Irrepressible Wild Woman

We fight, Fate and I,
while she’s plucking words
out of my back, whisperings
that say she wants mad art
screaming at life:

“Be words of embryonic blood,
hurricanic laughter in tradition’s walls.
Be raw fearlessness.”

I stretch my spine, bare
my teeth, give what pleases her
and me—I am an irrepressible
Wild Woman.

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the wee notes…
– I’m really enjoying this tweaking and combining of Poem Bits… I hope you don’t tire of the results too quickly, my Wicked Luvs, for I see a few of them in our future. They are just so much fun to play with. 🙂
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Flash 55) and Poets United (Poetry Pantry 318).
– Below, I’ve included the blackout poem bits that make up this piece. Find similar bits, on Instagram.

Mad Art

Be

Wild Woman

Under the Dark Moon

When the moon is dark and summer nights are hot, I delight in riding the ferry, while enjoying nature’s wonders, and studying other souls that make New York the city that never sleeps. That night, my eyes were smiling on a mother and her babe. My heart was full of the tender bliss they spilled into the world.

She sat on a bench, breastfeeding her child. From where I stood, I only saw their silhouette. But I knew the woman was beaming, absolutely high on the bliss of motherhood. There is a kind of energy that rises when one is in the presence of love and caregiving, an oomph that is pure smile fuel.

I didn’t want to smile alone—joy should be shared—so I searched for other faces around the ferry. I knew their grins would be as wide as my own. And the owners of said faces were probably feeling a bit foolish too. I was wrong. My eyes met frowns, revulsion, even disdain.

The general attitude baffled me. Then comprehension hit me like a kick packed with the stink of chosen stupidity—they were disgusted by the mother and child. Idiots, I thought, unnatural animals! I’ve never had much patience for people who label themselves human, but act like heartless hollow-headed beasts.

At that moment, I could’ve spelled their eyeballs out of their sockets. But nature had been wise enough not to put that kind of power in my hands. All I could do was bare my teeth and brew a few growls.

My raging was interrupted by a whimper. The mother was turning her back towards the onlookers, trying to protect her child and her face from the negativity oozing out of the crowd. Some of them had the nerve to shake their heads in her direction, as if she had been the one to make a spectacle of herself.

I took a couple of steps forward, making sure my boots smacked all my disapproval into the deck. Gaia had not given me the power to eye-gouge idiocy with a thought, but she blessed me with much better. I looked up at the sky, fed on the energies of the moon… When my fingertips began to tingle, I aimed open palms and full intent towards the babe’s whimper. Right before my spell shielded mom and babe under a silky veil of Dark Moon, the mother’s eyes twinkled my way. In my heart, her gaze spoke clearly: I, too, thank the universe for natural human magic.

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a wee note…
– Sanaa, over at Prompt Nights, said “We tend to smile in the exact same language”. Then she invited us to write a poem or fiction piece about something that we feel is important to us. So I expanded “Under the Dark Moon”, a bit of fiction that embraces a concept that is rather important to me: the right to be our natural selves in the open… (without having to eye-gouge anyone *cough, cough, cough*).

Breastfeeding, by Gadi Ramadhani“Breastfeeding”, by Gadi Ramadhani
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