Friday, May 14, 2021
Flower Paintings by Su Zi
Monday, May 10, 2021
Cripendy Contest Winners for 2021
We had some stellar entries in our contest this year... and it's only the inaugural competition! Thank you all so much for making this a success.
First place: "Blind Date" by Carol Farnsworth (felt/plush art)
Second place: "Tide" by Ann Chiappetta (poem)
Third place: "Dinosaur" by F.I. Goldhaber (poem)
Next month, each winner will have a post on the blog in order to highlight their work (with artist's note unless otherwise specified). Prizes will be sent to the winners by the end of May.
Thursday, May 6, 2021
Carrying my Father's Silence by Nnadi Samuel
into disremembering the taste of a dialect.
grief, the calm to soften your teeth,
& sponge a weak phrase to its neat wall of pink.
this is how you kill a mother's worth:
sludged wrists crushed to calories,
lost from ceaseless count of meals by how much
you braid your head into a migraine,
& let the style eat you.
silence, like a mohawk,
stands at ease.
getting my attention is one tough chore,
you could break your lips,
all my fun sides staked to claims:
that I feigned my father's accent,
& sighs are how he made words look like sin.
I am sifting into this new world,
skipping my meals,
becoming what I eat when I starve things of my lips.
I now lust for days when noise grooms my stature,
tongue amplified with the thirst for a crazy accent—
Thursday, April 29, 2021
Best "Performance" of Inclusion Goes to The Oscars
Crip Camp was nominated for an Oscar and, though it didn't win, it feels like things might change for the better... to some people. There were photos of the stars on the red carpet (with service dog)! It was a marvelous occurrence.
While it is amazing to witness (and there are subtle signs of our community breaking down barriers), Hollywood is still woefully ableist. Oscar bait with able-bodied and neurotypical folks "cripping up" is still prevalent. Our civil rights movement in the film industry is still being fought.
A ramp was built to the stage for the first time. The academy never saw need of it before. No one using a wheeled mobility aid got close enough to the stage to even consider the possibility. Why the benefits of ramps aren't apparent to able-bodied folks is always a mystery to me, but ramps also serve as an unwritten "welcome sign" to our community, so...
Anthony Hopkins won an award (and is now the oldest man to do so) but wasn't allowed to use Zoom to attend the ceremony. A neurodivergent man in his 80s during the height of a pandemic isn't allowed to teleconference because... rules. Ableds seem to want "a return to normal" post-pandemic to include our continued exclusion.
Each bit of progress we make upwards is undone by another set of stairs. Will we be welcome at the top again next year, or will the ramp be as gone as our invitations?
Friday, April 23, 2021
Scrapheap Challenge by Kate Meyer-Currey
A refuse refugee;
To throw my
Dismembered
Body parts
Of a life
Misconducted
In shame’s
Black bag
On a social scrapheap
That would prove
I was a castoff:
Too lazy and indifferent
To recycle my packaging
Into tidy categories
Rinsed out for the bin men;
But I missed collection day
Accidentally on repurpose:
It was upcycle or rot.
No bones about it
I’m no oil painting
Trash into treasure
Or priceless antique
In lockup storage
Brought to light
For millions on daytime TV
I won’t write myself off
As damaged goods
On life’s pavement.
I was built to last:
Time has worn me
Down and a little out
It’s softened those harsh edges
Through constant use,
Given a warmer patina
To my inlaid surface
My gold leaf still gleams true
I retain ornamental value:
I was once-loved:
It shows to discerning eyes
With a taste for niche
Or vintage artefacts;
Now I know my own worth
I’m content to take
My rough with my smooth:
I still have hidden compartments
No-one has discovered.
Thursday, April 15, 2021
The Witcher (Netflix) and Ableism
1. I've never read any of The Witcher books, and the only video game I played of the series was the third one.
Thursday, April 8, 2021
Insomnia; a Night of Reckoning by Robert Allen
I greet the dawn,
the sun burns hot in the hollow.
The day aches on until
sleepless I meet the night,
sleepless I meet the night,
head hollowed like open empty
palms,
a begging bowl, a dead balloon, a
broken heart.
Details at www.robertallenpoet.com



