Patriarchy’s Playbook

Image result for patriarchy in art

Image courtesy of: Saatchi Art Artist Priyesh Soni; Painting, “Feminist” #art

 

When you’re born female, the sublimation begins

They dress you in pink and hand you a doll

You’re taught to measure yourself through the lens of Barbie’s Body

But you want to run with the boys,

race them on the track and on the trails,

 play in the dirt

wear their pants and ride their bikes.

You fight for your rights in courts and on the streets.

Battles are won.

Laws are passed.

Equality is at hand!

But it’s been a myth all along.

Repressive regimes have been growing underfoot and under your nose.

(If you want the truth).

They want to hold your brain and body hostage.

They want to quell your true nature.

Your intellectual and sexual expression are to remain shrouded,

never to be shown.

They tell you that you are the stumbling block,

the provocateur of your brothers’ lustful sins.

Your leggings* and sport bras** are distractions to praying and playing boys.

  The patriarchy plays the long game.

Your freedoms will not expire quickly.

They will slowly become nonexistent.

They will transition from solids to gasses.

A  purification of the female:

Death by a thousand little cuts

 

Day 8:Having come of age in the 1970’s, I remember being on the track and cross-country teams with the boys because we had yet to develop a girls’ program. The boys were great mates. Later, when we had a girls’ team and when I joined an AAU one, I remember strongly the feeling of empowerment and freedom as a young woman. What is happening now is absolutely appalling. We will not go down without fighting!

*https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/01/fashion/leggings-notre-dame-controversy.html?emc=edit_nn_20190407&nl=morning-briefing&nlid=8029016320190407&te=1

** https://www.teenvogue.com/story/college-student-ended-sexist-sports-bra-ban-odyssey-essay

Long-Lost Equinox

Autumn Leaves

A rampage of  passionate pigments

A seasonal swan song

A long last life’s breath of viridian showings

before your shivering branches consent to a dance

in the November winds

Laying themselves bare

A brazen bold maple awaits its winter slumber

Watching while we rake the sepia remains

from the hills and green grass ways

beneath its outstretched arms

Autumn:

A lingering farewell to the year’s most scintillating suitor

An affaire de Coeur

Transitory and temporary and tempestuous

Till we meet again…

Day 23.  I am out of season, I know. I missed Fall in 2016 so a colleague who was making the trip up North came back with the leaves and rock captured in the image. Autumn in New England is something to behold. I took a photo because I knew the brilliance wouldn’t last long, much like a passionate love affair. I still have the leaves and rock:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shadows with No Light

Credit: jezebel.com

 

You were seen downtown one Sunday morning hanging out at the local cafe’ 

Pretending to be part of the beautiful people in a tony town

 Hung over from a Saturday night of shallow dinner party dialogue

 Getting wasted on wine and secretly lusting after the host’s wife

 to  alleviate the ennui of suburban existence

Your companion is a farce masquerading as a woman “Who knows Who”

 When in reality she is merely a vapid vamp mirroring a myriad of other MLFs 

You fit well with the air kissing crowd, capable of crumbs for conversation

You feed each other tidbits and then fuck each other into oblivion 

Drown your demons if you dare

But heaven and earth will not be moved by your denial

No shifts will occur in the course of your creation

You’ll just descend further towards a self-created hell

 

Day 28. A trip to the dark side of suburbia. No apologies for the epithet. It seemed to fit the message..

Skin to Skin

 

Credit: en.wikipedia.org

When he first held her she was all skin and bones

Rail thin

Emaciated

Drawn looking with hollowed cheeks

He held her gently for fear she might break

She seemed as delicate as bone china

Seeds of romance were planted

Enriched in the soil born from gracious tending

Seedlings took root

Then were transplanted

Growing stronger with every lustful union

He wrapped her in white downy covers

Cocooning her and feeding her with the sweetness of his love

She began to bloom

A lustrous buttercup flower

Rounder

Displaying curves and small handfuls of flesh

She’s bursting

A luscious garden

Born again

Sown from seeds of love

 

Day 11. Inspired by one word: fleshy

A Conjugation

Credit: www.pinterest.com

Arriving for a Tuesday titillation

Shedding layers

Seeking sanctuary from mundane machinations

Standing bare

Longing for dark spaces and places

Lusting heat

Breathing in whispers and sighs

Touching skin

Exploring midriffs and thighs

Rising sensation

Tasting the sweet ruby fruit

Devouring delight

Giving sheer pleasure with each spicy release

Wanting nothing

Needing only pure physical touch

Dreaming spirits

Departing deftly with dawn’s early call

 

 Day 2 of NaPoWriMO. This is written as 2 poems combined as 1 with the odd lines being the first and the even being the second. A purely accidental play on words and a lyrical metaphor for the poem’s theme!

 

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.