Tag Archives: life

Memories of You…

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The air moves so softly, against a gossamer sky
The soundless grain of sand, time slowly passing by

You’ve been gone so long, and yet I still felt you near
A vivid burst of memory, which stayed so sharp and clear

I felt as though I could still feel the touch your hand
As we did those last days, along the river’s sand

With your arm draped around me, against the wind’s surge
You made me vow to go on, I heard your plea’s desperate urge

Walking barefoot, our toes gently grazed by the water’s edge
I knew by holding these memories I was breaking my pledge

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

Once the symptoms set in, we simply set sail
Living large in the mesh of time left to our avail

You my knight, said I was a star; a spirit like mine must glow
And once Valhalla called, your wishes I tried to bestow

I tried, honestly tried living within the masquerade
But without you, I grew dim, even stars sometimes fade

My prayers were a narrative, a psalm, a song, a prose
On the ridges of sanity, I’ve tried everything I suppose

With both compliments and curses in my phrases
I’ve damned and pleaded with the deities in phases

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

I would chafe at any attempt to ease my pain
As I laid your sword to rest, upon the grassy plain

I was jealous of the wind that could still touch you
With a heaven between us, it was more than I could do

The winds were your caresses, the gentle rain your kiss
And in the cold of winter, it was your arms that I would miss

That held me so close and warm against the night’s chill
I purposely slept uncovered, if you couldn’t warm me nothing will

I found comfort only in memories pretense
A pose of happiness at my soul’s expense

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

But then one memory crept out for sun
Shinning light on the truth of what I’ve done

The very last gift you had given to me
Before the Odin called and set your soul free

As long as I didn’t think about it, then alive you would stay
But the base of that lie could no longer hold sway

And I smiled, really smiled in a sudden release
Memory of a crown of daisies finally gave me peace

The air moves so softly, a gossamer sigh
A soundless click of time, saying goodbye

It was now time to release,
My deepest heart knew
Now I know I can go on
Even with these memories of you

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dVerse Poets Pub : OpenLinkNight ~ Week 60

Where’s Tippi Hedren When You Need Her?

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As a New Yorker, and I’m sure this holds for most urban dwellers, we take the sightings of the local fauna of squirrels and pigeons that manage to make the minuscule patches of green dotting the vast urban jungle landscape home in stride. It is a tenuous relationship at best. They cannot get rid of us and we cannot get rid of them. The childhood penchant for chasing and on rare catching pigeons is their burden to bear. Walking down the street knowing there are constant invisible concentric circles above our heads and it is a veritable hit or miss crapshoot every time we deign to step outside the door, is ours. These are hazards where both sides of the genus gap take loses as a survival of the fittest raw deal. Still, for the most part there has existed an unspoken, yet generally binding mutual agreement once we humans reach puberty that if we stay out of their way, they will stay out of ours.

The key words being for the most part…

I pretty much walk the same path to the train each morning for work. I have an early schedule, so I may see only a handful of people on the streets before I reach the station. Therefore, certain portions of my path can have a gathering of avian. If there are less than ten birds together, I may give a modicum of space to their gathering and not disturb them. This morning, what looked like a platoon of them had gathered, enough that it would have given Alfred Hitchcock pause. There was no going around them. I had no choice but to stake my claim as the higher species. They were going to get out of my way this time, dammit!

I was fully prepared to plow right through them and they must have sensed it as a sizable amount took to flight. I was counting on this, thus I was not surprised by their sudden take off. Nor did the two or three stalwarts who were not leaving their breadcrumbs for anything surprise me. Hard cases exist in all species and I get it. What got me was this one pigeon crossing my path instead of the other way around. Dude was determined he was going thataway and not even this human was deterring him from his chosen path. I actually had to stop short, nearly stumbling, to keep from accidentally punting the flying frack to the tracks of the elevated train platform some fifty yards ahead. I stood there with my arms partially open in a dude seriously? pose. The damned thing had to nerve to cock its head at me in a whaat? stance as it kept going.

“Damn, he could have at least said excuse me.” Was the laughing commentary from a guy who was standing outside and witnessed the whole exchange.

My opinion exactly; the nerve! Apparently this hard case didn’t get the higher species memo.

The Raivenne-0 / The Pigeon-1

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

this moment

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He takes a moment to stand by the window and gaze out at the morning before him.

Coming out of a good stretch, his arms are extended wide, his hands grasping the window frame in a casual lean.

The floor to ceiling windows engulfs his nude form in sunlight, giving him an ethereal aura, an other-worldliness punctuated by the horizontal slats of the open Venetian blinds.

Momentarily oblivious to all around him, he is living art work of shadow and light.  I’m afraid to so much as breathe too deeply or quickly for fear the sudden displacement of air will travel the distance between us, disturb him somehow and thus break this moment.

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…Just putting a memory to pixel…

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

Summer in the City

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Johnny pumps sprinkle water on the kids in its midst
A modern city’s version of a provincial mist
The drifting mist calls, but I somehow resist
Knowing wet clothes aren’t high on my boss’ list
From blocks away I can see the asphalt steam
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

Summer sun blazes down on the street
Feels like my soles are melting off my feet
It’s just 8 AM and I’m sweating from the heat
I’ve got a long day to go and already feeling beat
The humidity making it all the more extreme
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

Perfectly pressed suit of the business woman
Perfectly squashed in the subway sardine can
Hotter than the devil’s cooking pan
Even in the shade I’m catching a tan
Skin feels like jelly oozing through my seam
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

Sweat drips and I can feel the drop of each
Fall to places my fingers simply just can’t reach
Another working Jane, dodging taxi tires’ screech
Adamantly not losing my manners with my speech
The horns, the haze, the heat, it all seems
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

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dVerse Poets Pub | In Summer-y; Dog Days/Zucchini/Poetics

Separate Nights

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I wish I was with you.

