Madame President

Yay! I'm now President of the Northeast MA Regional Library System (NMRLS), a non-profit corporation largely funded with state dollars that supports libraries allowing us to serve our patrons more efficiently and effectively. As my name badge from the meeting stated, "NMRLS: Helping Libraries Work Better, Since 1997".

Assuming this position is bittersweet--not at all what I expected 2 years ago when I was asked to run for VP-President-Elect/President/Past President. The economy which has hit us all hard, is continuing to erode state funded services, including my beloved NMRLS. Our state agency can no longer sustain 6 regions and the number of regions must be reduced. I wrote the following poem and delivered it during my Presidential remarks.

Re-Creation

Budget situation
Impending consolidation
Regional reorganization

Sudden notification
Concerned organization
Deep conversation

Staff agitation
Board exclamation
Close reexamination

Stoic consideration
Emotional situation
Uncertain destination

Proactive collaboration
Efficient facilitation
Program prioritization

Multi-type consultation
Member participation
Service orientation

Personal determination
Future imagination
Successful preservation

Impending consolidation
Regional continuation
Altered configuration

Written for the 2009 NMRLS Annual Member Meeting, 11/12/09

Stop.

I'm struggling with some frustrating situations right now, and this is a draft of a poem I've written about one particular struggle.

Stop

If you don't want it, don't take it,
but stop questioning it.
You're like a child going from Mom to Dad
looking for the answer you want.

I've explained the same thing over and over--
much longer than anyone should reasonably expect.
You're like a spoiled child whining
because you can't have it your way.

Years of patient explanation hasn't moved you; years
of open conversation about your thoughts hasn't made a difference.
You're like a disruptive punk in school;
everyone gets punished for your bad behavior.

If you can't—won't—accept the facts in front of you, in black and white—
and red from my bleeding heart—

I'm weary.

I'm worn down.

I'm done.

A New Poem

Hi all,

I was inspired to write this poem when I saw a several crows lined up on a roof top in Lawrence late this afternoon.

Happy Hour

At the end of the day
flocks of crows make their way
through the city like cars on the streets.
They fly and perch, flap a bit further, stop again,
just like the traffic on Union Street.
Moving from telephone line to tree top,
they line the roof edge as if they've arrived at the bar for a quick beer.
A way station, they chatter loudly before heading home for the night.