High Tide

                    Rough Atlantic surf near St. Augustine, Florida

 

The wind is up and the surf is rough

I need its roar to quiet my mind

quell my sinking thoughts

(It’s a daily occurrence)

I am seeking peace and clarity

and finding it to be a rarity

Can you hear them again?

The thundering hooves of despots and the pandering peacocks

with  painted smiles

promising

protection

A return to greatness and glory

Making the nation “theirs” again

They’ve created a turbulent uncertainty

and a typhoon of terror

They fracture freedoms of the disenfranchised

Revoke rights and restrict access

Rape Mother Earth in the dead of night

This is not my beloved country

I am not in the land of the free

But there’s still time to be brave

I am swimming with the riptide

Rowing with one oar

( I’ve been here before)

  and racing into the headwinds

in search of a safer shore

Day 18: Part of an undated entry in my writer’s notebook, rediscovered.

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The Running Manifesto

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Image Courtesy of: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/190628996699364479/

 

Her mind is restless.

She is living with a sense of foreboding that she finds difficult to escape.

Running:

the welcome release valve,

the essential respite,

the place to gather thoughts and make sense of things.

Running gives a woman positive bodily integrity.

The sheer act tells the story of how a woman won’t be controlled

by restrictive laws or narrow thinking

that seeks to put her in her “place”

or shames her into choices

that someone else is making for her and her life.

She controls the pace because it is her race to run.

So why  run?

Run to stay empowered.

The goals?

To remain a free and self-determined woman.

And what is she training for?

Her Life

 

Day 14: This poem has pieces from a post of mine “Freedom of Movement” that I wrote on November 6, 2015- the year before election night. I must have had a sense that changes were approaching. In reality, they were already underway; the widgets were set in place in the 1980’s. 2016 was the beginning of the overt onslaught.

 

Never Victim, Servant, Or Beggar

Image result for strong woman in artImage courtesy of:Linda Ryan https://lindaryanart.com/tag/strong-women/

I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet ~ Ghandi

I can choose to walk like a wounded warrior,

allowing the scars of old battles to reopen and fester.

I can choose to act like a servant,

the invisible maid that cleans your messes,

only known to you when I leave behind my dirty rags.

I can choose to be a supplicant

the one that begs to be heard,

while you stand over me

the master of rules and the keeper of keys

But I won’t be a victim, a servant or a beggar.

I will choose to run unscathed

by the arrows that attempt to slay me.

I will choose to be the mistress,

a visible force that refuses to feign a lowly existence.

I will choose to be my own sovereign nation;

one who raises her voice, stands up and never kneels.

 

Day 11: This is for anyone who is or has been in a situation or position where another or others treat you as their inferior.

Fool’s Day Declaration

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Sometimes I fantasize

Float to and Fro

Fall into a Fanciful Fabrication

Far from Fanatical Fearsome Feckless Furies

Far right Fumings

  Ferocious Fibbers

Fervid Fervors of the Future Fuhrers

My Visions Veer to Vivacious Vamps

Vibrant and  Viable

Vested to Vanquish and Vex the Vicious Vampires

  Validaters never Vacillaters

Who Endeavor to Venture with Veracity

WOMEN WON’T WAVER

WHEN WEIGHTY WEBS ARE WOVEN

WE BEAR WITNESS TO THE WITLESS

WE WORK AND NEVER WITHER

WE ARE OUR OWN SELF’S SAVIORS

 

Day 1 of  April 2019 Challenge.  Very much stream of consciousness.

Why Write?

Image result for woman writing as resistance art
            Courtesy of: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/553802085399155400/

        Since moving to a new state 3 and 1/2 years ago, I have found it difficult to tap into my creative outlet on a regular basis.  Lately, I have wondered why- given that my life is filled with less responsibilities and a bit more time in which to write. I have moved away from the near daily reminders of my past into a space where I can build a whole new life for myself. Perhaps my expectations were too great. Reality has a way of biting into those beliefs, forcing a change to my mindset. So, what’s changed? A close examination bears the following: my job as a teacher pulls and drains at the energy required for such a task beyond the work day.  Each year my school community has challenged me with a new class to teach. The trust placed in me to create (yes!) another new course with its accompanying curriculum is both an honor and a burden, given the high expectations (there’s that word again!) that I place upon myself. I wouldn’t have it any other way, either.  When I moved here, it was important for me to cultivate a community-not necessarily replicate the one I left but it needed to come close. My work environment fits the bill.  It is a place of love and support and laughter as well as being intellectually stimulating.  And herein lies another obstacle to my creativity-a draining commute! I find the endless traffic lights and the strip mall landscape and multi-lane roads unbearable. The lack of investment in modern and efficient public transportation here borders on the ridiculous (no, it is ridiculous!).  There is no time of day when traffic is not heavy.  Local and state leaders truly have not had (and I would argue still do not have) the gumption and vision to move forward in this area. The only exception may be the desire to build highways in rural areas, which is nothing but a blatant attempt to further develop an already over developed fragile ecosystem whose drinking water problems may very well be the death of us. And given the fact that one has to travel over large bodies of water in order to get from point A to point B-not only to get to work or other destinations, but to also evacuate-you would think that this would be taken into account. But I live in a heads- in- sand-state; so again, I have lowered my expectations of things changing anytime soon. For now I have found a route home that is tolerable and calming for the most part.

