The (ID)L(E)NES(S) OF MARCH - poems - revised, some scrapped, others hopeful
A poem born out of rage
Because you do not
Understand
That women are not
Objects to be seized,
Bartered and exchanged
Like trading cards
We are not mementos
Of adolescent youth
Passed around
Like dog-eared Playboy magazines
Encrusted and gray with
Your early attempts
At becoming
Sexual tension permeates
the room (sexual: because
we are divided
along
biological and ideological
lines), crackles
like electricity
You anticipate the promise,
the possibility
Presumptuous
as you are
(because you think
we have roles
to fulfill, your teenage
porn fantasy)
And you call us to approach -
Single file,
Whipping out a folder
Filled with our dossiers
(Here come the labels now):
Virgin-whore, sinner-saint,
Lesbian-straight, tight-loose,
temptation in her
sinful guises, Not even
an acknowledgement of
our continuing
struggles
at becoming
3 Mar 2007
Poems are fueled by despair
And consuming passions
Just as love passes
Muted
I turn up the volume
Of the television set
And I hammer my heart
Into thin sheets, malleable
Despair
4 Mar 2007
culled from the recesses
of an antiquated refrigerator
i appease my hunger:
an obese woman
is inside
greedily feeling my way
through the mummified
assortments
ravenous:
i pick
and choose
among the dying
and already dead
sometimes an orange,
sometimes an onion
softened and rottened
by the chill
sometimes leftover
chicken, shrunken
and dry, or sometimes
a carton of
expired milk
the stench
briefly dulls
the senses
all cadavers:
i might as well
be dead
4 Mar 2007
free
as the hand
i wrap around
your wrist
i try to draw you in
hoping it will
drown out the noise
i smile
at you (only
you don’t
see) meaning
to put you
in my glass cage
and try to watch
you unobserved
but
you
shrug me off
with absent-minded
gentleness
Mar 11
THE PRIZE
here is my report card
see the checklist
of qualities i ought
to have - see how
I’ve been devoted
to you
How I’ve seen
you (through)
everything
Good, bad and ugly
I have never failed you
nor have I complained
(the art of biting
a trembling
lower lip to stem
the tide of useless
tears has served
me well)
I have been content
To sit in my corner
And occasionally dream
That one shining day,
I would win top prize
for endurance
and patience
I try not
to stumble
over my words,
careful not
to say
anything impolite,
Inappropriate
or upsetting
I’ve not misbehaved,
have I?
Your kind words
and occasional praises
I lap up,
purr
like a contented
cat
in your lap
even if it’s
just
a
consolation
Mar 14
REFUGE
i wish the light
would not
betray me
now, and
I wish darkness
had a gentle
hand to lay
on my shoulder,
wear a familiar smile
like an old friend
who understands
everything,
and i wish
tears were
silver, liquid
in a glass
to keep
by my bedside,
here in the comfort
of dark,
i long
for a blanket
of stars:
speak to me
about the Infinite
ON POETRY
if words do not turn
into lies
or ideals, if pain
can be bought and sold
with a few truthful
lines, then -
there is no sound
to destroy
the waking: only
the formless,
yearning
to be named
can summon your pain
and make it yours
and bear your name,
your multitude
of scars
Mar 16
What is the shortest distance between two points?
You might forget
That point A
Travels along the pinpricks
Of shadows
And while a straight line
Will close the gap
Between them,
Point A will evade you
Like a silent wolf
Solitary
And unmoved
Mar 20
LINE OF VISION
you think
he is leaning in
while her eyes are
fixed on some far off
point - the
glass panels
in front of her,
surprisingly opaque
reflecting only
their own shadows,
(how do you achieve
the intimacy
of a gesture?)
wondering if today
will be significant,
and cut across
the traffic of images
that might
confess --
the criss-crossing
electrical cables
from where
she sits, framed
against the sky
and an empty
streetlight,
benign shadows
of late afternoon
the vehicles
on the street
marching
to their own beat,
moving like shards of
painted glass -
she is looking at him
now,
(rather
the absence of him)
in the reflection that betrays
no shape
but only
shadows of
early evening,
the future
foretold
in a coffee cup,
and the
loneliness
of
a cigarette
how do you
achieve
the intimacy
of
a gesture.
