Tag Archives: hard choices

Long Fallen

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Painting of street worker

It’s Autumn, where the verdant leaves turns gold,
And goldenrod leaves quickly become old
And those old leaves soon become just like me
Something broken and crushed, something empty
Long fallen from the grace it used to be

Hard to believe, less than eight years ago,
I think eight, I’m not sure, the years blend so
My employer came to me one down time
And said I wasn’t pulling in the dimes
I’m a utensil that was past my prime

That as such made me particular waste
And was let go from employ with due haste
Youth started its slide from my once young face
I knew the rules, there was no pleading case
No chance of rescue in this youth built place

I started at fifteen, oh such a knave
But had a knack for knowing clients’ craves
I worked there before I had license to
Attained status, before my year was through
This job was all I ever knew to do

The cache of being ‘personal escort’
I never knew a life without support
That cache provided me some global treks
Spinning clients through my erotic hex
And I won’t lie; I damn sure loved the sex

I joked this job was custom made for me
Their faces at the point of ecstasy
And as conversant in Sun Tzu as Mr. Magoo
My clients soon found out I had smarts too
And for the price, little I would not do

Out lasted many who’ve come through the door
Damn lucky to be there at fifty-four
But like my concaved waist, it couldn’t last
My job choices were very far from vast
Don’t have much future because of my past

I’m offered some dinky job on the side
But I still had a little too much pride
To be a has-been hanging on the scene
I remember how I treated has-beens mean
When I once ruled the roost as its main queen

I’m treated like someone they’ve never known
When I tried to hold some clients on my own
With individual contact of each
A beat down was the last lesson left to teach
That everything I had was out of reach

I’ve gone from elite, to stripper, to street
Where I fidget on very tired feet
Jumping from each nameless and faceless mate
Wondering just which day will seal my fate
The seasons are my only notes of date

And it’s Autumn again the leaves turn gold,
Slowly turning other colors they grow old
Long fallen from the place they used to be
What time has washed away past their glory
And then die, a cruel metaphor of me

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dVerse Poets Pub ~ Poetics: Autumn Chill is in the Air

Still Pissed…

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Yes, this is an Akin rant, because I am still pissed….

Is there is a dearth of viable children available for adoption via the usual ways as is, that we have to use legislature to replenish the stock?

The moral majority has the right to have their opinion on who, what, when, where, why and how and for that matter how many we choose to use our vaginas. After all, it is just opinion, and like assholes, almost everyone has one and it has little bearing on how we lead our sexual lives except where we choose to let it. As the kids say “YMMV”, but I personally do not give a fuck.  Actually, that is not true, I do give and receive fucks – not as any wear near as much as I’d like, because I do have standards after all, but I digress…

The moral majority however does not have the right to legislate what we, as a legal adult females of sound minds and bodies, will allow in or out of our vaginas voluntarily (the harm to animals big and small not withstanding – because I know some idiot reading this is going to think it).  They damn sure should not get to lay down the law on all females simply because it goes against the moral/religious stance of some. Attempting to define what is considered “rape” and then what to do with any potential pregnancies that may result from it, by people –the majority of whom are male and one of whom, who apparently did not pay attention in sex-ed and does not know shit about basic reproductive biology- has galled me to no end, especially this week.

Forcible rape. Date rape. Statutory rape. Guess what they all have in common?

They are all still RAPE.

This is punishing the victim on a grand scale. We all know for all the rapes reported, there are so many more that are not. Therefore, the responsibilities any pregnancies resulting from such -for those females who do not have these mysterious magic vaginas that shuts down and blocks insemination when being raped as Akin stated- are solely on the female. I know there are states that will uphold rapists’ rights to fight for custody of their children should they be so inclined (which is whole other level of punishing the victim), but is there a law that mandates all convicted rapists who father children must take full responsibility of them whether they want to or not?-No.  However, whatever spawn is planted in our wombs we may soon be ordered to give birth to whether we want to or not.

