Imagine the outrage
If a band, all-male members,
Refuse to play tunes
for the opposite gender.

Imagine the uproar
The venue would face
For excluding a half
of their customer base.

“It’s rank discrimination!”
The ladies would moan.
If the males got to listen
while the girls  stayed at home.

Yet the Bulletproof Stockings,
That band that wears wigs,
Exclude guys from their concerts
Not just chauvinist pigs.

“It’s a matter of Faith!”
The girl band members say;
No guys at their gigs!
No men hear them play.


Yet I’ve heard pious Pastry chefs
Don’t get to choose.
If gay brides want a cake
It’s a crime to refuse.

An Orthodox authoress
who published a tome
would be most put out
if male buyers stayed home.

So if girl musicians
seek public expression
They ought to think twice
about gender oppression.

Its great that they’re keeping
an orthodox home.
But enough of these concerts
For women alone.

The pure and worthy Mrs. Stowe
Is one we all are proud to know
As mother, wife, and authoress--
Thank God, I am content with less!

If I were Newland Archer
What would I now do with my love?
Would I torment  her, ask impossible things,
Surrender to her irrational command
And let the others make my future plans?

Oh no! My beloved Ellen was wrong!
To think that I could stay the course,
That marriage could end like a closing door,
And leave the future in May’s serpentine hands.

This time, if such a chance were given me,
What would I do to make safe our love?
I would give up all I had thought so dear,
My frivolous books, effete pursuits, so she could be near.

I was unworthy, the first time, I know.
I consented to her feeling that I must go.
But now I would re-arrange my life, dare any disdain
Just to kiss her wrist in unfounded faith.

Would I again leave my Love if told to choose?
No! I was weak before, thinking that I had no chance.
Yes, oh, yes! How could I ever bear to lose
My Ellen and our enchanted dance?

I know I have wronged those who trusted me,
But don’t blame the unwitting authoress of my woe!
For it was my own frailty that blinded me,
My disregard for those things that
Any man with a heart should know.

I see now that if to May’s wish I did not bend,
She would see my surrender was great to me but small to her,
She would find another, as resolute women do under duress.
And instead of a false life, Ellen, I could be alive with you!

                                    -----------------------­--

Written if Newland Archer (of the novel "Age of Innocence") had listened to no one and abandoned not only the wife who shanghaied him into domestic servitude, but his own priggish insistence on doing the “right” thing for the wrong reasons.

Semi-finished, June 19, 2011

Sharon Talbot

Late at night, after Mother goes to bed
She writes
To whom is unknown
Reason has no weight
The girl just writes
I suspect she loves another
Aside from family
Or she is an authoress
Creating stories for others enjoyment
I suppose it could be most anything
I leave you to wonder
Only God truly knows what is enclosed in that scroll of ink and heart

I talked and you listened....
leaving your fingerprint smudges
on the pages of my soul.

Those pages erased as you
pushed me out of the door.
Choosing instead the lonliness
of your darkess and fear of what could be.

You left me blank, unwritten.
With only a title remaining.
I must now pick up the pen
and rewrite myself.

I must brave the ink stains that
will bleed into me....
I will be the author of a  new
version of my soul.

How will I know the right words?
They will come as all do for this
wordsmith of emotion.

Through pain and heartache,
my tears black as night.
But I will not succumb to the
darkness like you did.

Though my words stained in
inky black, my story will be life.
You made me want to feel for the
first time... in that single breath.

But I'll make myself want to feel for a lifetime.

[Better driver means deader dog.] A black (Negroid) book review fair divides & diminishes us no less than a white (Caucasoid) book review fair. Am I not your brother regardless of my skin color? "Authoress" Alice Walker's "novel": The Third Life of Grange Copeland promotes Marxian victimhood. Walker wallows in the misery of destitute Negroes. She rubs the readers' noses in it. Negroes ARE NOT side-show freaks! Evil woman: Stop dividing God's children and stop calling yourself Alice as that's MY Mother's name! My feet need washing! Where's the pope?

This was sparked off by watching a documentary last night on Leonard Cohen & Marianne both of whom I knew wall when I lived in Hydra.      

    The Goal

There are those who can’t
And those who can
Become what’s called ‘a family man’.
Those who must live solitary.
Those who must have friends a-plenty:
Women, chums, amusements, ***;
Many current, many -ex.

There are those who roam the earth
Without a faith,
Looking, looking, never finding,..
Never binding self to one:
Finding none.

Those who run and those who search;
World-weary urchins*
Existentially un-gladdened, burdened,
Mightily or slightly saddened.

No one thing that’s best for all,
No inner voice, choice, norm of form;
Then, waking one day to a call,
It settles all.

Rising, falling with a grin,
Settling in to nature’s cycles,
Sizing up the grand delusion,
Each day’s challenging illusion.

Inner joy reflecting off a shining face
Now well defined and more refined,
They help without a conscious motive,
Simply by a way of living.

In order to find inner peace,
“Know yourself”, said Socrates.
Where under decrease hides increase
Which then in turn feeds happiness -
The ultimate in goals that please.

The happiness infectiousness,
Is  virus kissed and truly blessed.
Conclusion from this authoress:
“They’re not all baddies I would guess.”

A Reference to Noel Coward’s song “World-Weary” (1928)
The Goal 2.29.2020 Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin