Somewhere…

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somewhere
(in the folds of lasts week’s)
(or maybe last year’s laundry)
the person
(when I’m not a mother)
who wrote poetry
(or being a lover )
drew still life
(balancing the checkbook)
designed clothes
(scrubbing a dirty collar)
and painted murals
(while vacuuming the carpets, again)
that did embroidery
(after the button is sewed on the shirt, again)
is in the mirror
(that needs to be cleaned, again)
trying to find herself
(after working overtime, again)
because she got lost
(showing someone else how)
somewhere…
(in the folds of last week’s)
(or maybe last years’ laundry)…

<>==========<>==========<>

This poem is actually a little over 12 years old.  We were in the process of packing to move into our house and my then fiance, now late-husband, had found my composition book from high school with poetry. We had living together over thirteen years and he had never known that about me. He asked one thing: What happened? I did not have an answer for him. Nor did I know how to pick-up my pen again.  One day I was looking at my reflection in the mirror, asking myself the same question.  I was depressed to realize, though it been a of couple years since he had asked, I still did not have an answer.

Whenever I was upset I would write my feelings to sort them out. Usually, I would write it, read it and toss it.  This time I did not toss it because something in those words had reached me.  What reached me became the first three/last three lines of the above poem. It was perhaps only the third poem I had written in a nearly twenty year span at that point.  Granted, it was one small sad little poem, but it was the first big crack in the wall of the dam blocking my creativity. A dam I was only just beginning to realize I had built and now needed to tear it down.

dVerse Poets Pub |  Poetics – Poetically Evolving

‘She has…cleavage!’ Gasp!

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“The networks exclaimed, ‘She has…cleavage!’ Gasp!” the blog post states.

ABC and FOX Censor Lane Bryant Commercial
http://www.adweek.com/aw/content_display/news/e3i9d00b780a7553c2192d61a976986d33a

You can view the ad for yourself here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMxyZQfMmM4

Before now, the closest we ever came to seeing a plus-sized models in bras on TV it was for Playtex. I have absolutely nothing against Playtex, after all, I have worn my fair share of them when nothing else could properly support me. Still, while having some pretty bras on occasion, the brand is not exactly known for bringing on the sexy for us big gals. Thanks to Lane Bryant we finally, FINALLY have not just a bra, but an actual lingerie commercial featuring plus-sized (by industry standard) models and this flak is the result.

Kudos to Lane Bryant for not just standing up, but also speaking up openly about this!
From Lane Bryant’s Inside Curve official blog:

ABC restricted our airtime and refused to show the commercial during “Dancing with the Stars.” Fox demanded excessive re-edits and rebuffed it three times before relenting to air it during the final 10 minutes of “American Idol,” but only after we threatened to pull the ad buy.

Yes, these are the same networks that have scantily-clad housewives so desperate they seduce every man on the block, and don’t forget Bart Simpson, who has shown us the moon more often than NASA, all in what they call “family hour.”

Apparently it is perfectly fine to air an entire hour of Victoria Secret’s fashion shows on TV during “family hour” but a less than 30 second commercial featuring woman with more meat on their bodies than Vickie’s “Angels” is taboo?!

As one of my lovely friends pointed out on Facebook “but Rai, you have to understand… it’s not that she’s underclothed… her body is inherently obscene. :p.” “Plus, she should be ashamed of her body, not confident and sexy!!! duh.” Yes, that was said with full dripping sarcasm. I can all but see the eyeroll as she typed it.

But sarcasm aside, she has a point. HOW DARE WE!

How dare we be *GASP!*:

• Happy!
• Confident!
• Sexy!

And not just unashamed but boastful of, our as my cousin said, “Dangerous Curves”.

You’re damn right it’s dangerous! It’s a bunch of fat girls prancing around in their undies! Scandalous! What’s the worst that can happen? That more people start to realize there is more than one type of beauty in the world? Whatever will the diet industry and fashion magazines do?

Don’t believe me? You obviously haven’t been to The Adipositivity Project‘s website.

Come on ABC and FOX come and censor THAT.

National Poetry Month: The Family That…

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Innocence
Trapped by danger’s sweet fragrance
Lust of thus oozed from my pores
Became yours at soul’s expense

At first kind
Cleaving to the ties that bind
Couldn’t see the seeds planted
Enchanted, my eyes were blind

Slowly thus
Your love a snake venomous
The intent as sheer as glass
Only I passed your litmus

Blood’s imbrue
Its desires call me too
In moderation, I know
It is so, I’ve become you

Puppeteer
In your hand for uses queer
Evil once ne’er dreamed to do
Now like you I find I sneer

Purity
That is what you once called me
Only on death we gain it back
With life’s lack, it comes to be

Come my blade
With you I’m all I’ve been made
Gleaming crimson from our gut
Final cuts, our dues are paid

So we lay
It has come to this last day
Laugh at your look of surprise
Evil dies, we pass away