If the woman is not crying bloody murder about the event, she asked for it? Tell that to the woman in an abusive relationship that hasn’t found the courage to leave yet.  Maybe the college girl hanging out with someone she thought was a friend and is slipped some GHB in her soda will be okay with it, but I doubt it. Does anyone remember back in the late 80’-early 90’s when women were taught to not fight, but just lay there and take it because they were more likely to live through it? Tell that to the women who heeded such advice. Perhaps the 10-year-old girl taken advantage of by a male family member who was too scared to say “no” that she (and let us be honest her mother also), must keep the lovely memento left behind as a reminder for the rest of their lives?

And really, even if the female (or mother of the female), CHOOSES to keep the child due to her own personal reasons, would she want the father to be in the life of the child?

And just for the sake of devil advocacy – let us take rape out of the picture altogether.

I am a middle-aged peri-menopausal woman who already has two adult children and damn sure does not want any more. How much do you want to wager -should I find out the condom broke- just how ecstatic I will be to learn that I just re-upped for a minimum 9 month, but potentially another 18-24 year gig due to government decree. I love my sons, but I have raised them and they are living their own lives now. Raising children to adulthood is work and my job is done. I have officially entered consulting mode for which there is no chance of being let go from my services and I like it that way. I am not starting over, nor am I putting the child up for someone else.  I am saying it right here in print – if it becomes national law and I would have to give birth to said child – there will be a “vacation” to another country in my immediate future and I guaran-fucking-tee you I will not be the only one.

As I will be out of the childbearing game soon enough, this really isn’t about me any more.  It is for all the other females of this age on whom such legislature will affect.

Most of the ones attempting to control our wombs and lives through such laws were not around, or old enough to really remember life before Roe v. Wade.  To them and to the ones who think I’m blowing it out of proportion and need to let it go, I’m telling you, if we don’t wake up and continue to fight to keep these from becoming laws, we’re all going to be pretending we do not know about the many uses of wire hangers again within a few short years.

This was my Facebook status Monday morning:

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (regarding the ongoing trend to legislate the female body below the belt): I am a grown ass woman, the only persons who have any “legitimate” say about what is allowed to come out of my vagina are my gynecologist whose job is to check it out and the lucky ones I voluntarily allow in.  All else need to Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

I feel as though I have spent the past few years explaining/defending/exercising my right to control my own vagina so many fucking times, I’ve had it up to here *levels palm just above pubic area*

Or as my girl ‘Monds likes to say ‘Iz ded”.

It’s Thursday and I am still pissed…

Remember Prayer

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So just, come to me, for anything at all,
Call my name, it is yours to call.
Feel my faith in you, when you can’t find your own,
And always remember, you’re never alone
Freddy Jackson featuring Najee / All I’ll Ever Ask

Yes, sing My praises in hymns when times are good
But it’s the hard times where faith is truly understood
When you’ve had a brush with life’s shortfalls
Some offer prayer, every chance they could
Others are too afraid when they know they should
For all succumb to the curve of life’s pitfalls
So, whether you scream for My name out loud
Or kneel to Me in the quiet, anything but proud
It’s never too late to rise from a downfall
So just, come to Me, for anything at all

Reach out for Me, just reach out with upturned hands
I know the forces don’t always let things go as planned
And be not ashamed if you’ve never before prayed at all
Come to Me now, come to Me, I will understand
Remember it is My footprints that are seen in the sand
When the die lie still and you’re pressed against the wall
When you fear you have finally lost it all indeed
A simple prayer is the liaise to all you need
And never feel any request is too great or too small
Just call My name, it is yours to call

When your skies shift from watchet to gray
And a torrent of troubles come your way
For you’re worn, you’re tired – weary to the bone
When you feel you’ll never, have a say
In all the cruel games that life can play
When the darkness invokes your heart to moan
When you’re convinced without a doubt
That your end seems like the only way out
In the times when it feels your faith has flown
Feel My faith in you, when you can’t find your own

“In the beginning…” starts The Word’s first page
“…Christ be with you all. Amen” marks the final stage
From the first fillip of light I’ve ever shone
That setup the first of a Seven-Day age
Words that still have the power to assuage
Words that can inspire, words that help to atone
On those days, when you’re lost as what to do
Remember “These sayings are faithful and true.”
My love is reaped in reward as all love sown
And always remember, you’re never alone

