WE PAW Bloggers E-zine — Issue 73

MATURE AUDIENCES

March was Women’s History Month.

In observance of this and in honor to women everywhere, our members were asked to contribute poems of their true experience as a woman, or for a man to share anti-misogyny poems as an ally of women. Poems were limited to 500 words maximum. Contributors were encouraged be boldly honest… to be real… to be raw.

Only members of the WE PAW Bloggers group on Facebook are eligible for participation in the prompt and publication in this group online magazine.

Figure

societal pressures define the ideal
long sinewy famished minuscule
shrink into the shadows forgotten
forbidden to taste the sweet nectar

baby plump soft fed on demand
nurtured to grow reach for the sky
stars twinkle dropping fairy dust
soon enough to change to judgment

eyes upon the hijab the stiletto the girdle
defined confined communique poised
cutting a quality not promised or emblematic
dynamic life existence heart and soul to weigh

BYLINE: Faye E. Arcand

Talisman

Image by pasja1000 from Pixabay

Mace
Cell phone
Keys biting tender flesh between fingers
Double knotted running shoes
One earbud out, a free ear scanning
Like an animal of prey

Sacrifices to keep suffering away

Hoping it is powerful enough,
Devils have their own protections

Never believing it is all needed
Until it is

BYLINE: Joy Yehle, Author

PERSISTERS

Women’s March, 21 January 2017, photo by Toni Kief, Author

No longer the spectator
Nodding on the side
Silently angered
Fueled by a drive

Battle for rights
Hand to your vest
Black marker prepared
Draw signs of protest

Sensible shoes and cozy hat
Confident of age old demand
Ready to walk, aching to run
We gather to make a stand

Demands expose personal grief
Sisters and Brothers temper a rage
Messages of love and promise of peace
We each take the stage

Passion in the parking lot
Marching in the street
Freedom’s messengers
In a unified beat.

BYLINE: Toni Kief

Bully

Image by John Hain from Pixabay

Don’t wear those shoes.
Your hair doesn’t suit you that way.
Take off that dress. You look like a slut.
Don’t talk unless you’re spoken to.
Jeez, you’re such a klutz.

You drink too much.
You shouldn’t smoke.
Those jeans make you look fat.
Are you stupid; can’t you think for yourself?
Do you like being used as a mat?

There are days when you’re there for me.
Days when all you do is fight.
There are times when you make me feel so low.
And days when you hold me really tight.

I’m fed up with you telling me what to do
whom I should be,
When to go out, who I should see.
You don’t own me, and you never will.
So, I’m off now; I’ve had my fill.

See ya!

BYLINE: Karina Kantas, Author

WOMEN

Photo by Paul Kerby Genil from Pexels

‘You can bind her eyes from crying,
but her mind’s bleeding still seeps through.
It comes from all our lying,
and the hurtful things we do.

Her wounds are not cosmetic;
red blood in her pretty eyes.
As her failures we are pathetic,
and our sins still stain her thighs.

She is the mother of humanity;
with her devotion shining true.
We beat her down with out iniquity;
her true lovers are but few.

So now all we men of earth;
let us make our women strong.
Return the love they gave our birth;
to lift them up where they belong.

BYLINE: Dennis Pennefather

Her Light Burns Brightly

Image by Dimitris Vetsikas from Pixabay

Strong, resilient, like no other
Fighter, defender, lover, mother,
Teacher, leader, inspiration,
Backbone of a generation.
Of a kind, yet individual,
Shrugging off the chains residual
That remain from eons past,
Smashing ceilings made of glass.
She honours mothers, sisters, aunts,
Who fought to give her every chance
To vote, to lead, to work, to win,
To overcome history’s sins.
Her light burns brightly: in her wake
Are those she has inspired to take
The future into their own hands,
On their own terms, not those of man.

BYLINE: ©2017 Joanne Van Leerdam

The Nothing I’ve Become

Stargazer lily, photo by the author

There is nothing worse than when they think you’re nothing
Unless…
It’s when you start to believe it.
It’s when their words start seeping in
And
With every false smile,
And
With every Cheshire grin
The words start to sound more believable…
Until
You are the nothing but what they always said you were.

It’s when you stay silent because they aren’t going to hear you anyway.
It’s when you don’t scream because no one will listen.
It’s when you get fed up with the whole notion of them
Telling you what you should say
Telling you what you should think
Telling you just how you should feel
Until the words
I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!
Becomes all too real.

And that’s when you start to find yourself.
When you have no place else to go but up.
And you know it’s true…
When I don’t give a fuck becomes
I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU
Or
About the human-like creatures that only see you as a number,
Or
About how we’ve become just another pussy for them to grab
Or
As walking entertainment to be touched as they like
To disparage as they like
To fuck up and fuck over whenever they like
Because that’s what some of you like.
And to some that’s all we will ever be.

But no, Sis. Uh uh. Not me.
I stopped giving a fuck a long time ago.

So you can take your expectation
And you deviations
And all of your stunning revelations
And you can stick them up your ass for all I care.
And
For this world that cut me deep and left be bare…
I got nothing left for you.

It’s taking all that I have to tread water
And do it while holding on to the sons and daughters
Who are struggling too
Who haven’t figured out that the only way out
Is to keep fighting
To keep struggling
To keep smirking in the faces that would tear you down
Who would make a mockery out of your beliefs and what you stand for.