Because you do not
Understand
That women are not
Objects to be seized,
Bartered and exchanged
Like trading cards
We are not mementos
Of adolescent youth
Passed around
Like dog-eared Playboy magazines
Encrusted and gray with
Your early attempts
At becoming
Sexual tension permeates
the room (sexual: because
we are divided
along
biological and ideological
lines), crackles
like electricity
You anticipate the promise,
the possibility
Presumptuous
as you are
(because you think
we have roles
to fulfill, your teenage
porn fantasy)
And you call us to approach -
Single file,
Whipping out a folder
Filled with our dossiers
(Here come the labels now):
Virgin-whore, sinner-saint,
Lesbian-straight, tight-loose,
temptation in her
sinful guises, Not even
an acknowledgement of
our continuing
struggles
at becoming
3 Mar 2007
Poems are fueled by despair
And consuming passions
Just as love passes
Muted
I turn up the volume
Of the television set
And I hammer my heart
Into thin sheets, malleable
Despair
4 Mar 2007
culled from the recesses
of an antiquated refrigerator
i appease my hunger:
an obese woman
is inside
greedily feeling my way
through the mummified
assortments
ravenous:
i pick
and choose
among the dying
and already dead
sometimes an orange,
sometimes an onion
softened and rottened
by the chill
sometimes leftover
chicken, shrunken
and dry, or sometimes
a carton of
expired milk
the stench
briefly dulls
the senses
all cadavers:
i might as well
be dead
4 Mar 2007
free
as the hand
i wrap around
your wrist
i try to draw you in
hoping it will
drown out the noise
i smile
at you (only
you don’t
see) meaning
to put you
in my glass cage
and try to watch
you unobserved
but
you
shrug me off
with absent-minded
gentleness
Mar 11
THE PRIZE
here is my report card
see the checklist
of qualities i ought
to have - see how
I’ve been devoted
to you
How I’ve seen
you (through)
everything
Good, bad and ugly
I have never failed you
nor have I complained
(the art of biting
a trembling
lower lip to stem
the tide of useless
tears has served
me well)
I have been content
To sit in my corner
And occasionally dream
That one shining day,
I would win top prize
for endurance
and patience
I try not
to stumble
over my words,
careful not
to say
anything impolite,
Inappropriate
or upsetting
I’ve not misbehaved,
have I?
Your kind words
and occasional praises
I lap up,
purr
like a contented
cat
in your lap
even if it’s
just
a
consolation
Mar 14
REFUGE
i wish the light
would not
betray me
now, and
I wish darkness
had a gentle
hand to lay
on my shoulder,
wear a familiar smile
like an old friend
who understands
everything,
and i wish
tears were
silver, liquid
in a glass
to keep
by my bedside,
here in the comfort
of dark,
i long
for a blanket
of stars:
speak to me
about the Infinite
ON POETRY
if words do not turn
into lies
or ideals, if pain
can be bought and sold
with a few truthful
lines, then -
there is no sound
to destroy
the waking: only
the formless,
yearning
to be named
can summon your pain
and make it yours
and bear your name,
your multitude
of scars
Mar 16
What is the shortest distance between two points?
You might forget
That point A
Travels along the pinpricks
Of shadows
And while a straight line
Will close the gap
Between them,
Point A will evade you
Like a silent wolf
Solitary
And unmoved
Mar 20
LINE OF VISION
you think
he is leaning in
while her eyes are
fixed on some far off
point - the
glass panels
in front of her,
surprisingly opaque
reflecting only
their own shadows,
(how do you achieve
the intimacy
of a gesture?)
wondering if today
will be significant,
and cut across
the traffic of images
that might
confess --
the criss-crossing
electrical cables
from where
she sits, framed
against the sky
and an empty
streetlight,
benign shadows
of late afternoon
the vehicles
on the street
marching
to their own beat,
moving like shards of
painted glass -
she is looking at him
now,
(rather
the absence of him)
in the reflection that betrays
no shape
but only
shadows of
early evening,
the future
foretold
in a coffee cup,
and the
loneliness
of
a cigarette
how do you
achieve
the intimacy
of
a gesture.