Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Freedom's Lullaby

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Sleep, my dear,
and never forget
the freedoms our mothers
fought for.
Sleep my dear,
and do not fret
our rights not smothered
by bores.
Sleep, my dear,
and never regret
being female not other
like before.
Sleep, my dear,
while women still sweat
for equal pay while many another
were called whores.
Sleep, my dear,
while I chant vignettes
"her"story made rather
daily, ever more.

(Written for NaPo Day 18, "Write a lullaby", 4/18/12
and inspired by this video on women's suffrage.)

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Inner Child

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Dear Inner Child,
No need to be scared,
precious one.
He's just a man asking
a few non-threatening questions. 
He's not trying to harm you.
Don't let him under
your skin, don't be afraid.
Let me make it better.
Ah, let me blot those tears 
and let's go for a walk under the
blue skies of a Wyoming spring, 
calming the terrors and uncertainty
of your smallness, still mentally
trapped in the centennial year, 
unable to grow and let go. 
Look, I see the apple trees starting
to bloom, their delicate pinkish-white
blossoms slowly opening in
the tentative warmth of the new season.
Come to my arms, precious one,
and heal.
(Written for NaPo Day 17, "Epistolary Poem", 4/17/12)
(Also posted for CarryOn Tuesday #152, 4/17/12)

What if

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What if
she was and is
a saint and
the stories of her
passing were true?
And what if
she truly did humbly
take our failings
and hers with
her into death?
And
what if,
on that final night,
the house was stuffed
with the skin-tingling and
hair-raising presence of
deceased family and
heavenly host,
crowding in to
joyfully await her
joining with them
in the Eternal?
And what if she saw them,
knew they were there?
Why would they be there if
she hadn't ultimately been
loved and forgiven?
What if my latent negativity
regarding her is
ultimately misplaced and
misconceived and childishly clung to,
despite the certain imperfections of
her earlier life and
her children's parenting?

Could I be that happy for her?
That forgiving?
That excited?
That healed?
That...open?
(Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, OpenLinkNight Week #40, 4/17/12)

Monday, April 16, 2012

Ocean












Tides run strong and deep
seemingly sweeping peacefully
around rocks and obstacles
moving boats and docks and
seaweed in gentle tetris patterns of
of lunar pull, blues and greens
and silvers and misty dreams.
Then waves crash and wind
shrieks and a storm arises and
the apparent wrath of
storms and tsunamis rises
destructive and terrible surges
and everyone wonders why
this is happening to them.
If only they'd really been
watching the weather and
the signs, they'd have seen
this one coming.
(Written for NaPo Day 16, "Ocean", 4/16/12)
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Sunday, April 15, 2012

Triplets



















The colors swirl, whirl, twirl
around the world, curled, furled.
My love was new, few, true.
Your words were flowery, towering, lowering,
the truth was ne'er to be found, sound, round.
Confusion reigned, swayed, brayed.
Shapes shifted, wafted, rafted
while the moon looked, frisked, docked.

(Written for Mag 113, 4/15/12)

Dreams of college















We trail after her and the group
during the campus tour, joking quietly
to each other, proud parents
of an uptight, snobby, super
smart teenager who is terrified
we will embarrass her on this,
her first visit to the college
where she will spend the
next four years of her life.
Beneath my veneer of indifferent
pride, I study my own barely
suppressed excitement at this coming
change in her life, remembering my
own university days, some of the
best days of my life, of freedom,
of autonomy, of release from the
shackles of parental control, of
expanded thinking and world views.
I want to dash around and peek
in the doors of the classrooms and
dormitories and dozens of campus
facilities, pretending to be eighteen
and on the cusp of the beginning
of my adult life, not plodding
through my middle age, longing
to be my daughter.
(Posted for Poetry Picnic Week 31, 4/15/12)

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Date night

Spritzing her neck and wrists
with perfume, Hawaiian White Ginger,
she studies herself in the mirror.
Her long flowing floral dress with
seventies colors and patterns
swirls around her ankles, silkily
gliding over her skin.
Her waist-length, curly brown hair
is firmly upswept on her head,
elegant, controlled.
The dressy low heels tap across
the floor as she kisses each child
on the head and then takes my
dad's arm to sail out of our house.
After watching the car back
out of the driveway,
we kids race the babysitter to
the popcorn and chocolate chip
cookies, ready for fun,
games, and tv, sans parents.


