feminist blogs in english

I fool no one

and no one fools me

she said

while tapping on her temple where her knowledge used to be

I owe no one

and no one owes me

she said

while capturing the rain water in a bowl where her food used to be

I know no one

and no one knows me

She said

while talking to the chair where her lover used to be

I miss no one

and no one misses me

She said

while leaving the building where her home used to be

I am no one

and no one is me

She said

while looking in the mirror where her reflection used to be

Shall I describe it?

This tender knowing unfolding like an eagles wings

before it takes eternal flight

nimble  movement making love to mountains

kissing the sweet off the hive

and warming it’s heart in the sun

LOUDER

One rust coloured sunset

Inside the last bit of pink

I caught a sound harmonious

Completely in tune with the moon

I held this whisper in my shaking hand

releasing it from bondage

after the darkness swapped places with the last giddy light

It floated above a  desert, caressing an elephant’s ear

dipped briefly in a water hole to bid a crocodile goodnight with a dewy kiss

Over canyons it greeted a hawk gliding on a pocket of air

Once in a field of poppies it lingered remembering things with blood laid bare

Past rushing rivers and placid lakes it rippled the water’s edge

Until finally

just before dawn pointed a crooked  finger at the sun

It came to rest in isolation

through a window

inside the mind of broken solitude

it ignored an echo’s crazed rebuke

because a whisper that gathers feeling in flight

delivering itself with precision

upon impact is always louder

How many were there?

Their faces merging and dividing then blurring

like passing trees from the window of a speeding car

my life and the vastness of too many realities

some with burning eyes and open mouths

taking a breath before dying

more staying long on the side of the sharp edge that cuts well deep

what was it they said and did I muffle the important sounds,

with the same old distraction that cluttered every connection?

Where did they all go?

walking in and out of my short sight

They were water dolls that trickled through my fingers

unable to stay

dying on beds and in chairs or falling down stairs

missing them doesn’t seem very relative now

as I coast toward the industrial plain of my common self

I sing the commotion that once moved me along

but now it only splits me down the middle under the impressionable blushing sunset of a life that ends

merging into the traffic of who I will never be

Just like them I will be someone’s  blur seen from the window of a speeding car

There was a big commotion

in the ocean

underneath the fake devotion

until someone got the notion

to invent a magic potion

that would stir the right emotion

so the heart could beat again

He wore his opposition like a crown of thorns

a devils advocate in a bloody suit

each accusing finger adorned with the jewel he stole from the dead

a garish cousin who freeloads your opportunities

he sleeps in your bed

lives in your head

until he gets the urge to move along

to the next pocket he can pick

or soul he can steal

until he gorges himself to death on his unpaid debt

On a chair
reclusive
sitting with the sting
and ache
so throbbing in its truth
nothing quells the ebb and flow
of salt water tidal waves
or stifles the anguished heart
storms building inside weakened barricades
of nothing really matters
not cause
or effect
not even life or breath
only
the rhythmic heaving sobs
of the weeper

On the off chance
I’m on the good side
Of someone
I’ve never seen
Who is supposed to be in power
In some government of the cosmos
On the slim chance
I’m being heard
By an entity with more names
than the telephone book
A to Z
On the roll of the dice chance
that the big idea
is having a thought
about me being worthy
of something other than pain
I think now is a good time
for us to have a proper conversation
Don’t ya think?

One more length
One more push
One more breath
One more lunge
One more stroke
One more
One
more
There
done

In the oppressive atmosphere of your artificial concern you have finessed
from your many forays into me me me
like a vocal exercise for your self absorption
primal screamer
I’ve come to accept my losses without giving anymore away
The tragedy is always found
held in the paralyzed hands
of wanton stupidity
that now bores me to tears
Survival isn’t a question of cunning or might
no
it’s something so foreign to you
it’s a question
of someone else’s
basic human right
to be free