Falling
Lost in all this was possibility --
the last thought before being crushed
or burned to oblivion or jumping
hand-in-hand with a stranger
telling him you love him
because in that instant you are still alive
looking into his neck and jaw
before you hit the groundThe possibility that your daughter
was sick on her second day of work
knowing though that she'd be there anyway
protesting she could do it
no matter the headache the fever
the heat and crushing pain
thrusting her against a crumbling wall
falling in flames in mid-airWas it possible --- one thin man
shouting pushing even kicking
stupefied people down the stairs
people crazy over forgotten purses
unfinished reports broken fingers
hysterical falling floor-to-floor
over bodies bludgeoned down
by gravity to a guilty survivalOr the possibility that a baby
fresh from his mother's womb
will learn to walk straight
down a crooked line
to fly a plane dead-on
into a thousand lives like his own
as if his mother ached
for that on her birth-bed
as if death is the purpose in living- George A. Rogers
The Spoils of War
The rich have
wicker chairs
and linens
carried for them
to the grove
of shade trees
on the hilltop
overlooking
the battlefield.
Babies wrapped
in nurses' arms
baskets of food,
spyglasses pass
among them
watching blue
and gray
advance, retreat
in deadly dance
below them.
Eating their fill
they sleep
in the warm
buzzing afternoon.
Waking, fanning
they count colors
lying still
in the valley.
Discomfort
stirs them
to their coaches.
On the rough ride home
they debate the merits
of this popular diversion.Comfortable citizens
scoot up to tables
with fast-food bags
rattling with the TV
tuned to
news of war
fed electronically
from enemy land
to satellite feed
to seasoned experts
who sift information
for them. They hold
plastic forks
before their
full mouths,
chew, swallow,
clear the way
for another
filling bite ---
eyes widen
taking in
missile hits,
anti-aircraft
explosions in shades
of green and red.
Pass the sauce packet
someone says.
Then the baby cries.
Mother
scoots back
from the table,
lifts him
from the crib.George A. Rogers
By TINA ARNOPOLE DRISKILL
A Gathering of Voices, a new Stanislaus Connections monthly column features local poet activists. We proudly inaugurate this column with the poetry and inspiration of:
George A. Rogers - Outstanding teacher, mentor, role model, coach and friend
George A. Rogers has taught three generations of Airport Neighborhood children at Modesto’s Orville Wright Elementary School and is loved, admired and respected by all who know him, says former Orville Wright Principal Scott Genzmer.
Genzmer says “Rogers is one of the finest classroom teachers I’ve ever come across…and is an even finer human being.” He noted Rogers’ life-long contributions to the community, his devotion to OWS children and their families, and lauds him as one of those rare individuals who truly makes a positive difference in the lives of others.
Craig Orona, an educator and Rogers’ nephew, calls him a true hero and role model in every sense of those words, who has inspired all those with whom he has been in contact. He lists among Rogers’ activities and involvements over the past 30 years: co-director for Friday Night Live (Orville Wright School), co-director for Human Relations (Orville Wright School), OWS lunchtime sports programs, Science Olympiad, School Representative to Airport Neighbors United, Outdoor Education chaperone, chorus director, Youth Baseball (time, equipment, support), and Junior Chamber Christmas Shopping Program volunteer.
Rogers’ name has been given to the baseball field at the new Orville Wright Park adjacent to the school, and the City of Modesto is considering renaming the park George A. Rogers Park.
Rogers, a proud father and grandfather, also is a beloved member of a local poets’ group, The Licensed Fools, as well as other poetry writing groups. He is battling a serious illness, and remains in good spirits, while continuing to be an inspiration to poets, educators, students, family and friends.
