poetry from another dimension

Posts tagged “women

the freedom

the freedom of no more apologies

one would think
a man who didn’t care what
anyone would think
one would hate such a man,
wouldn’t they?
wouldn’t that person be arrogant
and conceited?

a friend in a leather hat
queried over our vegan

logical it seemed
but no,
it wasn’t true
I never hated men
who didn’t care what I thought

on the contrary, I loved them
I only wished
I had been granted a place somewhere
in their spaces of freedom

i wished I could be them
(with my own anatomy intact)
fearless and free
unabashed in caring for my own needs
and desires

I remembered the long ago days
when apologies were all I knew how to say
opinions given away like
to the highest bidder
the one whose
I valued the most

ten years of “in your face”
veganism later
I no longer fear
your thoughts about what I am
thinking, or saying
not that I wish to offend
but rather instead that I value
my own expression

it’s true
those years of speaking
on behalf of those who
could not speak for themselves
liberated me from the need to
compromise my integrity
for you

those years of speaking
on behalf of those who
could not speak for themselves
opened the door for me to speak for myself

Am I perceived as arrogant and conceited?
By a few perhaps
but having held fast to the expression of my own opinion
I received a thing I value most
my own approval



Gazing at foothills
tree carpets stroking slopes
and valleys

distant lands
sheer concrete canyons
caves in the psyche
skyscrapers steal light

sisters waging war
in sterile rooms of
the scientifically armed
breast abduction
theft of the most covert kind
disguised by a surgeons
bombardment of tender
the mystery of peace and healing
sought through violence and war
the bomb outlawed on the international landscape
it’s microcosmic equivalent
a secret operative
in subtle warfare

perfect orbs
man made
sad restitution for the demise
of motherly love

nothing strange here, they say
the plague must be fought
who is the enemy?
who is foe?

travesties perpetrated
mother nature fights back
snow storms, no power
no work, no money, no food
it’s cold out there, he says
and in here, she says, pointing to her heart
or maybe his

I loved a man who loved me hole
not whole
a thousand warm embraces and soft kisses
never asking, or noticing or sharing
a cup of himself

I loved the world around me
himself included
just because he was
my own little battle in the war
to make love not war
and find a truce in this heart
of gold

I lived in a glass house
slightly above it all
the sun and the moon close companions
in isolation
love bloomed in practice
how it was done
how I prepared for the war
on me, and my sisters
and waged the battle in a bedroom
no bigger than a closet
with a man who loved me hole
not whole

the gods pulled me out
clouds of misogyny and racism
poured their rains on the land
penetrating the skin
poisoning the heart
just a little

so I would know, I suppose

pulled out, like troops out of a war zone
relocated, reassigned
inner pilgrimage,

I could not win alone
the comrades few and far between
the tactics and scrimmages they chose
I sought another battlefield
where the war raging would no longer be about the landscape that is my body
but would focus on that which this body represents

these hands

jessica and I
in the lobby
of the main house
at the ashram
spoke of 47 and
the blossoming of
creative wisdom
the release
of the me’s
we have been

we scribbled notes
and she spoke of saving the ocean
and other works of love and art
one project
capturing images of the hands of
women she loved

we gazed together
at these hands
smiling, thinking, sharing
yes, perhaps
these hands

tell a more accurate tale
than anatomies

they have worked
and they show it
a million dishes mopped
and counting
thousands or more
carrots chopped
for loved ones

these hands scruffed
toshi the cat
on the neck
cleaned his litter box
and folded the towel
over his tiny form
when life was over

grasping palms of dozens of lawyers
or more
as they emerged from the cuffs
of a navy blue suit
they’ve typed dozens of contracts and
shifted through thousands of file folders

etched hundreds of drawings
and planted many flowers

counted millions of dollars….bills and quarters
dropped into the hands of bankers, customers,
and into the cups of the
folks on the street

ten years or more now
they’ve aptly communicated to students
that which
I cannot say
in words
it’s hard to “lift up”
when no one gives you
a hand

the gods have used them
or so I hope
in treatment rooms
to ease the pains of the afflicted
so they could let go
and move again
and maybe even
move on

“A funny thing happened with these hands”
I said to Jess, turning them over
revealing the destiny
etched on the palms
“with each decision made to choose love”
instead of money”
“the lines became clearer”
“and cleaner”
“and stronger”

we smiled at each other

“and my life line”

So now,
while the backs of these hands may look
10 years older than this body
the palms of these hands
where the meridian of the heart pours forth
look younger than
they ever did

We smiled and our eyes met and we placed
our respective palms
time honored ritual
for thousands of years
and bowed to each other
at 47
celebrating our hands
and our
well spent years