March, 2017, all rights reserved.
Archive for the ‘Cartoon’ category
My mom who is normally quite sensible about politics spoke quite favorably about Putin the other day, after hearing all the Trump hype, and also because she heard that he had learned German while working (for the KGB) in East Germany and thought somehow that this may have reflected a friendship with Angela Merkel. ( Anyway, we discussed it all at length– some of which is recorded above!) Thanks, poet friends, for putting up with these political pictograms.
Jane (From Primer Days) Thinking about Events in Staten Island, December 2014
Hi. I’m Jane as in Dick-and.
And I’m a wreck.
Even though the curbs of my world are perfectly
squared off and all my streets have just the right
amount of shade.
This is because the trees here manage always
the optimal height for a nice new subdivision–not too tall but also not
too small–sort of like
Goldilock’s porridge, only
Sometimes, a cat scrambles up one–such fun–
and Mother, who wears high heels
with her apron, calls
the fire department or, if the firemen can’t come,
The police, who wear blue jackets with yellow
buttons, always have time
for cats, and if you ever somehow stray
in your play, hopscotch
a square too far,
they walk you back
below those just-right trees,
sometimes touching your hand
but never more than–
Unless you are lost with your baby sister,
in which case, the policeman carries her and showing,
just over the crook
of his dark blue arm, are ruffles.
Even with the ruffles, it’s a world
pretend pressed onto
page–we, its only
Yes, I know, some people leaf through
my old world and think it was not
because our pages showed stuff like
red balls that are real enough–
the red balls that only Dick tossed, caught, lost–
(Me, I never got to toss
a Dick-lost ball.)
There was also our hard cover,
yellow and blue, just like
our hair/eyes, the policeman’s
But oh, you’ve got to know–
we were pressed
so flat in here–I’ve made myself
as flat as they come
and believe me–that is not a kind of flatness
that comes just from holding
Speaking of which–breath, I mean.
You know, breathing–
I mean, here I am speaking–speaking
and yet I can’t, you know,
Because when you are pressed flat, see,
that’s what happens.
Here’s a drafty poem of sorts for Shay/Fireblossom’s prompt on With Real Toads so write a “mash-up” poem putting some character/ historic figure in an unusual context. I had a hard time thinking of what to write; my mind has been very taken up with the recent events in New York City concerning the death of Eric Garner, and I could not really think of anything else to write about. That said, I really do not want to seem flippant about these very serious events. I sincerely hope this doesn’t come across that way. The illustrations are mine, in pencil–so sorry that the erasures show!
Process Note–Primer here is pronounced “primmer” and is a word for a primary level text-book. For those who don’t know or remember, the Dick and Jane books were primer reading books, popular in the 50’s and 60’s.
For those of you who are outside the U.S., or haven’t been following the Garner case within the U.S., here’s a timeline of events around the case, with links to articles–timeline.
Here’s a draft something for Corey’s (Herotomost’s) prompt on With Real Toads, to write something about an experience about which we are uncertain how we feel. This is a bit longer than I intended–I got carried away with the pictures– They are also done in pencil on paper which makes them hard to edit! But enough excuses– Note that the whole picture may not show up on some browsers–if that’s the case click on it. (Or let me know, as maybe I should reduce them.) k.
Different Ways To Think About It.
This is a woman.
Think of her as something like a man.
Meaning that you are not allowed
to touch her
in any number of assorted places,
without her say-so.
You might define those
“assorted places” as
but, truly, it’s best to think of them
as anywhere on her body.
Think of your frat buddies–
think even of yourself–
of all those times you passed out
on a couch
and did not consider it consent
to have things shoved up you.
Women are like that too
and it’s called, sexual assault.
Think about meeting someone,
a friend or acquaintance, maybe
on campus, someplace
supposed to be
maybe, okay, at a bar–
But the person seems
that you do not treat them, straight off,
as a felon–
of their weight on top of you,
their pressure at your
their grip upon
Think of not being able to scream, speak.
Think then of being made
to swallow it all.
Here’s a poem not written for any prompt, though I was vaguely thinking of the Real Toads prompt of Kerry O’Connor–avant edge–since I thought the drawings, made the poem more unusual.
Note that I understand that the issues of campus rape and date rape are more complex than presented here. (But, to my mind, if the woman has not consented, it’s still rape.)
Also, if anyone is interested, I posted another draft of yesterday’s poem–I think it is a weaker draft, but anyone keen on process, or who felt the other poem too negative about the 80’s (unintentional)–