Archive for the ‘poetry’ category

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Change for Women

March 3, 2013

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Change for Women

Screams, I fear, can only be
counted upon
if clear help is
close by.

Change seems to me more of a
c-word–curved as a breast but coming
as cash,
contraceptives, clinics, condoms
children’s education, codification,
clitorises (uncut),
control – all
clasped
in our own closed fists–even, cautiously,
the clitorises.

Oh, how we will cheer.

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I am posting the above – yes, it is an odd poem – for Susie Clevenger’s prompt on With Real Toads, called “We Scream Today.”  I think that the prompt focuses more on violence against women – clearly, a huge issue, but one I just couldn’t bear to focus on this weekend.   Also, frankly, in much of the world, women are powerless not only because of violence but because they have no true economic rights.   Programs that make loans to women, allow women to establish their own bank accounts, to have some separate economic life from their husbands, have proved very successful in helping children as well as women.   And, of course, I can’t think about women’s rights around the world without thinking of women’s rights to keep their bodies intact.  I have written on this issue (FGM) before.  

I thought of ending this poem with the line “Oh, how we will scream then,” in place of the current last line, but that seemed a little flippant.  If anyone has a different view, however, feel free to voice it. 

(All rights reserved, as always, in poem and pic.) 

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Comments: 14 Comments

Jaipur (In Brief)

March 2, 2013

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Jaipur

Cold inside, I foolishly drink
two cups of strong hot tea.
Now I will sit awake all night
thinking of you.

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Here is an older short poem about Jaipur, called the “Pink City”, in Rajasthan, India.  The picture above is not the pink stone typical of Jaipur, but then again, the poem takes place at night.  (The pic is also from Agra, sorry! It is not dissimilar.)  I am posting the poem for Fred Rutherford’s Poetics Prompt at dVerse Poets Pub, asking poets to keep things short. 

A version of this poem is in my book, “Going on Somewhere.”  Also if you like elephants (of which Jaipur has many), check out my book 1 Mississippi (which is chock full of elephants!)  

All rights reserved in photo, poem. 

Categories: poetry
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Comments: 42 Comments

Passive Aggression (Agatha)–Trireme Sonnet

March 2, 2013

Saint Agatha (Orazio Riminaldi) (1625)

Passive Aggression (Agatha)

Some postulate revenge, but martyrdom,
I’ve found, gives precious little payback.
Take Saint Agatha.  After she survived
the lop-off of both breasts, she served ‘em
on a silver salver where, in no way slack,
though on their lonesomes, they shone, while she, revived
seemingly, smiled, a mix of peace and purr-dom.

She managed next a hot coal lay-back,
which somehow birthed an earthquake.  Enemies writhed!
Still, she died.  In prison.  So, in that kingdom,
did those who did the chest thing – that awe-full whack
(though not, perhaps, in jail).  The point derived:
forget all bets on tectonic overdrive–
settle for a smile that lifts up bright breasts lithe.

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The above poem is a “trireme” sonnet (a form developed by the great sonneteer Samuel Peralta a/k/a Semaphore), which uses a rhyme scheme based on tercets.  I’ve used a kind of slant rhyme, I guess.  Sam writes about the form for dVerse Poets Pub.

Above and below are paintings of  Saint Agatha.  Yes, the story is absolute horrific.  She had her breasts cut first, I believe, as a punishment for resisting sexual blandishment (i.e. assault) and after surviving that, was  rolled on hot coals.  This  promptly caused an earthquake, killing, as the poem says, some of her enemies.  (Not all apparently since she still died later in prison.)  You know, I realize this story may resonate in a particularly awful way today, given medical treatments – and I’m sorry if it seems terribly insensitive.  I really was thinking about the traditions of (i) martyrdom (on almost a personal level) and (ii) European painting – I’m really sorry if it comes across as upsetting or casual.   When you are doing something like a sonnet, I find that they take directions you didn’t always intend.

