The Inertia of Despair

Wars
Endless Wars
Fires burning the sky
Fields failing without rain
Poisoned by farmers
Hunger
Disease
Millions flee horrors
From the South
North
East to West
From all directions of the compass
Seeking safety
Hoping for something better__
The news only blurbs of the chaos
Talking heads of the media spread
Rumors
Lies
Untruths
Thirty seconds of blather not enough
For a lost nation
With fifteen second attention span
Talking heads show paths to nowhere
This is not a world
For young or old or in-between
I know
I have been many places
Many places called home
Far from New England
My first home on Falmouth Foreside, Maine
Across from Portland
So long ago__
Woody Allen said he can deal with the despair
It's the hope I can't take__
An old friend called the other day.
Hope bled out from his life
Fearful of the predicted doom spin
Scared of the what's next
The future__
And like everyone in this world
I is alone
Sometimes
Like now___
I have nothing
No wealth
I'm not driving a GTO
I'm not rich
I live far from my family
My children and grandchildren In Thailand
On the other side of the world
An odyssey away__
Here
Family too
My old friends are old
We don't converse
Not even a text
Then again
I died three years ago
They are hermits
As am I
Sometimes
But always
Lazarus II
Has the future
I see what's next
I reach out
I take care of what
I can
I help who I can
An old hippie
I believe in joy
A child's smile
An autumn rose
Afore an Adelphi Street brownstone
Sniff
A fragance from long ago in Paris
The Parch de Bagatelle
At dawn
Forty years ago__
Yesterday
The scent of the sea
Through the open window
Of Francis' Saab
On the BQE
Heading to the Rockaways
For a swim
Maybe the last for the year__
This evening
Sitting on a chair on the sidewalk on Myrtle Avenue
Sipping a cappucino from Larina
Jets overhead
Soon to land at La Guardia
Cars east and west
The neighborhood
Afoot
Friends hello one another
Clinton Hill
A community
Of People
Of life
Hope for the better
Poor
No rich here
Not really rich
We got what we got
Enough?
Never enough
Only what we got__
I am where I am
We are where we are
Clinton Hill
With the sunset to the West
Bouncing gold off the clouds
Onto the yellow leaves
To the East
The sky running dark as cobalt
A single star gleams
Through the New York City light dome
Venus
The eternal Evening Star__
I phone friends on my cell
No one answers my call
I leave a message
Voice mail
Three words
We are us
Then sit back and sigh_
Whatever is coming is coming
And we will live
Every second
Of every minute
Of every hour
No matter what is coming Or what has gone Every second Of every minute Of every hour Of every day__
Unlike Woody Allen
We still have more hope
Than despair for tomorrow
Hope for whatever comes our way
The good the bad and the in-between
Get your motors running
Live for today and the tomorrows
Every day and every night
Time is on our side__
ps We are coming for your children___

Kili Initiative 2019 # 3 - Kibera

Kibera is the largest slum in Nairobi, Kenya. Authorities estimated the population of the 'Forest' to be 500,000 to a million residents, who live on less than $1 a day. Crime and disease ravage the vast shantytown lacking schools, electricity, running water, and medical care.

On my second day in Africa the Red Hook contingent; Natalia, Larry, and Laikyn, accompanied five Kibera natives to Soweto. Our guide Fast Steve warned we had to be careful. He helped run the local boxing club.

"Kiberans are good fighters. Hard hands and harder heads."

"People don't like photos. They think you're taking them to think you are better than that. Bring no money and only your phone."

"I've been to ghettos before."

The Lower East Side.

Bangkok's Klong Toey.

Paris' Bidonville.

Larry and Laikyn hailed from Red Hook, Brooklyn's notorious crack capital. Back in the day bullets flew between gangs night and day. Some hit some of their intended targets. More often they struck 'mushrooms' or innocent citizens far from the action.

The NYPD treated everyone like a criminal. It was part of the 76th Precinct's training for the 'slave patrol' mentality.

None of these ghettoes rivaled Kibera.

'The Forest' had revolted after the last election and while the poor hated the rich, even more they despised politicians who stole everything, even the future.

Kibera was peaceful on this Saturday. The main street was crowded with thugs, families, young men and women, most with a smile on their faces despite the constant threat of economic chaos.

The New Yorkers were used to this. Red Hook had suffered the hell of Crack in the 80s. Gunfire echoed from the front to the back of the low buildings. The twenty year-old were cousins.

I was simply an old white man, but I wasn't scared, because I came from the South Shore of Boston. Jackman called me M'zee. He saw something in me. M'zee was better than being a 'mzungu'.

Young boys played football on a dusty soccer pitch.

Below the bluff reeds stretched across a valley and Fast Steve explained, "Once water filled a basin at the edge of Kibera. They had a yacht club, but the lake is gone."

"So I see."

"The streams are filled with plastic. The water is gone. Maybe one day it will come back.

"I hope so." I doubted any recovery from plastic, but Fast Steve was young. He pointed to the left.

My eight charges posed for a shot.

I tried to remember everyone's names.

I failed with the girls. They were shy. Their eyes held stories. All our eyes did the same. Young and old.

We walked by the football field and Steve explained, "This was a rough field controlled by the gangs, but we found money to level it. My team is Arsenal."

Everyone all around the world loves the English Premiership.

And boxing.

The old boxing club was in rough shape.

The young fighters had hope.