Sunday, January 22, 2017

WOMEN'S VOICES



The thing is, Mr. t :
your rhetoric is offensive
and divisive.
You are delusional,
live in a golden bubble
of your own making.

Your efforts to convince us
what is not true is true,
and what is true is a lie,
won't work.
Just you saying something
doesn't make it real.

You can deny climate change,
but the poles are still melting.
When you are standing
up to your knees in water,
will that be a conspiracy too?
Maybe the penguins
have it in for you?

Your labeling everyone
who doesn't buy your lies a liar
does not endear you to the masses.

The thing is:
this world isn't safe for our children.
We need social justice, world-wide,
and we need it now.
A handful of billionaires
will not save the world.
They'll just get richer.

Did you hear the voices
of the women of the world?

That's where it's at, kiddo.
We can't believe we are still
having to fight for this shit.
But fight we will.
We have a world full of children
that we love.
We care about the planet
we are leaving them.
We love Mother Earth,
she is in trouble,
and enough is enough.

We have come a long way
from the 50's, kiddo,
so buckle up.
You are in for a bumpy ride.

We're going to make
your hair
stand on end.


LOL. Can't help it, I got so pumped up from yesterday's marches, from all the gutsy women's voices. I would have liked to hear more about climate change, but those people were out there, they just didn't hit the media. If any of you missed Ashley Judd reciting a kick-ass poem written by 19 year old Nina Donovan  from Tennessee, you must hear it. Talk about strong women's voices!

Here's the link: http://www.rawstory.com/2017/01/our-pssies-aint-for-grabbing-watch-ashley-judds-blistering-attack-on-trump-at-washington-march/

 I also loved Gloria Steinem's speech. She is so real.

This is for Brendan's  prompt at Real Toads: Voices


Saturday, January 21, 2017

THIS POEM IS A WILD WOMAN


This wonderful picture of Wild Woman
was created for me by Ellen Wilson of Ella's Edge


This poem is a wild woman,
knocking down invisible inner walls,
the better to observe the sky of mind.
This poem is agitated,
the inner wild a climate of unrest
when too far away from the untamed places.
Attuned to the call of the Raven,
the howl of the wolf,
this town full of monster trucks and logging rigs
assaults her senses, she feeling
as alien as a cougar
inexplicably materializing
on a sidewalk in the middle
of this grey little industry town.

Where is her soul’s home?
Deep, deep, in the wild places
where only the creatures live.
Sorceress of the midnight moon,
follower of the shaman’s path,
she drums a primal beat
that speaks “Home! Home!”
with a stick carved from her breastbone,
chants incantations to earth, air, water, fire,
prays her spirit guides will lead her well,
back to the ocean’s roar and the forest’s
sacred, hidden trails.

While waiting, Wild Woman
makes her escape in a poem:
sings to the trees, communes
with restless spirits, ululates with owls,
flies up and away over the mountain pass
every morning, every eventide,
to where the wild things are,
always and forever, forever and always,
a lover of rainforest and ocean-song,
she knows where she belongs.

Confined, her spirit finds no rest
away from her soul’s home.
Wild Woman restlessly circles and turns,
within the inner landscape,
like a too-large dog circling a too-small bed,
trying to make what does not fit, fit,
too tight the wrappings that keep her
from flying free,
for she has always been a seeker,
now hoping to find, one last time,
what has for so long been sought.


This was written in May 2016, and has not been seen by many eyeballs. I happened upon it today, and it reminded me that when one hangs onto a dream with determination, it can come true. In my lifetime, not just once, but twice. I am blessed. 

Shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, where there is always good reading on a Sunday morning. See you there!


Wednesday, January 18, 2017

"We Have Been Here Before"



Ohio State Senator Nina Turner



Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif is Unity. Ohio State Senator Nina Turner's stirring speech at the civil rights rally in Washington is a perfect example of a rallying cry for unity. She is an inspiring orator. I hope she moves up to higher office.

It just might be that the most divisive president-elect of all time  has galvanized the nation, and everyone is more united than ever. I hope so.  If we continue speaking truth to power, and marching together, surely we can turn this ship around.


Unity,
not a word
to be spoken lightly.
More, a hand held out,
feet marching alongside other feet,
smiles exchanged,
solidarity,
common cause,
hearts that believe
in the rightness of brotherhood
and sisterhood,
social justice and
a better life for all.

Unity.
Usually not experienced in the ivory
or gold-plated towers
of Me-and-Mine.
But very familiar to the marginalized,
the disenfranchised,
the struggling,
the stressed middle class,
the working poor,
who share the little they have
in the connection
of a similar lived experience.