FINALLY, I HAVE INTERNET ACCESS!!! WIFI!!! SO SORRY TO BE SO DELAYED IN MY COMMENTING.  I MUCH APPRECIATE YOUR VISITS!

Have a great weekend.

 Francisco_de_Zurbar_n_Spanish_painter_1598_1664_Saint_Agatha

Francisco de Zurbaran, 1598 – 1664, Saint Agatha

Categories: poetry, Stress, Uncategorized
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Comments: 14 Comments

Letter Letter (From an Admirer)

February 27, 2013

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Letter Letter (From an Admirer)

Hey “A”–
You make
my day–“O” there’s “B”–where would we be
without “B”?–But “B”
and “C” (for all its mimicry of “S” and “K”) are just not
“U”.

Nor you.
My aching, awkward “A.”
My ass-backwards Affecter
of Able, my Aper of Avant-Garde Angst, my
‘ap’azard Artiste, ah-singing Ariator, Applauder at my ambling Audition (my sainted
Aunt), Alibi
for the Awful, Aviator of Away, Aspirant to
Amour, my Angle
on just about All of it, my Atoms of
Adam and also you-know-who, and, mon
Ami (so much more Article than
indefinite), the Apple, always Apple,
of my Aye–

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Here’s a very draftish poem which I am posting from my apple iPhone as still without wifi (agh!) for Kerry O’Connor’s With Real Toads Prompt to write an “open letter”. I wrote mine to a letter. I don’t know that A is my favorite letter but it’s a good one.

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Comments: 25 Comments

Staying on couch

February 26, 2013

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Staying on a couch in the midst of a move

It’s as if the apartment were unclothed;
I cannot put on enough blanket
To warm bared walls.
It’s as if my daughter’s Beatles’ posters had been
Fringed comforters, stacked bookshelves
Quilts, photos pilot lights, paintings
Hearths, the cozy chair a cozy
Chair.

Remnants of tape crust surfaces–blank nails–
Fossils of sea creatures found in desert shale–I, unmoored, grow increasingly less sure
Of what to make of them; why were they
Here, who
Do they signify?
Huddle under the slump of remaining coverlet.

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In the midst of a move and staying in my vacant apartment, which has inadvertently lost wifi, so writing and posting from the iPhone. It is a great device but has limits in these circumstances. For example, it does not heat a February-chilled space! (I am truly sorry to be so whiny but it is really really cold in here! I’m not sure why.)

Poem supposed to be for dverse poets open link night.

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Comments: 23 Comments

Orange Who?

February 23, 2013

orange

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Photo by Izy Gruye

Orange Who?

And a knock knock–orange you glad I didn’t
say banana? Which seemed uproarious
to me as young child, packed full of hidden
punch as in you wanna whole mess of
Hawaiian—which poured out neon red
as dye number four–a liquid lipstick
we could sip and smack, our grimaces ad
libbed ad infinitum, all puns our thick
intoxicants–going down so slow
first go, but then, in repeated flares,
fire krispies that snapped, crackled, popped, oh–
pop! pop! as in Hop On, as in where’s
the beef, Waldo, fee fie fofana talk—
(Orange you glad I didn’t say–knock knock?)

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A reading of the poem:

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Here’s a kind of silly (sort of) sonnet for dVerse Poets Poetics hosted by Kelvin S.M., and inspired by his lovely orange painting, and also for Real Toads, fourteen line poem prompt hosted by Kerry O’Connor, and inspired by Izy Gruye’s child photograph!  (A lot of inspiring visuals here!)  Thanks to Kelvin and Izy and Kerry. 

Some quick process notes for those who did not grow up in my time frame in the U.S. — “Orange You Glad I didn’t Say Banana” was the last line to a very old (and one of my first) knock knock jokes (which involved answering banana to the first several knock knocks.) 

“Do you want a Hawaiian punch” was another pun in an old commercial for a fruit drink.  Red Number 4 was a very commonly used bright red dye.

Hop on Pop is a book by Dr. Seuss.  Where’s Waldo? a series of popular books, Banana fana fofana -was a refrain from a famous song called The Name Game.