A Good Girl Who Does

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As a thinker I excelled in science and chess
Bright in my other academics, I gave no less
Could mentally match just about whatever you bring
Daunted only by my emotional state, a very different thing
Ever curious, I took a shine to coition with ambition
Female born, however held a certain restriction
Gracious model of virtue? Hah! I never tried to be
Held back within all the rules of social complicity

Inquisitive, I felt it more honest than being just a tease
Justly stated, I would pursue my desires as I would please
Knowing that the names for me were much closer to ‘whore’
Love was but a word as the males I knew were free to ‘score’

Mainly, I felt you can’t grow a garden by reading a book
Negating convention I dared to do more than just look
Oh guys can easily convey how often they go to bat
Privately the girls aren’t ever to admit knowing any of that
Quietly I learned to hide how I came to know so much
Raging that a male is never asked to hide knowledge of such
So, I could hum the foulest limerick and still be called quaint
Talk knowledge of a hummer when I was barely twenty ain’t

Understanding people I had known only one or two
Vicious rumors and some cruel truths I muddled through
Watching eyebrows rise as double-standards reared its head
X-rated knowledge in a g-rated world was a hard path to tread

Years went by before I felt I wasn’t a freak
Zeroing in that I’m a rarity someone unique
Allowed myself to enjoy it all in its various forms
Because I refuse to stilted by social world’s norms
Carnal knowledge once bane, I’m now admired for
Day or night, finally happy, I don’t care any more

Every now and then I’ll get outrageous with a verbal gush
Freaking people out on purpose just to watch them blush

<>==========<>==========<>

And today’s form is an Abecedarius which is an alphabetic acrostic or a poem in which each line or stanza begins with a successive letter of the alphabet. Historically, it was widely used in religious aspects as the beginning of prayers, hymns and oracles. As time progressed, variations of the method developed and new types of acrostics appeared. Some methods included using the first letter of the first word (as I have done above), the first letter of the stanza or the first letter of the first word and last letter of the last word in each line.

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: The Art Of Rebellion

My Sin

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‘Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Sin from my lips?
O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.’
– William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

i bask in the feel of silk across my eyes
i feel Him come so close then walk away
A teasing touch, but one that causes sighs
He knows i pray that this time He will stay
i arch my back with all that it implies
He reads me well i am His open book
He opens a window making me shiver against my will
Under the autumn’s breath He knows i can’t keep still
He parts me with blunt threats to more than look
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Whispering that only i make Him yearn
i know the svelte voice misleads
It’s an unexpected pleasantry i earn
Flechettes, blades, ben-wah beads
His tirade wicked and wondrous in turn
As i, His personal armiger do equip
His tastes for things shiny and steel
Their icy touch a torture surreal
Halts a Freudian slip
Sin from my lips?

It’s me He chooses first to disrobe
A weakness rarely on display
A hard pinch to already tender globes
Signals it’s one for which i must pay
Oooohhhh! He increases the speed to the probe
To the point where nice and naughty converge
Yes i do accept the blame
When His sacrosanct name
Is moaned in passion’s surge
O trespass sweetly urged!

And as His desire burns faster
Mine is halted as His get
Stark and hard He is my Master
Pliant and supple, i am His pet
His liquid heat drips as blessed oil from pastor
But my crescendo He orders to abstain
i tremble for failing Him won’t endear
With a brute mercy He releases me from my fear
Until naught but unrepentant memories remain
Give me my sin again

====<>====

Glosa form with borrowed lines from you know who.

The glosa is a Spanish form that also works well in English.   Glosas open with a quatrain from another poet, called the cabeza, followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial cabeza in consecutive order.  The sixth and ninth lines of each stanza rhyme with the borrowed tenth line and is the only required rhyme of the poem. There is no set meter or syllable count for a Glosa, however, a good flow is always recommended.
Submitted to:

Thursdays Poets’ Rally Week 44 ( May 19 – May 25, 2011)

Caught Between

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Woman crouching back against wal

I was with friends clubbing, at the bar sipping wine
Wearing the hell out of my Prada, I knew I was looking fine
You walked in, looking as good as you know what
Your hair so sharp, your barber must have been cut
My anchor slipped as we talked jobs as steps to empires
Like the smoky haze, our interest rose along with our desire

Yes, sometimes a woman can let sex lead her by the nose
Caught between the best of nothing and anything goes

We were together for weeks, just living the life
And then by accident, I found out about your wife
I can’t even lie and say I kept my cool that day
Once again the anchor, slipped and I began to sway
I careened into a wall so hard, the pictures on it shook
But even as I was regained breath, I knew I was hooked

And I had no one but myself to blame for all my sudden woes
Caught between the best of nothing and anything goes

With your secret fully out, your love slowed to a dribble
You promised me a feast of your love, I barely got a nibble
Each time I said no, your so sweet whispers break through
And wanting so much to be in love, I know that I let you
One day I saw you both together and I just wanted to cry
Not for you, but for me and the time I wasted in the lie

How did it come this? What was this is crazy life I chose?
Caught between the best of nothing and anything goes

As I stood at the latest hotel door, cardkey in midair
Knowing that I have no business to be standing there
I finally find the nerve to back away, but then
The door’s open and you’re standing there, calling me in
My heart is screaming “No, baby! No baby! No!”
But my body’s screaming “Go, baby! Go baby! Go!”

