vietnam War draft exemption. I bit hard. Going to Woodstock changed me. And a year later my draft lottery number was high enough to free me. But being a slow learner, I thought I’d give dental school a try, since I’d already been accepted. I didn’t last a quarter. I spontaneously quit. Then I joined a hippy commune, which segued into a nine thousand mile hitch hiking adventure that crossed Canada and included Alaska, Oregon and California. I never returned to live in the east. And many hitching adventures followed. In 1973 I returned to college for teacher training and became a tutor/councilor for Lummi Indian kids in Bellingham, WA. Then I taught in a school run by an internationally known (but under the radar locally) psychic, on Orcas Island, WA. This was followed by a one year stint teaching fifth grade in a tiny town on the Yakama Indian Reservation, where I learned more than I taught. Next was a vision quest of sorts back to Orcas Island. I pitched a tipi with the intention of staying there until I knew my next step. I happened upon a chiropractic office and the subsequent chain of events led to a twenty five year career as a chiropractor. My life and practice were featured in a cover story of Chiropractic Economics in 2003. My wife Colleen was doing a vision quest of her own on neighboring San Juan Island during mine on Orcas. We were married on Leap Year Day in 1976. Colleen and our children Jerome and Devan are all accomplished writers. I retired in 2004 and the next years were focused on travel, my garden, and being part of an Improv group. In 2010 I went to hear a lecture at Western Washington University on the wrong day. I somehow came home enrolled in two creative writing classes. I was quickly hooked. I appreciate the exceptional opportunity writing affords me to reflect and write about what I’ve experienced and learned. It’s a lot like Improv, but without the speed factor. Coaching from professors helps me tell a better story and classmate feedback is invaluable. I still enjoy the luxury of frequent and widespread travel while the garden that I’m trying to simplify seems to keep getting bigger. Randomness, dilemmas, paradoxes, and peripheral vision are a big part of my writing palette. My goal is to paint a picture that is insightful, enjoyable, and artistic.

Clamor

clamor of the clarinet and fiddle, and it’s happening right now.

Michael Chabon Manhood for Amateurs final line.

Clamor

What I knew seems lost

amidst the clamor of lies

and social distancing and

how many nutcases there

must be for our president

to be considered seriously by some.

Tommy next door practicing

his clarinet again is off key

like life has become.

I fiddle away time and it’s

as if what’s happening right now

isn’t the most important time in the

history of this planet.

Because if I look beyond the clamor

what I find is a lot of other noise

that seems to be going in the same

circles as this planet and solar system.

Maybe life imitates nature.

Acirema

What if the Native People in this country

boarded giant canoes that were able to take them

all the way to Europe.

What if they came ashore on the rugged coast of Wales

and soon took the continent by storm…accepted as seers from far away.

Countries all wanted visits from this gifted group

that were in touch with nature in a way not known in that day.

The Europeans realized the faults in their expansionist attitudes and

learned to live off their own land with little waste and discovered a new kind of kinship with nature.

Kings gave away their luxurious lifestyles and went on pilgrimages to find

their inner selves and ended up much more happy.

Eventually the tribes that were now flourishing all over the continent wanted to share a more personal vision of their experience.

So they took some of the explorers home with them on their humongous canoes.

What do you think happened once they got to the place now known as Acirema?

Moonshadow

Poem 10

Is it really that different from the sixties?

Are we really that different?

What do we want in this life?

There is always a lot:

to be thankful for or

to complain about

and in this country

if you’re white and privileged– to have.

Moon shadows follow us

reflections of who we could be

and can be

and wish to be.

Why are we here?

Is it to learn something?

Is it as random as leaves falling in the breeze?

Or is this time and place perfect for us?

As if a pandemic and a pathological liar president

ganging up on us isn’t enough…maybe there’s a lesson.

And if we learn it, maybe it won’t be so hard next time.

Or maybe just the opposite…it’ll be a real challenge.

None of us know for sure.

So what do we have?

Love and hope and a whole lot of nothing.

Pandemic

Mask who you have become

because you can not let lethargy

be around the next corner.

