Broken Men

Image result for rising up against tyrannical men

                             Image courtesy of: PictureQuotes.com

We suffer at the hands of others’ inadequacies

The ones whose original wounds ferment and smolder

like cans of old fish and slow burning peat

The air is saturated with their stench of self-hate

Their fathers were tough-minded tormentors and serial abusers

Tyrants at the dinner table

They swallowed supper in shrinking, sullen silence

Broken men who turned to God or the Devil

One adorns himself with the armor of false piety

but he is a disciple of those brothers from Kansas

(He got lost on his way to Nazareth)

His aim is your body:

Submit and have children

The other is a con

A wielder of counterfeit deals

Your body is a tool to be grabbed and discarded

Submit and be paid in millions for silence

Yet they aren’t the ones holding the Aces

They are held up by others with skin in the game

Enablers and Expenders

Inebriated Indolents and Posturing Posers

Beware of the ones with more secrets to hide

They are the bona fide criminals in our nation’s homicide

Day 15: A piece grown from the word “inadequacies” that sprung from my brain while standing at the kitchen sink!

Mountain Crawl


Easter rose

We alighted to nature’s sanctuary

Our place of peace and resurrection

Away from the egg hunting crowds and feasted tables of obligation

The route took a detour

The conditions too muddy

A sure sign of Spring in mountainous country

A quick check on the GPS found a return to the ledge ridden twins of Welch-Dickey

We could not afford to be too picky!

Granite slabs in various conditions

Some slick with snow melt made the ascent a chore

 Forcing at times a climb on all fours

Still others were bone dry

 Standing straight in momentum

Surely we could fly!

Then what looked to be easy was deceptively so

As we found ourselves down on our backsides in the snow

Trails puddled and muddy

Leaf covered and ruddy

Narrow passages filled with slippery slush

Our day grow longer than we would have planned

 Yet it was worth it, as it ended with beers in our hands

Day 17. I should be asleep. The hike was exhausting but absolutely fantastic! Our original hike to Morgan-Percival had to be cancelled due to muddy conditions. We returned to another spot which was hard the first time due to rainy conditions. For some reason we thought it we be easier this time around. Not so much! My last full day here in New  England with my sons. Both boys were along for the trek today with blessed Izzy with us as well. My oldest gets the Mountain Goat award!

Tenacious*

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    Image from Wild Woman Sisterhood Facebook page.

I tell myself  I’ve been here before

Then, the battle was mine alone

An initiation

A test of  my integrity, my character, my strength

I remember the manipulation of facts

And the twisting of my words

Days spent in the grip of  fear

Would I would lose it all?

Because he made me nearly lose myself and my mind

A decade hence

A million women strong

  But Now as Then

 I am a  force to be reckoned with

But Now as Then

I refuse to relinquish my rights

But Now as Then

I need to dig deep

Remain steadfast and resolute

Our opponents pound us with their corrupt power

But Now as Then

We are stiff necked and rock- ribbed and pure of heart

But Now as Then

Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned…..

 

                      Image from Wild Woman Sisterhood Facebook page.

 

*Day 9. Thanks again to WordPress for the prompt: “Tenacious“.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Energy speaks louder than words… WILD WOMAN SISTERHOOD™ #WildWomanSisterhood

Healing Garden

There exists a corner

A space left untouched

Nearly forgotten

Long awaiting a wakening

The soil-

weed ridden

and parched

from endless summers’ sun soaked days

We’ve tilled the dirt

Adding sustenance

Giving it strength and spirit

We’ve planted and mulched

Praying for the flora to find robust roots

Watering becomes a religious rite and ritual

A daily baptism and blessing

for these new lives to become one

with Mother Earth

Day 8. For my birthday at the end of March, I decided that I wanted to plant something in our backyard. My husband had spent years before we were married tearing out neglected plants and most recently an empty shed. The yard emerged as a tabula rasa. Certainly a challenge! For his birthday in February we planted a tree in order to create shade.  My “something” is metamorphosing into a butterfly garden, created in memory of my late mother who loved them. Each time I have seen one over the years, I feel as if she is paying me a visit.

The act of planting is also an act of persistence for me.  In spite of  the current climate (no pun intended) and my continuous activism, I believe it is vital to go on joyously living into the new life I am creating here.

Incidentally, the daily word prompt for the challenge, was “HEAL”. Thank you to the folks at WordPress for the help!

 

Holier than Thou, How?

Image result for Holy and strong spirits

  Image courtesy of: Two Spirits | Native American Gender Diversity | Independent Lens | PBS

Am I to drown in a lake of fire or am I heaven bound?  

Is my sin only manifested in one man

Fallen and depraved and under continuous damnation from God?

Am I truly the apex of all creation?

Am I a mere helpmeet unworthy and incapable of godly leadership?

Or is the Energy of The Spirit not bound in a book or the walls of a building?

Is it not flowing through rivers and streams

And the vast oceans that encompass this Earth?

Is not water the most Holy and High of all creation?

The One from which all life has sprung forth?

Is not water life itself, without which all living beings will perish?

Does The Spirit not speak to me in the blowing winds and rains and snows?

Is the message not heard in the noisy gong of birds at dawn?

And seen through the long looks of deer in the fields?

I say The Kingdom is within me

With each breath and prayer and call to action

I will persist against the evil and damning forces within our midst 

So keep me from your heartless judgements

Your parochial beliefs 

Your confines of complicit catechisms

Speaking Truth to Power is my road to Glory and Salvation

Day 5. I think I have said enough today.