Before I know it, there we were again and again curling toes
Caught between the best of nothing and anything goes

It was a summer night we met and love began to soar
It was near summer again when I finally said no more
It took so long not to be sad, for the lack of a phone’s ring
I made a promise to myself, my love is for all or nothing
Another summer blazes, and once again I’m on my own
But if my only choice is to share, well, I’d rather be alone

When will my empty heart fill again? Only heaven knows
Caught between the best of nothing and anything goes

>==========<

Entered in
dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 36

Mr. Palmer

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Artwork: The Single Man — Gerhard Haderer

Did she make you mad?
Again?
An object of ridicule?
Again?
Did she leave her sad taint upon you?
Again?

Come get me.

I am there…
There whenever,
There wherever,
There whatever.

I’m not gallant,
I just know what you need.

Come get me.

For I know you
All of you,
Inside and out
To the letter “T”
I’ve known you before
The last one
During this one
And perhaps
After the next one

From your junior
’Till when
You’re much elder
It’s how we
Connect.

Come get me.

I’ve seen
Sides of you
No one’s ever seen
I hear you cry
And when you scream
You know
I don’t care.
I won’t
Imbrue you with
Needless guilt.

Come get me.

In joy
In anger
Or when
You just need
To take
Some of the edge off
When feeling
Awry.

Come get me.

And when you’re done
Spent, lying back in repose
I’ll go back,
Back to the shadows
From whence I came,
Until the next need
When you’re pressed to be

Happy again

I’ll be ready for you
Always
Or at least
As long as
Your arm holds out

Come get me

====><====

Submitted for:
 Jingle Poetry – Pot Luck:
Week 46 | Love and its not being there.

I’m pretty damned sure this not what was expected when the subject of “Love and its not being there…” was thought up for this week’s Pot Luck, but.. it does fit the bill * wicked grin *

First Feelings Part II (The Reality)

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It was mine.

It was mine to give
to the one I chose.
Instead it was taken,
forever from my grasp.

Stole the most valuable item
That this fifteen year old possessed.

It was mine.
It was suppose to be a gift.

Somewhere out there
the potential recipient
knows not what was lost.

It was mine.
He stole my gift.

I had visions on how it
would one day be given.

It was mine.
He stole my dream.

For years what I gave
could never bring
me happiness.
It wasn’t The gift.

It was mine.
He stole my joy.

I should be able to reminisce
fondly when girl talk
falls to that time
but I remain quiet.

It was mine.
He stole my memories.

A stranger made himself familiar
in a place he should have never known.

<>==========<>==========<>

dVerse Meeting the Bar ~ Symbolism

HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?

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Seven Year-Old Girl Pimped-out at Party by Step-Sister
and Gang Raped

To say I was speechless upon first reading this article is an understatement. I have oscillated between pure rage, pure sorrow and depressed resignation since I first read it, over a week ago. My head realizes what has happened, but my heart simply cannot process this.

Yes, the step-sister bares a magnificent portion of the blame here. She was fifteen-years-old.  Not a legal adult by law to make the decision to prostitute herself on her own, but obviously old enough to know what she was doing. The social and moral wrongs of her own acts are not debatable; she was wrong. What she did/allowed to be done to her little step-sister is so beyond wrong there really is not an adjective to aptly put this in any perspective.  However, as much as I put the share of blame on her for what happened, she was not the only person at that party.  No matter which way I turn this I keep coming back to one question infallible question to the men involved in this:

How Could You?

The statutory rape of the fifteen-year-old girl was disgusting enough. Granted she was officially prostituting herself, but you – however much/little you paid for her services, you were raping her.  However old you are above or below the age of consent, how could you have even thought about wanting to, let alone actually do the brutal act of, inserting your penis into the vagina of a seven-year-old child?  Where in the depravity called your mind (because you obviously have no soul) did you take a look at this child and thought to yourself that this was something good? You deserve to spend the rest of your life as a eunuch.

According to the reports, there were at least a dozen people at this party.  My God, what form of hell had this seven-year-old doled-out in a past life that she should be so punished in this one? To be led, by her own step-sister, to an abandoned apartment full of misogynistic, depraved individuals, to be gang raped?  What kind of culture is it where not even one person in that room thought it was wrong and left to call the police?  Not one person ONE FUCKING PERSON in that room simply said “No.”.  Whether they took part in it, or turned a blind eye to the event, they are all perpetrators in this crime and all culpable.

The ONLY good news in this will be the penal system. Even a prison system has its bottom of the social barrel, and that is those who mess with children.  We won’t hear about it, and if even one iota of prison stories are true, we won’t want to hear about it. We never know how it gets out, but information about child molesters/rapists always gets out in the penal system and when it does…

…Let’s just say justice, for this seven-year-old child, will be served.