As full as the moon above,
is my heart’s frustration

I want to be skin to skin.

Within your arms of love,
emptied of my desperation

Freed from the regret.

Sometimes harsh, sometimes sublime,
drifting between then and now

Time I know I shall never see

To meet again as if for the first time,
someday, somewhere, somehow

But I lay alone in my darkness.

Dreaming it’s your warmth I feel
as I tightly grasp my pillow

Desperate for your touch

Pretend that the wind’s gentle appeal,
is a sensual kiss you blow

Looking into Luna’s face instead.

I pretend my moon is the same
as the one that rides across your night

Just as strong, just as fragile.

As the eggshell syllables of your name
I whisper to the ghost of you in the moonlight

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 57

Into Azure

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From the cerulean
Gold falls
And ocher vales
Crimson plummets
In violet frenzy
Solemnly descending
To the depths
The nadir
Of night’s indigo

Reaching out
The vast emptiness
Bitter reminder
Of what was

Once again
Finding it fitting
My heart
As deeply plunged
Into azure

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dVerse Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar – Impressionistic Writing

In the Shadows of the Night

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In the shadows of the night
With a bright moon above
I lay here longing
For a chance at love

Each morning sun I rise
Hoping I find the one for me
Each night I go to bed
With my heart still empty

I’ve since long proven I can make it on my own
Now I’m just so tired of being all alone

In the shadows of the night
My heart I’m willing to share
But it don’t mean just any fool
Is going to be welcomed there

I once rushed too soon to someone
Who brought me nothing but pain
That was one hurt, one too many times
I don’t need to go there again

A man of faith, a man of heart, a man of his words and deeds
A king custom made for this queen, Lord you know what I need

In the shadows of the night
I offer my plea; my prayer
You built this vessel of love
But my cupboards are bare

Am I paying for some sin?
Did I transgress somewhere?
Is this how I repent?
Will no one ever be there?

Your daughter’s pleading, prostrate with hands clasped tight
Oh please release me Lord, from this harsh plight
How my heart is aching, in the shadows of the night

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It’s been a grr week…

Slice of Life Story Challenge

The Weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge

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dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight Mic

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 55

In The Eye of The Beholder and The Artist

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"Wrong Century" by Tomas_KucerovskyWrong Century by Tomas Kucerovsky
(click for larger view)

This illustration, is making the social media rounds, especially within the plus-sized community. It depicts the way plus-sized beauty is seen by most in this century versus how such beauty was seen in previous centuries.

I saw this illustration for the first time at 2:30am just before I went to bed. I could not quite figure out why my gut reaction to it was “WTF?”. I understood the overall point made, but that gut reaction lingered. Considering the time and I had to rise in a couple of hours for work, I emailed it to myself so I can review the art when I was not half sleep deprived.

I have now seen the illustration with a lucid mind (hah since we’re speaking of MY mind), in the bright light of day and now I understand my gut reaction.

The artist has the woman in the illustration gazing a famous painting of what are no doubt big beautiful women, while others near her mock her corpulent beauty. I cannot decide if her expression is wistful of a time when women with her physical attributes were greatly desired and considered the height of beauty, or if she is woeful of the fact that beauty such as hers is not considered so now.

What triggered my gut reaction was Kucerovsky use of Rubens Rape of the daughters of Leucippus as the beauty counterpoint. Why this specific painting? Why could Kucerovsky have not used say…

Judgement of Paris by RubensJudgement of Paris The goddesses Hera, Aphrodite and Athena being judged on their beauty by Paris.
(click for larger view)

or better…

The Three Graces by Peter Paul RubensThe Three Graces – more naked goddesses to behold!

or best…

Venus in Front of her Mirror by Peter Paul RubensVenus In Front Of Her Mirror
(click for larger view)

Now when a painting of the Goddess of Love and Beauty has more rolls than a bakery, there is no mistaking what the standard of beauty was in Rubens’ time. There is a reason to this day that the classic euphemism for a big beautiful woman is Rubenesque.

Of all the marvelous works of Rubens’ available that depict beauty as it was seen then, he chooses a painting depicting abduction and rape of women as his example! So now we are not Goddess worthy even within a picture of a picture, but abduction and rape is a-okay? What exactly is being said to us big gals here?

As a plus-sized beauty in the 21st Century, should I be grateful now if I am lucky enough to be seen as an object of desire even by rapist? Is that the only way we big girls can “get some”? If the female in the illustration is looking wistfully at this painting, what does that say about the artist’s interpretation of what he thinks is the mindset of today’s fat woman? That we’re so desperate we’d willingly accept rape?

Were this a face-to-face conversation, this would be about the point where one of my friends would say to me, “You see too much into things!” and I generally retort with, “And you don’t see at all!”

The overall essence of Kucerovsky ‘s illustration is good, it really is, but it also leaves such a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, that I can barely appreciate the zest of the original flavor.