When the American dream
turns into a nightmare,
let us listen to the visionaries,
who will help us
to dream
(and march toward)
a new and better dream.


Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Shaman



I dreamed about you.
You were walking on the beach
with a little black puppy.
Is this of significance to you?

Yes! I told her of the beach,
my wolf dog, dead for years,
my longing to return
to the home of my spirit.

Hold fast to that dream,
and I will put your intentions
out into the world
with my drumming and praying.
Your wolf dog visits me
to let you know he is near.
He will walk with you
on your beach
once again.

I held onto hope,
though it faltered with the slowness
of the years.
I watered my long-held dream
with longing and with tears.

I want to tell you
the other night when I was drumming
I put your intention out there once again.
I heard a wolf howl
and I felt energy moving
in your direction.

The call came the next day.
A space had opened up for me
in the place of my dreams.
That night I read that the planets
sometimes (rarely) align, as now,
in a certain way.
When they do, if you have a dream
that has been blocked,
and you are offered it:
Say Yes!
Do not let fear or doubt enter in.
I smiled as I read,
for I had said yes,
                  and yes,
                     and yes.


This is all true, kids. Every word. My mentor was chosen by Pup and found me through my poems. Even in old age, even if one has resigned oneself that it might never happen, I am here to tell you that dreams can come true - not just once, but many times. We are energy, and if we beam that energy in a good way out into the universe, the universe responds. It brings me comfort to know my Pup still howls for me. I howl inside my heart,  every day for him.

for Elizabeth Crawford's prompt at The Heroic Journey, Stage Four: The Mentor


Sunday, January 15, 2017

Paying the Tillerman



Pup,
six years ago today
you left this world.
Now a little sister
is heading your way,
and I am going home,
over the mountains,
to our beloved beach.

There is a price to be paid
for every journey,
tears for all the sorrow,
smiles for all the joy.
You pay the tillerman
and step aboard.
You take the journey
as it comes.

It brings wonders,
and heartbreak,
and it stretches
the walls
of our hearts.

I will carry you and Jasmine with me
on every walk on Chestermans Beach.
I will whisper a prayer of gratitude:
for you, for Jas,
for all the wagging tails
and puppy kisses
that have blessed my life,
with every setting sun
until I find you both again.


for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United. 

Pup is six years gone today, and I still grieve. And now Jasmine is making her way towards the Rainbow Bridge. She is eleven and a half and her tumors are aggressive. Yesterday the vet said we are near the end, in order for her to have a peaceful passing, not in crisis. We are hoping she will make it to the end of the month so I can have as long as possible with her. But time is precious now, and going by too fast. She is still smiling, though, her trademark smile.

The hardest part of loving dogs is losing them, as every dog lover knows.


Farewell




He woke agitated, disoriented, confused. Rushing in to his mother's bedroom, he asked, "What's happening? What's happening?" She tried to calm and soothe him but, as she approached, he turned and ran upstairs.

She followed.

On the terrace, she found him straddling the lip of the concrete wall. Life stopped, suspended, in that moment between Before and After. Fourteen floors below, the sound of traffic. Nearby, the chirp of a startled bi

"Carter! Please! It's all right. Don't. Let me help you."

He looked at her, wavering. Almost, he leaned in her direction. But then, he raised his hand, whether to stop her from approaching or in farewell, she never knew, and toppled from view.


from A Mother's Story, by Gloria Vanderbilt, about the suicide of her son Carter, which she witnessed.

This is for Magaly's flash fiction prompt at Real Toads:  to write something sparked by the last book we read. Carter was under medication after a painful breakup, and his mother feels he was affected adversely by it, when he woke from his nap. The conversation is approximate, just what I remember from the book.

I discover I misread the prompt: to use a line from the book as a springboard. But I am tired, so will just leave this, as it may inspire others to read the book. Smiles.

Friday, January 13, 2017

Under A Befuddled Moon

Wolf Moon - January


I once had a tryst
with someone who was
a legend in his own mind.
He wooed me with poetic phrases,
beady eyes, and butterscotch pudding.
I ate it up, spoon by spoon.

"Je t'aime", he said,
looking up at me on the porch
under a  befuddled moon.
But he didn't, he didn't.

Some men are hollow.
Some men are not
to be followed.


Well, this weird little poem is in response to Kerry's prompt at Real Toads: to use diction and imagery to write about humans in terms of the non-human. The man in this poem was all too human. But in the closing lines, I am thinking of a most inhuman man, who is much in the news for his lack of humanity. Not sure if that counts. Smiles.