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 58

Hyde Park Poets Rally – Week 71

the fall

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i watch as the world dresses in hues
of goldenrod, carnelian and fawn
shades of reality harden with dollar wine blues
then again, maybe it’s the sixth beer i’m on

refusing to believe the revolution, its been 365 tonight
the encore of champagne promises spilled among burned biscuits
and buns hard enough to make martha stewart cry outright
as i drained bottles and tears over the possible end of us

thrown off kilter i pleaded give me time, you gave me until fall
and seasons of dancing pixies floated atop my vodka on the rocks
waiting for the warm liqueurs to answer the call
but eyes glazed, would i have known if opportunity even knocks

my friend bill w knocked several times but i turned my face
thinking i still had time for you and him after my next beer
i never noticed as i fell from all my close friends grace
i had new friends in a variety of bottles colored and clear

straight faced i refresh my promises
to sailing sober no matter what it took
charm bought time with the doubting thomas’
but it wasn’t a trip I was ready to book

a year of a thousand little cases of dying
slipped by without fulfilling even a shadow of your desires
it’s once again smoldering in fall flair and i’m trying
but all i can smell is the burnt rubber of departing tires

class is over, but for me the lessons yet begun
it took two for conversation to engage
but the play had reached the end of its run
and you, the main thespian had left the stage

the job, the flat, the wheels left too, but still life’s sweet
with a flourish take a sip to autumn in the park
lying on the grass stretching out my feet
and take another sip to life in the growing dark

i note that dry leaves make fantastic kindling
thinking maybe i should extinguish the flame
my mind drunk in suicidal spindling
but i swear dropping the cigarette is not the same

damn i don’t know, did you kiss me goodbye
would i have even noticed after all
my ocean of tears can’t make inflamed kindling dry
i never did recover from the wagon’s fall  

Alcoholism

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Hyde Park – Thursday Poets Rally – Week 70

Hyde Park Purfact Poet at Rally – Week 70 – The Fall

I accept the award and nominate – Bohdirose

Just Say Good-bye

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No one but me can save myself, but it’s too late
Now I can’t think, think why I should even try
Yesterday seems as though he never existed
Death greets me warm, now I will just say good-bye
“Fade to Black” – Metallica / Live, Sh*t, Binge & Purge

I’ve tried this before to little avail
But this time determined to stay gold
My aim was true the blade took hold
The gashes on my arm a tempest of Braille
Of each attempt before where I failed
I believe I’ve played my final checkmate
In this quiet club where most anything goes
No one notices as I’m caught in pain’s throes
The link between life and death starting to mutate
No one but me can save myself, but it’s too late

My thoughts miles away, with millions to go
At last I leave this earth, this fool’s paradise
Smiling at the success of my pending demise
My heartbeat a descant to my blood’s smooth flow
An improvement on this life I’ve come to know
It’s an odd pleasantry as my body starts to die
The euphoria on knowing I will soon be free
My shirt adorned in the crimson spree
And try as I might, I simply cannot cry
Now I can’t think, think why I should even try

He will come now, I say dispelling my fears
A hole in the wall expands revealing a park
Giving entrance to a figure cryptic and dark
And I marvel how no one else sees or hears
As the avatar of death himself slowly appears
He comes now, years after his help was enlisted
His movement young and yet somehow old
Beauty redefined in his most unique mould
The “what if” and “what is” become rapidly twisted
Yesterday seems as though he never existed

And he comes soft as a murmuring breeze
To guide me from this plane to the next
I welcome this release from the pretext
That each day here was worthy of reprise
Feeling the release of life’s final degrees
I wanted this death, and Death is willing to comply
It’s the start of a beautiful friendship
He grasps my frail hand in this new kinship
But I’m not dying, for to say I have lived is a lie
Death greets me warm, now I will just say good-bye

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Yes, another glosa.

