unidentified photographer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
According to an account [of Douglass’ birthday celebration] in the Washington Evening Star, the event was held on February 28, 1888. After the other dignitaries spoke, Douglass took the stage as he twirled his glasses.
“I understand from some things that have occurred since I came in that you have been celebrating my seventy-first birthday. What in the world have you been doing that for? Why Frederick Douglass. That day was taken from him long before he had the means of owning it. Birthdays belong to free institutions. We, at the South, never knew them. We were born at times: harvest times, watermelon times, and generally hard times. I never knew anything about the celebration of a birthday except Washington’s birthday, and it seems a little strange to have mine celebrated. I think it is hardly safe to celebrate any man’s birthday while he lives,” Douglass said.
Through the fall, I have been participating in a weekly poetry project called Twenty Word Tuesday which appears mostly on Instagram and via the hashtag #twentywordtuesday. It was begun and has been moderated by Charissa Sylvia who is herself and exceptional poet and writer. You may follow her on Instagram HERE.
Here is a piece I wrote at the beginning of October which was inspired by this beautiful 120 year old chestnut tree I came across while walking one afternoon.
Standing here
I begin to believe
It would be enough
If all I left behind
Were the trees
I’d planted.
Randall Edwards 2022
And here is another twenty word poem written in response to what I think is my enneagram personality type. Piglet may be the most enneagram six there ever was, and the title is, Six.
You asked me for
my Enneagram number,
And I replied,
“There are so many ways
This could go wrong.”
Randall Edwards 2022
November 20 marks the 54th Anniversary of the Farmington Mining Disaster. I am reposting in honor of miners and families who died, survived, and who still grieve.
The Poetry Pub’s Day 13, prompt was “eye contact.” Here’s my response to the prompt, and it is offered in light of the fact that November is Diabetes Awareness Month.
The poem is a recollection of the day my daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes which is an autoimmune disease that attacks the pancreas and leaves the individual insulin dependent. For many years it was called Juvenile Diabetes because the disease most often manifest in children.
Our daughter was seven when she was diagnosed. Here’s a picture of her in the ER awaiting admission to the hospital. It was December 7.
with backward mutters of dissevering power 