Make the most of pandemic.

Zoom like you mean it.

Tinkerbelle will lead a strange brigade

of lonely fireflies above the treeline

past the Cohousing cottages

into the sky and then to the stars.

Don’t bottle up this strange energy.

Eat it like porridge.

Feel its heat.

Because who you thought you were

no longer exists.

Emoji Poem

(based on my current favorite emoji’s)

Wave to us Tinkerbelle!

look at the rabbit

who looks at time

with two open eyes

loves to wave

rides the waves

but like a bumble bee sans flowers

can’t help but be unhappy

with such horror on the earth.

His inner eagle

needs to fish around to

find an angel with brains.

His starry-eyed smiley face will

then give a thumbs up to

the doctor who is a diamond

in this time of crying.

Don’t be a nerd,

give a thumbs up

thank you to those who

wear masks.

Season of the Reckoning

Everything’s off rhyme

we’re stuck in syncopated time

this season of the reckoning

is echoing how sickening that

sanity’s trembling is still worsening

adrenalin assembling

both sides told they’re trespassing

disenchanting or awakening

deafening editing slides by

some who are unquestioning

but to me it is unsettling

deadening, deafening lies are enveloping

our lives but we keep on messaging

while what they’re peddling is like sentencing

we’re used to this crazy menacing

like a loaf of bread with leavening

we rise up but feel we’re second string

this skeleton of embezzling

is sickening but we’re awakening

strengthening what’s developing

together we’ll soon be reveling.

The Ideal Day

The Ideal Day…

smells of orange peels

past their prime

desiccated in sun…

cheers cascade down

like waterfalls

and I can’t get enough…

I don’t usually pinch myself

but this warrants the pain

born of pleasure…

to finally scream goodbye

to the worst side of ourselves

manifest as Agent Orange…

Reality TV once featured a peacock

strutting and fanning his wings

to the adoration of less and less…

Until crooked politics

and internet circumvent

couldn’t keep him on our screens…

they say smell has the strongest memory

and his septic tank of vision

will fade like a sunset bright from pollution…

and I will bite into a crisp Gala apple

to cherish the taste

of something sweet…

The Lake

shimmers like the dream it represents

distant lights of Coeur d’Alene a beacon

of trust – we’re not in this alone.

and like many things

it’s not always what it seems.

we bathe in such calm waters

fed by rivers from the hills.

mines made money for a few

provided hard work and jobs

buried deep within the earth

trickle down washed to streams

flowed into pristine lake

hidden from view

way down on the bottom

like trickle down economics

as the gap widens between

rich and poor

healthy and sick

haves and have not’s

invisible as a virus

politicized until those at the top

realize that they can’t imagine it away.

that reality is more than what they think

the rest of us dive down to the bottom

and wonder why the water seems

a lot murkier than you’d expect.

Dear Anonymous American

I know it’s not your fault.

You caught it by default.

All he ever wants – exalt.

We wander through double talk.

From the top we get assault.

Our wounds get rubbed with salt.

You’re now in burial vault

of his askew surreal pole vault.

His mind flexible as cobalt

while your life was lost.

I’m sorry this thunderbolt

somersaulted your life to halt.

And if I say I’m sorry

it’s from one deep in worry

that you’re one of the many

his lack of caring had to bury.

Bunny Love (a Bop)

Bunny Love

(A Bop)

A hawk stares down on me

from high above, I see a dove.

Naïve bunny that I am

I bop along sunny bunny trail

grass beaten down just enough

to show me where to go.

Bunny love is funny love

but also is a boxing glove.

Can I love this creation?

Does it matter if I swing and miss?

Does it matter if I fall down flat?

The team depends on me.

My ancestors and descendants

stare down from the stands.

It’s hard to tell if the rain I feel

is cheering, booing or just indifferent chatting.

Bunny love is funny love

but also is a boxing glove.

I need to figure out what to do

but there is nothing to figure out.

I need to be in this moment

as if the stands aren’t there

as if everything and nothing are the same

as if the answer is a little further down this bunny trail.

Bunny love is funny love

but also is a boxing glove.

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