You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘literature’ tag.

April 9, 2016

 

We are still working

Hard – filing away

The shackles of Patriarchy –

 

Wondering where to drop

Them without littering

The world. But if

We talk too loudly,

 

And point it out, well,

We are whining and complaining;

Angry feminists all.

 

Once Helen Keller

Wrote a story and it

All was a rehash

Of something she had

Already read with her hands.

 

I wonder,

Is everything we

Do under a paper doll

Shadow of men.

 

This is poem #56 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Advertisements

A Poem Inspired by a Bottle of Wine

 

An angel hovers –

Robes floating around her –

Billowing breezes come.

Her sword is ready

 

For the kill. When wrongs

Are done, do we do

The work of Vengeance

Or allow Karma

 

To do his work? Smite

Those who wrong and who

May never know

The blame to accept.

 

A bottle of wine

Banshee and Angels

Sell pressed grapes

And 11.6% alcohol.

 

Vindicated: when all

Is again right with

The world.

 

Smite: people do

Not use this word enough

Anymore.

 

The Angel raises her sword

Above her robes; do not

Distract her from

Her delicate work.

 

This is Poem #30 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

In English class

I teach two African

Girls who’ve experienced

 

Such trauma in their

Home country, they have

No memories of their childhoods.

 

It’s interesting that

Michonne wields a machette

as her weapon of choice

and skill

and grace.

 

How she dances

With her implement

of destruction

 

The beautiful beheadings

of zombies.

 

She spins. Her powerful

Arms, her smooth

And perfect skin,

 

A foil to the failing,

Falling, pallid

zombie flesh.

We are set down

On this earth, bewildered,

Like a Star Wars

Action figure in the midst

Of a child’s messy

 

Bedroom – the stacks

of dirty clothes, the

plates of scraps and leftover

snacks, and the other, bigger

toys just waiting

 

To run over

Or devour you.

Is the puppet master

Kind enough to spare

You the wrath of a giant

Tonka truck tire or

The string tied round your waist,

 

Linked to that finger

Dangling you over

The toilet? Who

 

Is you God today?

 

Leia(Combat)(C75)(1)

 

This is Poem #21 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

 

Maybe in this modern

world, we’re not meant

to be happy. Stop

drugging ourselves numb

 

to the world this is dying.

Sealions exit their sea –

for lack of food and

heated waters, enter

 

CA diners and beg

for cheeseburgers.

Not long until the food

chain infractions reach us;

but Soma makes us

 

wait and just see

what will be without

any effort to stop it.

 

These aquatic mammals

sent to assure

us, the world is dying,

but we’re too polluted

to care.

 

This is Poem #17 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.
This poem was a response to a news item that I’d recently encountered.  The drawing below accompanied the first draft.
zVbq2xSKQxy8x+GAo1nh7A
I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished,” and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

 

How could you allow

Yourself to become

Such a caricature

 

Of a human being –

Being nasty and mean

And letting your

 

Pointed face lead?

Under your tall, thin

Frame, flowers die.

 

But once removed –

The sun can shine

And new buds  –

 

Seeds planted

 

Before your shadow

Came – will push up

Through the loam

 

And years of compost,

Healthy, revived

In spring – to stretch

 

Green, vibrant, joyful.

Blonde Bitch, your

Reign of terror

 

Over this garden

Is over. You’re

The invasive species

 

Sprayed with Round-up.

Eradication makes room

for what is meant to be.

 

This is Poem #15 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished” yet, and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

 

Digging for Sanity Post 9/11

 

Pre-Bush, in the days

of Clinton, when

the economy was good

and terrorism

 

was still

something that happened

somewhere else, government

cheese was plenty

 

and given

generously by those

who could to those

who needed.

 

Then –  the toxic epidemic

of mediated selfishness

pushed back the man-made

construct of hope

for us all. The real

 

promise of America:

safety nets and ladders

in all states.

 

 

This is Poem #14 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

 

I appreciate your feedback as these poems are not “finished” yet, and I intend to go back into many of them in the future.

It’s theoretical, really.

I mean, who carries

Around actual cash

 

Anymore? So, it’s all

On a computer somewhere,

This record of student

 

Loans, credit cards,

And mortgages. Waiting

To be hacked. Why

 

Doesn’t anyone steal

Debt the way

They reach into our

 

Bank accounts and purchase

Flat screen TVs at Walmart

Or Hawaiian vacations

 

And Charo? No, the tab

waits – the unclaimed

Date on Match.com,

 

The status update with no

Likes or shares. When

I logon to check,

 

The balance is always

There, blinking and

Reminding; a virtual

 

Anchor holding us back.

 

This is Poem #13 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to critique.

 

The old Victorian around the Arch

Hill Cemetery was my dream

Home – before they renovated

 

It – fixed the rotten

Clapboards in the tower

And painted it pink.

 

One day – I imagined –

I’d live there alone

from other humans but

 

With a gang of

Cats. The neighborhood

Children would be fearful

 

Of me in my worn, pink

Bathrobe and fuzzy slippers,

Wild hair, but some

 

Would slip in for homemade

Cookies and to sit with the cats

And my stories saved up inside.

 

This is Poem #11 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give critique.

Do not drop it

In a gang shower

They joke – but hope

 

Will help you wake

at 4am and actually

Want to get out of bed.

 

And will shrink

The amygdala

And let creation

 

And planning grow.

Flourish again.

Hope destroys

 

The Plague of Pessimism

She worked so hard

To spread around –

 

And infect each of us.

Hope the antidote;

Relearn to stand

 

At the front of a classroom,

Write on the chalkboard,

And teach in peace.

 

This is Poem #10 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give useful critique.

 

Some of these  poems are quite  “cringe-worthy” but I’m publishing them here anyway. Let it suffice to say, there had been some very bad things happening for a lot of us at work, but we were on the cusp of action and change. This poem and others upcoming reflect this time of uncertainty.

Goodreads

Lady Diction’s Calendar

August 2019
M T W T F S S
« Jul    
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031  
Advertisements