Determination

Ever been inspired by a woman determined to make the world a better place?  Ever been flummoxed by the men in her life determined to destroy it along the way?  These poems are about that convergence.  The last one has coarse language that may be offensive to some readers.

Even in Death the Male

Ego Can Grate on

the Soul of a Woman    

feisty and fresh

tattooed and meshed

in the flesh

and the mysteries

of her body

after a short illness

she went out in

a ceremonial fire

no eulogy

her ashes

as she planned

wafted from

death’s pyre

all yellow flames

orange sparks

gray smoke through

forever forests falling

on rivers meandering

through valleys

out to sea

her spirit

her soul

her ghost

or whatever

the freethinkers of

our age now call it

appeared

then alone

in death

but immensely

awake

at the gates

of some

vast place

and the new

mansplaining god

of that great space

spoke to her thus

in a decidedly

condescending tone

you may enter here

only when you

have gathered

together again

all your ashes

all the ashes

that are now scattered

and she

distraught

by this eternal madness

without hesitation

shot back

but you know

damn well

i no longer

have arms

with which to gather

nor legs

on which to walk

nor eyes

from which to see

the winds

blew asunder

my ashes

my dying embers

drifted on the waters

those who

remember me

are the ones

who lit the fires

and the dust of all

that remains of me

is spread now

to the world’s

far distant corners

and god

laughed

at her reply

as if it was

no matter

then winds

must be your hands

and waves

must carry you forth

and you must

whisper

to those who

remember you

to undertake

the chore

of collecting all

you were

bring your

grains and specks

to a final

incarnation

by holy water

at my designated time

on my specified shore

and after

a pause

but before

she had a chance

to utter

god in an

afterthought 

muttered

or you might

do nothing

wait for the law

of repetition to roll

allow vastness to align in

some distant tomorrow

for it is

written

by me

that whatever

is once configured

must be permitted

to reconfigure

for without

this rule

infinity

is nothing

in my view

and all hopes

are mere illusions

then god ended

with his mocking

admonition

but bring something

to sustain yourself

in that long bending limbo

if you can afford it

for if you refuse

to do as i say

and gather

what is past

then tedious worries

about space and time

the battle between

the will you thought

and the fates you fought

will yield for you

one hell of an incubation

we know from the dead

who whisper always

to the living

that even in death’s hold

in the glare of

god’s penetrating gaze

hate is enough

to break the spell

cast upon those

never predisposed

to do only

as they’re told

to arouse a woman

bent on more

than just survival

and so she turned

from god’s

unshaven face

to images appearing

upon ripples

rolling through the void

ripples not unlike the folds

of an unfurling canvas

images of her

hiking boots her

running shoes her

crisp gray blazer

thimbles and needles

with which she stitched

utensils and pots

with which she cooked

hoes and shovels with which

she turned and tilled

and beyond

the implements

of a life

most recently

remembered

images of

the deep beauty

propping love

and piercing sorrow

from each world

she had imagined

dams and bridges built

ceilings shattered

the boundless vistas from

the narrow crests

of forbidden peaks

those flannel pajamas

the straps and pleats

of ancient dresses

dangerous dark

spun from black silk

and trimmed and hemmed

with delicate threads and laces

soaking up the rain

when she fell upon wild grasses

faces of these children

and their children

sisters who stood

stride for stride

beside her laughing

worn carvings

on the wooden handle

of the blade with

which she slayed

each scaled dragon

silence settled

about the gates

closed now

in the curving

shape

of a knowing

smile

the gate key back

in her pocket

fed up

at being

out of step

with heaven’s virtues

bored with solving 

some god’s problems

she drifted

breathed

ever closer

to the moon

rising blood red

and full

at the

reappearing

horizon

picked up

where she

left off

and was

once more

on her way

Scissors

you watch him play the children’s game

the one where you cut the shape

of an elephant from a square of paper

then cut the shape of a lion

from the shape of the elephant

then the shape of a dog from the lion’s

then the shape of a cat from the dog’s

until you are left with

the shape of a mouse

and shreds of paper

and then nothing at all

and think that it has

been going on   

like this

for a long time

between you

each busy with the scissors

on the other

until there is nothing left

and no one to sweep it away

In This Garden

in this garden

adam kills the snake

slices him in two

like some surprised lover

caught fucking his wife

slices him in two

then guts him down the middle

scatters the eternal form of satan

in quarters

among the rotting apples

and the crumpled ferns

so he can keep his blissful ignorance

ignore the facts

that are all around

in god’s idea of paradise

eve is not entirely happy

with the snake’s death

not entirely ok with this arrangement

there is the telltale trace of longing

in her eyes

a scent like musk above her knees

a strange feeling stirs

for which she has no name

a new thought turns

for which she has no words

she stares at adam

surrounded by his flock

and the old voice

begins to whisper again

but this time more clearly

that she cannot go on like this

that she will never be fulfilled

in this marriage made in heaven