Hanif Hour 18: An artist and principal’s plea for us to see beyond the statistics that bleed off the page…

“I stopped thinking about extreme grief as the sole vehicle for great art when the grief started to take people with it.” – Hanif Abdurraqib

This week an artist, and last week a principal, brought to my attention startling statistics concerning the suicide rates in America.

First this is Mens Health Week and 75 percent of men loose their lives to suicide. If this was not shocking enough the statistics go on to shed light that in 2019 the suicide rate was 1.5 times higher for Veterans than for non-vets over the age of 18 according to a Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) study.

Equally alarming suicide rates have doubled among black men since the 1980s as reported by (CDC) and is currently the third leading cause of death for African-American males between the ages of 15-24 in the 2019 study.

The New York Times did a follow up during in 2020 looking at how the Pandemic may have contributed to this already tragic topic.

Suicide is still  the 10th leading cause of death in the USA.

South Korea, Hungary, and Japan are now on the rise with world suicide rates.

The World Health Organization states that we loose over 700,000 people to suicide worldwide each year.

 

Based on this I created a poem to shed awareness on this topic.

 

Every one needs to feel productive.

Some like to be alone in the comfort of home.

Others flourish in the company of others.

What ever your choice, please know that you are loved more than you know.

Each one of us is experiencing something that we keep inside.

Yes, you may be afraid to reach out in the middle of the night.

We do not want to loose you. Your presence means more than you know.

Someone is experiencing the hurt you feel and we are here if you need to share.

We need you, to tell the tale of how you survived this almost insurmountable burden.

Please know that you count and you always have.

*I lost a friend in high school and every time I hear of someone who has died I wish I could have been his listening ear.  Some of us did not even know. Don’t be too shy to ask for help in the way you feel most comfortable.

The world needs you more than you know.

Someone is counting on you and you don’t even know their name.

Countless people care for you, so please don’t go.

We will be there to see you through it all until you can do it on your own.

If you need us please let us know.

Let’s stop suicide in its track and give the youth and the elderly and everyone of every creed and nation in between the tools to see that all life is sacred, especially theirs.

 

Poem 19:  A Tribute to Oodgeroo Noonuccal  “The Big Share”

 

Time to smile

Let go of your angry heart

There is a mighty throng of those white people

Who want good, and know good

So we have to empower them

As we do ourselves

Our tears will drown us, if we

Cry in a bowl of despair

It has been unfair

All sacks we carry on our backs

Full of deadly stones

And putrid ignorance. And when we hear

Sorry

It is better for them, than it is

Us

Because it

Happened

Something that tore our breasts

and decimated

Hope

We almost forgot our names

But to them we are Indians

To us, we are people of the land, the water

and the spirits of soul and mind

We have conquered

So victory is here

With us

Do not pout

Or scorn

Love and talk and forgive

And BECOME.

 

“The best things in life make you sweaty.”

“The best things in life make you sweaty.” Edgar Allen Poe

Best things in life 

surprise you.

Not always right in the face, obvious.

Best things in life 

are sometimes people.

You don’t recognize 

their importance at first.

When I see you now

my palms perspire

and I realize why.

Every breath together

a moment we share.

Every sight of belonging to a vision we care.

Opportunity given with us by chance.

Another poem I write in rhyme 

by our circumstance.

Shhh

Just be still; listen
silence a warm companion
intimate in quiet

Do not stir; listen
in solitude, reflection
echoing nothing

Just be still; listen
just listen; learn from yourself
within, do without

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2021
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

The Talking Drum Again

The talking Drum Again

 

The talking drum again

It’s still beckoning to me

As it speaks in tongues,

Tongues of the drum

Known only to the initiated

 

Well, I think it’s talking to me

But then, the drummer only

Has the last say of that

Which he makes the drum to voice

You be right only if he says so

 

The talking drum, a mystery

The secret of which the drummer holds

But only when he beats the drum

For, as soon as I or another takes the drum

The master’s voice is quickly changed

 

The talking drum

Padipanpadi, padipmpidi

Patapiti, piridiri

Bobobo o, boswe

Yea, let the drummer have his say in silence

But in the trigger

Of the talking drum

Camping By Another Name–Hour 18

The homeless camp along Kahului Beach Road

in the few yards between concrete road barriers

and waterline lies

contested of course by the county fathers

as a public health menace

their go-to ejection card since the hippie days

these folks don’t camp

they inhabit gutted cars

and evade and collect fat driftwood

bowling ashore

humans yearning for walls or windbreak

they live

as best they can

resourceful at a bony elbow of Maui with no remorse

outside of an unflinching economic edifice

of outpriced and non-existent housing

l like a feature new this week

the American flag tied to the top of a makeshift flagpole

wind-whipped

intact

as if we need to be reminded–and we do–

that this hovel is part of the United States of America

Hour 18: Always Pink

It is possible to be beleaguered by ribbons

Always seeing them as serpents

Waiting to spring out with thirsty fangs

Lace-lined pink torture devices with long and rusty nails stuck through them

Ready to sink into unwilling

Chubby flesh too frozen the run

#18- Online Conversations

Jabbering and yammering,

Talking into tomorrow,

What’s a clock?

I don’t know her!

Laughter echoing,

Through screens and minds alike,

Holding hands up to our ears,

Trying to cut off the piercing noise.

These the only times of silence,

Between hours of conversations,

Talking over each other,

Pouting when you’re not heard.

Chaos to the very core,

Everyone in conflicting moods,

So much energy and connection,

Though one’s speech is lagging.

But if you take a moment,

Just be still and listen,

You can feel the joy in your bones,

The bond stronger than the internet connection!

~thryaksha

 

BASED ON “JUST BE STILL AND LISTEN”

 

21~17

“Books were safer than people, anyway.”

~Neil Gaiman

 

(especially the ones I write for my Self

which So Many people do Not understand

is the Key to Knowing ME)