Instead, I turn my back on their so-called statics
And their manufactured facts
I make my own truths

The foundation created of the words your civilized world spits at me.
I step on that shit and I tamp it down like fertilizer.
And then I use that to pull myself higher
I build my walls with your unwanted touches
With your greedy hands, your unwanted advances
With your causal assaults disguised as accidental
Glances
Of fingers and hands
I rip them off and then I build my ceiling with your contempt.
I pull that shit down and I use it to shelter under
And when I need peace I stand under the wreckage that I wrought.
Of your assumptions and your decrees
because in the destruction
I found me.

And I learned that there’s nothing worse than when they think you are nothing…
Unless
It’s when you start to believe it.

BYLINE: Stephanie Burke

Reckless

Photo by Caroline Hernandez on Unsplash

She had been reckless in her childhood,
racing trikes over bumps
airborne for a moment or two,
despite cautions to ride safely, carefully.
She had been reckless as a teenager,
meeting a tall, young stranger in a dark parking lot
despite warnings from those older and wiser,
headless of risk, running headlong into her future
with vision impaired by rose colored glasses.

She had been reckless as young woman in love,
wagering all that she was and had
that marriage was the answer.
Looking neither right nor left
she tossed the dice,
her future as surety.

She learned fear as an adult
when knocking came to her door
in the dark of night,
rattling lock and frame.

She learned the economic fear of poverty
hand in hand with the effort
necessary to haul herself up,
learning to stand alone
on her own.

She learned courage
as single mom of two;
honing it, fighting her past
and ghosts lingering
loudly in the doubt of night,
She kept it close
when all she had besides empty pockets
was the determination
that tomorrow would be better.

She tucked her children into bed,
listening to their prayers
while silently adding her own.
Eyes open, watchful and aware,
she counted stars
in the quiet of night,
listening to her children as they slept
until her eyes closed in sleep and dreams,
recklessly riding her bike
with her face in the sun and wind in her hair,
beyond care once more.

Written by myself, taught by life.

BYLINE: Cathy LaPointe Blundy

Greater Power

Image by Robert Trakofler

*I know of no greater power
Then the delicate fortitude
Of the willingness to bloom
The sheer nature of nurturing
In the sacrifice of bestow

~You, dear man
come take my hand
no need of force
when this great power
will take its lead to gentleness
to flow and blossom.

*The hollowness…
In the subjugation of thrive,
or in the diminish of yield,
Has never been potency.
To break a thing is not strength
As you would have us believe

~l don’t wait I give
I don’t break I yield
my strength is,
a broken heart is like a withering flower
from you, a touch of care
will make it refreshed.

*Femininity…
Has never been flawed, but rather;
The essence of creation,
the embrace of compassion,
and the embodiment of advocacy!
It is…the best in us

~masculinity
my shoulder to lean on
my reason to love
each of us is unique
not equality
but integration
together we are the balance
the harmony and life.

*Like the flower that blooms,
from a sidewalk crack.
She simply just is…
splendorously her!

~like the oak that grows
with my trust, my fortitude
he simply just is…
resplendently him!

BYLINE: Lines beginning with an asterisk (*) attributed to Robert Trakofler
Lines beginning with a tilde (~) attributed to Lightsong

Walking

Walking… oh, please… don’t notice me…

The ruining corridors of pain…
These hallowed halls of entropy…
What learning ‘pon the blackboard
With vile tutelage in your halls?
Delinquent roving gangs violate your corners.
The squalid gasconade tumbling around me…
Filling my ears… coloring my fears… bleeding my soul…
Head down, closed arms ‘cross my books…

Walking… oh, please… don’t notice me…

I won’t! I won’t play your game!
I won’t be part of your juvenile throng!
So now you want to punish me.
Think, together, you’ll teach me to belong.
You’re all trying to take me…
Wanting to penetrate my body…
Break me… thrust beyond… below…
Trying to penetrate my soul…

Walking … Oh GOD! … don’t touch me!

I’ll scream! I won’t go down without a fight!
Your sweating, eager, hating, hungry, frightened faces…
“Shit! Shut up, puta!” JAB! “I’ll shut ‘er up!”
Dragging… wrangling… away from sunlit causeways…
Wretched, sniggering, giggle, snorting, wormy faces…
Ripping… snagging… dragging… grabbing…
JAB! STAB! “Shut her up!” I’ll keep screaming!
Oh GOD! This can’t be happening!

I’ll scream! I won’t go down without a fight!

Praying… screaming with raw throated sobs!
Slam and bang! Bright light so blinding…
Blessed sudden release… they let go… FLEE!
Curled around myself, scrabbling away from horror…
Someone’s still screaming…OH! It’s not me
Look up to see bodies wrecked and tumbling…
‘Fore th’angry, backlit silhouette of retribution…
Falling before my Avenging Angel!

I’m safe. But who has been my angel?

BYLINE: © 07 September 2014, by D. Denise Dianaty

If you wish to contribute to this ezine, please join the group on Facebook. All writing creatives are welcome.

D. Denise Dianaty, Editor and Graphic Designer for the WE PAW Bloggers E-Zine. Administrator for the writers forum “WE PAW Bloggers” group and its sister group “Pandora’s Box of Horrors” on Facebook. In addition to being a self-published author and poet, artist, art-photographer, and administrator of the group, “WE PAW Bloggers,” Denise is a graphic designer with 25+ years experience, predominately in print media.

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An ezine for members of the FB group, https://www.facebook.com/groups/wepawblog, as well as being the place to curate featured writing prompt contributions.

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