(Written for NaPo Day 11, "Write a five senses poem", 4/11/12)

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Go and catch a falling star


















Go and catch a falling star
an angel's tear,
a sailor's yarn.
Find a precious moment, dear,
and cherish it through
all the years.
How can one hold
a falling star?
After all, it is moving,
brightly far.
My dearest girl,
your light is incandescent,
your arc long and luminous.
I watch you soar and cheer
you on, as you travel the
night sky of my life in
your own
vivacious galaxy
not falling,
but rising,

(Written for NaPo Day 10,
"Write a poem using the first line of another's poem", 4/10/12.
I chose "Song" by John Donne - my daughter's favorite poem.)

Monday, April 9, 2012

Tranny vision

I'm a girl. Yes, I am.
See my nails and boobs?
Don't be telling me I have a beard shadow,
girlfriend, after all those hours I spent
shaving and putting on my face.
Ooooh - check out these kicky sandals.
Do you know how hard it is to find
size thirteen women's shoes that
aren't butt ugly?
What do you mean, blue eyeshadow
is so seventies? I think it really brings
out my eyes.
I just love wearing hose and heels
and the silky feeling of lingerie on
my waxed legs. Don't you like it too?
What? I don't understand why you
think that June Cleaver went out with
the fifties -she's my hero and what a
woman she was! Nobody could
wear a girdle like that lady and
believe me, I'm trying.
I'm so proud my panties and bra
match, I could just burst my pretty
little dress. Well, it isn't that little,
I guess;
I believe I'm doing well at
disguising this disgusting
quarterback build with shoulder
pads, aren't I?
What do you mean I'm not fooling
anyone?
I tell you, I'm a woman,
all woman, and I've felt this way
since I was four years old.
Why can't you accept me
as I am? I'm not a guy!

(Posted for NaPo Day 9, "Pick a character to inhabit", 4/9/12)

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Easter blooms

In Wyoming it may be
officially spring but things
are barely getting a dusting
of green peeking through the
brown detritus of winter kill.
At Easter dinner, our hostess
invited us to watch a beautiful
video of flowers blooming
over and over, numerous shades
and varieties of blossoms and
I had hope for spring to
eventually spread her colors
here too.
(Written for NaPo Day 8, "Go Outside and Write", 4/8/12)

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Pink is not the new female



















You think that donning
pink
automatically makes you
a woman
and that
wearing pastels and
blouses with darts
feminizes your figure
not to mention your surety that
long pink and white
acrylic nails definitively
engenders you a girl
and that all this
unquestioningly allows you to
pass as a chick.
Lip gloss pink shines
your lips and rainbow
hued toe socks adorn your
feet with slip-on shoes made
for women giddily slapping
against your heels.
But really
a clown does the same thing -
puts on the colors and
the clothes and the crazy
but everyone knows
he's just a guy in drag
playacting and that he's
a dude underneath
and so are you, no
matter how pink you
doll yourself up.
I never wear pink but
there is no doubt in
anyone's mind that I am
all girl when they glance
at me, unlike the harmonic
dissonance that occurs
in the minds of those who
gaze upon your ludicrous
pink femaleness
because female is a
state of mind not
a color.
(Written for NaPo Day 7, "Color", 4/7/12)

Friday, April 6, 2012

Fur kid




















She sat on my lap
panting joyfully to
be held close by me,
eyes alertly watching
everyone and everything
in the vet's office.
She was happy, so happy.
But she was very ill.
I stared at her head
memorizing the way
the sun lit up the fur
on her head, making it
glitter golden red
as I restrained my tears.
I swore as I kissed her head
that I would never forget
her and the love that
always sparkled from her
huge brown eyes.
I went outside while the
vet gave her the shot,
and wept bitterly at
having to make this
decision about my
best friend ever.