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 56

Thou Hath Wrought This

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Do you know what happens when I think of you?
The lessons I’ve managed to learn in this life
On whom I can depend for all that I want
All the rest of the things I have come to know
How they effect the what and who I am now
And what hath thou wrought, Daddy? Thou hath wrought – this

I was my father’s daughter, thou hath wrought – this
Every ounce of hate I learned, first came from you
It’s a bell I strive to un-ring even now
Fully believed when you said ‘this ain’t worth life’
Of course learning ‘this’ meant me, took time to know
Freedom to roam, the only thing you did want

Know what I wished for? What I truly did want?
To be fatherless child, thou hath wrought – this
Circles of your first, back of your palms I know
For it was the most I’d ever see of you
Getting worse as I got to know some of life
Innocence not a card that I could play now

Come sixteen praying – I’m too used for you now
But I was wrong, you still did just what you want
As you had been doing for all my young life
On my knees for more than prayer, thou hath wrought – this
But the boys loved the lessons first learned from you
Just who I learned it from, they never did know

But I found something I never thought to know
A something gallant within, even now
Nearly buried forever from hate of you
Something you thought that I would never stand to want
Faith that somewhere love exists, thou hath wrought – this
And by having such, a renewed urge for life

You can’t jam hate into a soul filled with life
I’m strong in the love that came so late to know
A phoenix from hate’s ashes, thou hath wrought – this
But I am Janus, the reverse of you now
Doing opposite of all you taught to want
For in spite of your grip, I can release you

And there’s a peace to know, there’s worth to my life
I love and am loved, this I’d want to you know
I think of you now, glad thou hath wrought – this

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A hard form this time: Sestina

A Sestina is a poem consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-line envoy, where the words ending the lines of the first stanza are repeated in a different order at the end of lines in each of the subsequent five stanzas and, two to a line, in the middle and at the end of the three lines in the closing envoy. The patterns of word-repetitions are as follows:

1 2 3 4 5 6
6 1 5 2 4 3
3 6 4 1 2 5
5 3 2 6 1 4
4 5 1 3 6 2
2 4 6 5 3 1
(6 2) (1 4) (5 3)

There is no set meter or rhyme scheme although traditionally most were written in iambic pentameter. The closing envoy also has several variations some of which are:

(2 5)(4 3)(6 1),
(1 2)(3 4)(5 6) or
(1 4)(2 5)(3 6).

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpneLinkNight – Week 99

I Fear

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I fear a love which fills my heart is slowly draining away
But taking the next step is one that hurts far too much
Now I have given up in believing in dreams that come true
When the secrets known to capture time are beyond my grasp

I am so afraid that someday there won’t be anything
That his caress will not be even a distant memory
Let alone the minutiae details of just our daily living
I fear a love which fills my heart is slowly draining away

I dared to dream I’d remember every aspect for all time
But what hold have I a mere mortal against all eternity?
I know this slow erasure is part of the steps in moving on
But taking the next step is one that hurts far too much

I need his kindred touch to remain locked deep inside me
Always a part of my soul as I believed with each breath
When our every want and dream seemed just a day away
Now I have given up in believing in dreams that come true

Yes, I need his kindred touch to remain locked deep inside me
For I dared to dream I’d remember every aspect for all time
Now I am so afraid that someday there won’t be anything
When the secrets known to capture time are beyond my grasp

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You know me and forms, today it is a Cascade.

In a Cascade a poet creates the initial stanza then takes each consecutive line from that first stanza and makes those the final lines of each stanza afterward. If the first stanza is sextet, then the complete poem will have seven stanzas. A tercet results in four stanzas and so on. Beyond that, there are no additional rules for rhyming, meter, etc.

Thursday Poets Rally Week 69

 

The Between

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He brings her a bracelet and a bunch of roses
For the fifteen years they’ve been together
She reads the card and the bracelet’s engraving
And something gut deep in her looses its tether
Conclusions once jumped to became solid proof
As Dinah reads his words of love to a Heather

She smiles sweetly handing him a poisoned plate
It’s a slippery slide between love and hate

She’s always been ‘such a good little girl‘
But she was never up to snuff among the pseudo rich
All she wants is to have what all of them have
For kids are cruel to those not matching their niche
Just once she cries, her fingers touch the jewelry case
Filled with a longing so deep her eyes start to twitch

She lets go of the ring and walks away from the site
It’s a slippery slide between wrong and right

A mother gently rocks her new-born babe
The first to come home after many tries
A stray bullet sails through the pastel drapes
And the newborn babe, quickly dies
The husband knows he’s lost more than his child
By the hollow blank stare of his wife’s eyes

And all he’s ever loved leaves this proud man bereft
It’s a slippery slide between life and death