In the Name of Love*

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Save others so you can Sanctify yourself

 Help others so you can Heal yourself

Live for others so you can Liberate yourself

In this tempest tossed time

it is necessary to remember those whose lives were lost

Those who desired- not special treatment- but equal treatment

Access and Admittance

  Sacrifice without Servitude

 A place at the table and a room at the inn

And choices without the taint of self-righteous judgement

Day 4.  Anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King’s assassination. *The title is inspired by U2’s “Pride (In the Name of Love)”- one of my top favorite songs from my favorite band. They continue to rock on in my heart and soul!

 

Invisible Woman

Credit: vi.sualize.us

Kept out of sight

Shielded and veiled

Would the taste of sweet freedom ever prevail?

Used for another’s purpose and pleasure

She learned to keep secret her own inner treasure

No voice of her own

Living in fear of his twisted ire

She learned to tamp down her simmering fire

No voice of her own

Her movements dissected and judged

Her body reflected his ideal

Her intellect she learned to conceal

No voice of her own

‘Til one day she burst forth

A near nuclear force

Her voice shouted out

Now in plain sight

Unshielded and Unveiled

Her voice shouted out

Her treasure no longer hidden

No need to do his unending bidding

Her voice shouted out

Her world was on fire

No longer stuck in the muck and the mire

Her voice shouted out

The whole world could hear

No Fear! No Fear!  No Fear!

 

 

Before I Go

Credit: www.wallallies.com

My oldest asked me to write an Easter story just as the April poetry challenge got underway. I reminded him that I did write one two years ago (Traditional Non-Traditions , a worthy read for background).  I guess he wanted a fresh take on a not-so-old tale. But in keeping with the spirit of this month, I am also inserting a poem:

                                      Before I go, can we see one more show?

                                      Before I leave, can you tell me you still believe?

                                       Before I’m gone, can we see another dawn?

                                        Before I go, can we find another road to hoe?

                                     Before I leave, can we find more mountains to achieve?

                                         Before I’m gone, will you let me ramble on?

I guess our Easter story is a kind of resurrection. It seems so long ago that our family life fell apart. For a while there, it seemed the three of us were torn asunder. Separated from each other and even our own selves. Perseverance, determination, along with letting go and the gift of time (which does heal) gave birth to a new incarnation. A strong trio-thick as thieves- settled in and grew up together. We spent time in the wilderness, pondered our fate and learned who our true friends were. Our new life enriched us, and like all good things, allowed for more treasure and more joy.

And now we are all ready for a newer, fresher start. When spring is done and summer has just begun, we’ll go on to new lives, knowing full well that yes indeed we have risen!

 

 

 

 

 

A Stella(r)Story

Credit: www.astrologyforearthrenewal.com

Stella knew for certain that she would never really miss Mick; only the idea of him. She was relieved when his piss stopped showing up on the toilet. He was once a stunner of a man in that rough around the edges sort of way. Compact and short, his presence loomed large whenever he entered a room. She liked his vehement attention at first; his passion for her was electric. Stella was stunned by his voracious appetites and his seemingly unending attention.

Stella wasn’t what you’d call a classic beauty. Kinky ashen curls decorated her cupid-like visage. Petite, with hips that swayed enough to turn heads and breasts that Mick compared to buttercups. He’d come home from work at the pit, shine himself up and lose himself inside her.

The ride was high for years.Two bountiful boys kept them on their toes and further fueled their passion for each other. And like a fast speeding car that encounters one hairpin turn too many, their affair flamed out. Mick’s craving for cards and the accompanying vices soon got the best of him and them.

The arguments and the silences that followed only got more fierce. Money got tight and then nearly nonexistent. He lost himself in the drink now; his once alluring bearing shrunken. He lurked where he once pranced. And then he seemed to just disappear.

Stella rose up. She wasn’t one to snivel nor shrink from a tough situation. Working the lunch crowd gave her a boost; her tips paid the rent and the hard work fueled her rather than leave her wasted. Months went by. The boys grew strong and steady under the tough but loving gaze of their mother. They would not mess around.Their fear of her disappointment outweighing any possible consequences brought by teenage temptations.

She had grown into her own woman. Stella-Bella all the men called her. Each one desperate in their desire for her. But she would have none of it. “Been there. Done that,” she said. Stella was sure that real love would knock on her door eventually.

And in a sheet of downpour on a windy April afternoon, he did. Soaked and battered and need of something warm, Jack slipped out of his drenched jacket and into her life.

Training Fatigue

training fatigue

Saturday morning she awakens with a sudden jolt

 It is 4 a.m.  Her calves lock with charlie horses

Her hips feel frozen, her back is in spasm

She has trouble rolling over

She lets out a groan

She needs to get to hot yoga without a doubt

Another ten-miler is in store for tomorrow

Arriving, she embraces the heat

Each inversion and twist is met at first with pain

Then release and relief

The poses feel good

But she forgoes wheel and frog

Saturday supper: pasta, water and wine

She slumbers at an early hour

Sunday morning 6 a.m.

Arising stiff but not too sore

Shall she go?

She needs the long run without a doubt

Pain simmers beneath the skin

A natural feeling for the distanced runner

Each mile is ticked off without notice

Until the last

Her legs announce themselves

in all their glorious grief

She finishes and bends over with welcome relief