 After a day spent teaching and a drive spent being grateful for not getting into an accident, all I can muster is a yoga workout and then meditation on my mat! Dinner, a bit of wine and a good British murder mystery is how I usually end my day.

Still, there are two things I truly fear most about hitting the keyboards these days. First, that it will be an endless lament about how much I miss my four season home state and the nearby mountains. If I couldn’t get to a higher altitude, I had the woods and hills. THE QUIET. Florence Williams reveals her own writing challenges in her book, The Nature Fix: Why Nature Makes Us Happier, Healthier and More Creative.  In her introduction, she writes of her family’s move from the majestic mountains of Colorado to the “Anti-Arcadia that is our nation’s capital.” She states: “I yearned for the mountains. I felt disoriented, overwhelmed, depressed.” (p.8)  After reading that bit, I realized that I was not alone; my emotions were validated.  And while I cannot escape the din more regularly, I find myself seeking out the trails in a nearby park. If I turn up my headphones just enough, I can almost not hear the sounds of the sirens that seem to drone on several times within a half-day’s span. Moreover, I head north as much as possible ( five times in 2018!). My soul is fed by time spent with the boys and my closest friends-not to mention mountain hikes and walks in the woods!

     My other fear is that I will devote most of this blog’s posts to the current political climate in our country. When I first started the site nearly 7 years ago, I wanted a space where I could explore and grow my writing as well as offer a forum of hope for anyone who was experiencing an abusive relationship. I wanted to write about my new life in order to convey a message of  triumph and joy and profound appreciation for resisting and overcoming personal tyranny. Well, that is done! But what about the oppression of these past two years? What about the culmination of the hard right turn this country began taking in 1980?  I cannot not write about it.  Writing is an act of resistance that is just as affective as the activist work that I have participated in since November of 2016. Writing clears my mind. Writing raises my voice. Writing sends a message of resistance to the abusive and repressive power structures that seek to quiet us. Writing raises the vibration and gives us energy and hope. So write I will.

Image result for poets as unacknowledged legislators

 

Her Story

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                                                Image courtesy of: Pintrest

Woman:

Refined and Revolutionary

We march

We speak

We look you in the eye

We frighten you with our wisdom

birthed in struggles and strife

Our stories belong to us and we belong to ourselves

Yet, you seek to define us:

Girl, Whore, Broad, Mistress, Wife, Femme Fatale

 Your connotations are infinite

as you seek to keep us finite

You seek to degrade us as you adjudicate us 

Your savage measures threaten our subsistence

  Good sirs:

You only fan the flames

We have no fear

Only a familiar female fury

 We will not wait

 We will storm the gates

 And rise once more:

 A phoenix from the ashes of your fires

Day 26. I had another word in mind today. Perhaps it will work tomorrow. This is it for today.

At Home on Mother Earth

 

            The Atlantic Ocean on the shores of Plum Island, MA in December

We stood at the shoreline on a cold early winter day

drinking in the brilliant blues of water and sky

Love was born here on a windy November afternoon

our hearts just beginning to open once again

Looking north, we reimagined the sandy altar

where our vows were taken

It was June

a day much the same in its splendor

The early summer air kissing us with its warmth

The feel of the earth under our bare feet fed our souls

Still, there is nothing like the weight and protection of boots that help carry us over boulders and root-ridden paths

Welch-Dickey looking west

We stop and put our hands in a snow melted stream

amazed at its crystal clear color

Its extravagant cold causes us to sigh in gratefulness

Love grows here on the bare bluffs and falling waters

Arethusa Falls

When we climb in April, we arrive in time for Spring’s rebirth

as we once again mark our own

Seasons change but our zeal for hiking never wanes

Summer flora at the bottom of Artist’s Bluff, Franconia Notch, NH

The mountains await us

Mount Lafayette, Franconia Notch, NH

 

 

Day 22. A poem to honor Earth Day and pay homage to the March for Science. We went to a nearby Arbor Festival and came away with 2 more plants for the butterfly garden and a bougainvillea tree.