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A Sahara of Sorts

February 23, 2013

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A Sahara of Sorts

The desert’s dessert’s a date; mine
came late, with hair palm-mussed
and blushes deep as sunburn stuttering
through the tangle of door and greeting.
We rushed to an encampment
of sheet–each, just late
of a “relationship” (as in
left high and dry) and
not yet willing to wade into any
true waters, but still deserving–make that,
desperate for–a firm moist warmth
that whetted (otherwise) arid lips and tasted
in night’s desolation almost
sweet.

**************************

Here’s a rather silly, but I hope fun, poem for Hannah’s desert challenge on With Real Toads

Since initially posting, I inadvertently un-posted, so I am posting again.  

 

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Comments: 15 Comments

More on Graffiti (Flash Friday 55)

February 22, 2013

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70’s/80’s Soho/East Village Walls

Downtown so dim back then
that any pigment shone starry–
but they gave more than just
a break in grim brick –  SAMO’s
crown koans, Haring’s sweet-crawling
babes–
both dead before
middle-aged, like so many
in that drawing/drawn 80’s
NYC;  graffiti art leaves me now
disheartened, pains brain bit
at forehead’s wall.

*******************************
55 late words for the G-Man.  The above is my trying-not-to-be-too-much-like-Keith-Haring-picture.

Still thinking about graffiti after the dVerse Poets prompt.  Graffiti art a bit sad for me, living in NYC in and out of 70’s/80;s–the age of SAMO (Jean-Michel Basquiat) and Keith Haring, both of whom made themselves known on the streets before becoming famous in the art world.  Jean-Michel died of a heroin overdose at age 27; Keith Haring of AIDS-related complications at 31.

One strange announcement in passing – this is my 1500th post on this blog.  A very great thanks to all of you who have read and commented.  Your support (and virtual friendship) has meant a very great deal to me.

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Comments: 12 Comments

Apt Graffito

February 21, 2013

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Apt Graffito

“I need a bath” stencils
the grubby; letters smearing
clear soft loops  in the caught crud of shield
or siding–

My sides ache suddenly
for the smart-fingers of that same wag–
someone who might snag
my spattered anatomy, signing the obvious
but somehow overlooked–
“I need a hug”  crude, but most likely
to be sharpied–
“I need approbation,” taking too much space
on face or forearm.

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Draftish poem for dVerse Poets Prompt “Meeting the Bar” hosted by Anna Montgomery.  Anna urges us to get some writing energy from graffiti!  I have been moving and have had a long couple of days.  I started the whole process early, for those interested, so have plenty of time left to complete it, but I  transferred the bulk of belongings, including a piano (across ice)!  I have done a great deal of delegation to very helpful people including my husband and daughter ( thank God!!!!!) – but still feel rather drained.  Thanks for all of your kind wishes and sympathy.  

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Comments: 26 Comments

Head Household

February 20, 2013

Brain in Bed (With Dog)

Head Household

My home
is mottled grey; perhaps red/blue would
be better, chambered
rather than lobed–no matter–

Furnishings fuzz
to buzz; occupants (increasingly
occluded) defy
vacancies, sparks fry blinds that tilt
over streaked glass; you try
to knock, I don’t
always answer, rooms fold in
on themselves.

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This is a very rough draft poem for Real Toads “words matter” (i.e. keep it short) challenge hosted by Mama Zen to write about a toad’s house.  (Toad as in writing participant.)

I am in the midst of moving; much was placed and transported today in an extremely cold truck.   I’m sorry to be slow in responding to people – I wrote this poem, more or less, while standing in the truck bed, guarding stuff.   A reposting of picture too – brain in bed with Pearl!  Not really suited for poem – but really, how often can you post a brain in bed!?  (I am writing of the metaphorical little grey cells = yes, I understand they are pink in pic.)

Note that I’ve edited since first posting.

Categories: iPhone art, poetry
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Comments: 20 Comments

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