Ugly Is Manmade

Society takes her tea with a pinch of blood, tears and unnecessary hurt. She sits in my kitchen expecting libations squeezed from flesh and spirit her goons label unworthy—too fat, too different, not tall enough, too old, too woke, too human, too unlike her hand-twisted puppets.

ugly is manmade,
the filthiest of constructs,
a poison that rots

Society’s tea cup is overflowing with teeth and broken expectations. My kicking boot is scuffed.
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the wee notes…
– This is not the first poem I wrote for this year’s Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month. When I first thought of the topic, I intended to Protest and be Outraged about healthcare and similar issues. I even wrote the poems (I’ll share them, eventually). But yesterday, someone close to my heart told me that she felt fat, and uncomfortable with her looks. She is a beautiful woman and a brilliant soul… Her pain leaves me wanting to kick society’s ideas of beauty in the freaking jaw.
– Linked to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry, 350.


This is a closeup of a painting by Shelle Kennedy;

to see the original piece, in full color, visit Shelle’s blog.

Of First Loves and High Heel Shoes

“First loves are high-heeled shoes,” he says. “They affect flesh and spirit—straighten spines, tighten thighs, make you walk like you own the galaxy. Your first changes you forever. No other will ever make you feel like I did.”

I watch him,

remember myself

wrapped in him.

“Once,” I tell him, “the sight of you pulled little moans out of my middle. The memory of us (skin-to-skin), your scent… made me want. But I don’t lust after the way I used to feel inside your body. First shoes are just shoes—perfect (once), but irrelevant after they no longer fit.”

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the wee notes…
– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to enjoy interesting tales. Then follow this LINK, to read what others have written about my old shoes.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, where our sweetest Sanaa invites us to write about love, using a common everyday image.

 

Rejoice in Your Bicycle of Light and Shadow, I’m Getting Rum

I was asked to write a poem about space and time and a story inspired by the silhouette of an old-fashioned bicycle. So, I wrote of imaginative physics, bicycles… rum and magic.

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“You are someone else’s memories dancing in the arms of chaos,” the angel says, “time, space, colors and taste are made of flesh.” I say nothing, but senses are communal in worlds made of fear or will—I feel her feel my sister’s chant, delight in smugness made of love’s thoughts. “Impossible,” she says, when black, red and the scent of spirits unmake her reality.

She tries to speak again, but I touch a warm finger to the light and shadow of her lips, and whisper, “Shhh, my sister is witching.”

“Out of dark
shadow and light, I
conjure rum.”

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a wee note…
– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to join the writing yum. Then follow this LINK, to read what others have conjured out of shadowy bikes. And if you are feeling poetic and daring, try Physics with Björn: Space time and the special theory of relativity, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

photo by Jellico’s Stationhouse