a mess of you everywhere inside of me

Mizpellt wurdz

more
more than this
you must give me more

i am not armed for aimless love
for the faded sundays under lazy fans
the lukewarm spreading of a family cat
the dispassionate mumbling between a blanket and duvet and the needless needing by tea left alone in the microwave

i am equipped with years of me
of my love for love through love
of the kind of desire not found in plastic spoons
in the sweetened pick me up of stuck honey
or the smell of dried feet hung
against your breath after the dying morning

here i am
a mess of everywhere inside of you

here i am
an order of everything outside of me

waiting for you to use the world well by ultimately using it less

whisper it hold it on my tongue whole
there is still stillness left to do
and be done by
even as…

View original post 55 more words

Poem: #MeToo, We Re-Member by Marie Cartier

We re-member.

I need the grandmothers to help me

re-member my rage.

Cross stitch. Double knot.  I sew it back on. The raggedy parts I let fly loose

when I thought it was OK to not be “so angry.”

“Boys will be boys.”

And so then, girls will be angry.

And we will re-member—our rage.

I need the great aunts, and all the old women with the signs that read,

“We are still protesting this shit.”

I need them, this herstory to help me

re-member my rage, feel it strong and tight. Cross stitch. Double knot. Those women re-member

me. I am that woman. She is me.

Our rage is a song.

After all this time, we are still singing it. Our rage

is a river and we swim in it, even if it’s upstream. There is a fierce mermaid goddess,

Yemaya. She protects us. She knows

our rage is our best…

View original post 335 more words

The Stone and the Pilgrim (5)

This is pretty cool.

Sun in Gemini

We stumbled upon the Preston Pele Tower, fifteen miles south-west of Bamburgh, back in February, 2018. My wife and I had seen a reference to it on a noticeboard in a cafe some distance to the north. It’s quite hard to find; tucked away down a tiny country lane not far from the A1 – the main road through Northumberland to Edinburgh. We’d never heard of a Pele Tower, either… We got out of the car and stared at it, never having seen anything quite like it. Was it a castle – or the remains of one? The location suggested not. It looked purpose-built, yet somehow incomplete….

Right up to the time the Castles of the Mind group approached the building, I didn’t know what part of the ‘self’ we could use it to describe. I entered the (to me) familiar building and trusted that the answer would reveal…

View original post 1,131 more words

Washington Post on Kavanaugh: “What Goes Around Comes Around”

THIS.

Diane Ravitch's blog

In a column by Post opinion writer Helaine Olen, she points out the “staggering hypocrisy” of Brett Kavanaugh.

He has said he doesn’t want to answer questions about his personal life, yet when he worked on the investigation of Bill Clinton, he zealously pursued prurient details about the relationship between Clinton and Lewinsky.

“Kavanaugh was not only a part of special counsel Ken Starr’s investigation into President Bill Clinton’s relationship with Monica Lewinsky; he was also one of the lead Torquemadas of it — zealous in the pursuit of his goal to the point of cruelty. If Kavanaugh’s nomination survives till Thursday’s scheduled Senate Judiciary Committee hearing, at least one senator should ask him why he thought it was so necessary to ask Clinton such graphic questions about Lewinsky.

“Let me be clear: Kavanaugh not only thought Clinton needed to be questioned about his relations with Lewinsky; he also…

View original post 375 more words

“What Would Happen If One Woman Told the Truth about Her Life?” by Carol P. Christ

According to poet Muriel Rukeyser, “the world would split open.”

This poem accurately describes what many women experienced in consciousness raising in the 1970s and what many women experience today in the #MeToo movement.

For many of us the world did split open. We began to take ourselves and our experiences seriously. To do so we had to question received wisdom encoded in such questions as: “What was she doing there in the first place?” “Was she drinking too?” “Why didn’t she change out of her bathing suit?” Underlying these questions is the assumption that: “whatever happened, she must have asked for it.”

A lot of people are wondering why congressmen and voters who claim to uphold Christian principles are not more outraged about credible allegations of sexual assault against a child whose name was Christine Blasey.

View original post 725 more words

what the storyteller does

Peedeel's Blog

path and mist

I believe strongly that what we do as poets is but a variant of what the musician does, what the historian does, what the storyteller does, what the painter and what the sculptor does and what film makers do. My work as a poet relies on interdependence. I write in solitude but my work is not solitary. I am partner at one time with painters in whose work I see poems, in other times with composers’ work in which I hear the lines of poems, even in critical pieces containing the language of poetry.

Darrel Bourque
Call and Response: Conversations in Verse

View original post

beyond speech

Peedeel's Blog

Luca Merli

The language of poetry specializes in doubt. Without the doubters, everyone is cut off at the first question. Poetry does not presume to know, but is angling to get a glimpse of what is gradually coming into view; it aims to rightly identify what is looming; it intends to interrogate whatever is already in place. Poetry, whose definition remains evasive by necessity, advocates the lost road; and beyond speech — waiting, listening, and silence.

C.D. Wright
The Poet, the Lion, Talking Pictures, El Farolito, a Wedding in St. Roch, the Big Box Store, the Warp in the Mirror, Spring, Midnights, Fire & All

(How’s that for a title, boys and girls?)

View original post