(Written for NaPo Day 6, "Write a poem about an animal", 4/6/12)

Thursday, April 5, 2012

First days

She never looked back
on her first day of kindergarten
as she skipped eagerly
into the classroom
with a crowd of
little kids.
I cried as I watched her go,
so proud of her assurance and
fearful that she might somehow
be hurt.
Now she's eighteen and getting
ready to go to college.
I wonder
will she look back?
And will I cry again on
the first day of her very
adult life?

Written for NaPo Day 5, "Opening Day", 4/5/12)

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Transitioning blues















 





I believed in you and who you said you were

I believed in you and who you said you were
but you weren't who you said you were

I believed in you and who you said you were
I believed in you and who you said you were
You said you were a man who liked to 'dress.

I believed in you and who you said you were
I believed in you and who you said you were
And I lovingly accepted you as you said you were

I believed in you and who you said you were
I believed in you and who you said you were
Then you told me the ugly unwelcome truth

I believed in you and who you said you were
I believed in you and who you said you were
Now everything must change to match your sense of self

I believed in you and who you said you were
I believed in you and who you said you were
And your changing has nearly made me lose my self

I believed in you and who you said you were
I believed in you and who you said you were
It's time I believed in me and who I know I am.

(Written for NaPo Day Four, "Write a blues poem", 4/4/12)
(Also posted to Hyde Park Poetry Rally, Week 65, 4/4/12)
(And to Poetry Picnic #29, "Art, Music & Poetry", 4/6/12)

Post(er) wedding

They are married
faces radiant with
hope and dreams
white dresses
black tuxes
innocently honoring
their day and
each other.
I watch, torn between
my joy at
their happiness and
my PTSD horror
of what might come
next.
I was a radiant bride
just a few years ago,
only to discover
later,
next,
the groom
was not who he said
he was.
Not even a 'he',
in his opinion.
There is a
difference between
being on one's 'best'
behavior before the
ceremony and
flat out lying
one's ass off about
some fundamental
truths.

Written for NaPo Day Three, "Epathalamion", 4/3/12)

Monday, April 2, 2012

Our day will come...














Well, our day already came,
the day I naively agreed to
marry, not knowing that
what I thought was a
dream of a fairy-tale was
really a horrendously
dishonest
nightmare.
MY day will come
when I get sick of this
bullshit and
pack my stuff and
get on with the rest of
MY life
weirdness- and
horror-free.

Written for NaPo Day 2 Prompt, 4/2/12)

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Adolescence vs. menopause


















Teen girl and menopausal mom: hostilities,
hormones and drama galore.
Tears, fears, boys, anger, identities.
Teen girl and menopausal mom: hostilities,
grandiose, liberal, political, obscenities.
Weird, mercurial, emotional and more.
Teen girl and menopausal mom: hostilities,
hormones and drama galore.

(Written for NaPo Prompt, "Triolet", 4/1/12)

Carpe diem













Every day I stare at you and
wonder how you can be so
shuttered and brain dead,
low gear and low energy,
no apparent emotional, spiritual
or intellectual activity
measurable.
If there are
depths to you,
they are
undetectable and irretrievably
buried by your fear of
self knowledge and surety of
contented complacency.

My inner world is indescribably
bursting with vast landscapes of
thought ranging from
arid deserts of despair and fear, to
sturdy forests of ideas and interests,
brightly flowered fields of inspiration,
sparkling lakes of deeply felt emotion,
rain showers of spiritual experiences
constantly surprising my soul with their
cleansing clarity,
waterfalls of memories,
sometimes clear, often muddy with sorrow
or disappointments, yet always,
my intellect bubbles with curiosity and
potency, green eyes shimmering with
eagerness to
live and learn and grow.

And I want to talk about it all - with you.

Oh, how can you just sit there?
Wait...you are snoring now
while my fingers dance delightedly
over the keyboard, trying to paint in
words the vistas that burn brightly in
my mind.

(Written for NaPoWriMo Day One, 4/1/12)