Machines click, whoosh and beep their sounds
His sister copes by force of sheer will they say
But without a transplant, her body deteriorates
And all wonder if she’ll make it another day
They found a match! There’s a thread of a chance
And for the first time in years he kneels to pray

That she makes it as the organ flies through the air
It’s a slippery slide between hope and despair

When he was young it was always “not me”
Even when he was caught red-handed
As he got older the fibs were more creative
Going with whatever the need demanded
All but one he could lie straight in their faces
His truth and lies mixed as he commanded

He said he loved her, but walked away with a sigh
It’s a slippery slide between white and blatant lies

He kisses her cheek, ready to take her home
But he can’t seem to get his thoughts in sync
She feels so good as she leans in oh so close
Knowing she’s had far too much drink
But the scent of her thrills him and she can’t say no
They’re both naked and done before he can think

She never talked, but his own bullet put his guilt to rest
It’s a slippery slide between his love and incest

Hadn’t seen each other since grad school
Where animosities brought love’s ugly rend
Now global businesses made them partners
But will their past uphold or upend?
Their eyes lock as she comes off the passageway
Somehow knowing they’ve regained more than a friend

Two shy smiles first start to grin, then burst into laughter
It’s a slippery slide between good-bye and happily ever after

The between is that space that we hold dear
The whispers of hope in our ear
That susurrus haunting our deepest fear
It can save you from a life of crime
One step further from a life that’s prime
Or straight into the end of your earth’s time

It’s the slippery slides that no one can eschew
But how you handle them? Well that’s up you

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Hyde Park – Poets Rally Week 69 (June 7-June 13, 2012)

Reading Raivenne

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When the Book of Me was fully open to the life of you, it was tough handling what was written on those really private pages wasn’t it?  Now that the private section is closed off to you, it’s tough not always knowing what’s written there. Especially, the private parts you think may be about you.

Sucks for you, huh?

And what if there are? Private parts written about you…

I could tell you that there is nothing concerning you, but it’s me, with a history of you. We both would know that for a blatant lie. A part of you is always going to be in that very private section of me.

I could tell you a truth that may have something to do with you, but what could you do about it even if you wanted to? Would it assuage your curiosity? Build an even thicker wall between us?

I could mind fuck with you and tell you, yes there is something, something that I can’t tell you, knowing the curiosity of such would drive you crazy. But I couldn’t live with myself putting you through that for no reason other than Schadenfreude.And I am happy to say, I now care a hell of a lot more about who I see reflected in my mirror, than who I thought I saw reflected in your eyes.

Or I could do exactly what I did, and tell you the truth…there is nothing concerning you, that you need to know about. I know, you do not like not knowing anything that may concern you. It may bug you for a hot second, but by the time you’re reading this (if you ever do), I know you’re already over it.

(I hope) you know me well enough to realize, if it really were important for you to know, I’d tell you.

So you say you can’t read me any more, not the way you used to. Is it really that surprising? We had a long time apart and neither of us are the same people anymore. I had to quickly learn to build one bitch of a thick ass wall to function around you without falling apart. The wall held shakily at first, but it is formidable now. I don’t know how to lower it.

Besides, I don’t think I should.

When I desperately need a friend to open up a page to at 3am, your name is no longer on the short list which comes to mind. While, I may still choose tell you things others may not be privy to, you’re no longer among those few 3am-ers.  Thus you no longer have access to deep private pages written any more. And that really is a shame; for you were an excellent sounding board once.

These are the new chapters of the Book of Me.

Only time will tell if you are a continuing character…

…Or already an epilogue.

The Fire Next Time…

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Other than my poem, A Lesson Deferred and a Facebook status post, I have been pretty quiet on the whole Trayvon Martin matter. A friend called me on it knowing I must have some opinion. My response was along the lines of simply not wanting to go there again. Today, I read a comment from a fellow blogger’s Slice of Life post from yesterday and she has nailed my feelings right on the head…

“I am so very tired to being quiet, of having to be concerned about the degree to which I can express my feelings because I have to worry that people will label me an “Angry Black Woman””

This is how I feel in a nutshell.

What does it say when a public figure such as Rush Limbaugh regularly feels free to spew vitriol on a variety of subjects, but I feel that I feel the need to self-censor? The very fact that I feel this restriction, this need to play the “Good Negro” just makes me more angry.

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012