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Crop fields, once
Today tall grass has taken
Vigil on the hills
Named for old dead boys

Grass aplenty (surely
Two, five, ten winters
Steeped in lead, bloodied,
Washed clean in rain
Could feed a generation)

And then the sun
Always beating, Drumming
Sweat before my eyes
My life—flashing— a lark—

Here in this meadow
Mankind came to slaughter for a train yard
Between the mountain passes and the river
And the Run, once dried, is spilling over

With blood, with clay, for
Sons and daughters of
Virginia, these American tales
(Contested, my chains for soil...)

Pass whispered between
Mothers and little ones, the words
A lineage: Captain to farmer,
Farmer’s granddaughter

I witnessed the passing of our story
From one generation
And I stood by
marianne Oct 11
I am
born on the prairie, stark clad
blue sky desert, blacktop desert, canola yellow desert
small in the great space
between us

I am
born of the mountains, wrapped
in forest standing strong-faced and tall, my
companions, rooted
my teachers

I am
born of the quiet
meadowlark prints in bright white snow, the buzz
and thrum of tall grass prairie quiet
measure of my soul

I am
born of bleached fluorescent flicker
drawn into the whirling hurry
longing for rainfall and
idleness

I am
born into the faith of my fathers, solemn
like their ***, and righteous
holding fast to the book of their fathers
unwavering

I am
born of the rhythm of my mothers
of life-force and flutter
small hands and steaming pots in a hot kitchen
my church

I am
born of ghosts and tiny monsters
the hollow between their aching past
and tangled present,
alien

I am
born of old world order imposed
on new world freedom—
the image shifts
and I blur

I am
born of memory, my fingers carry secrets
daughter of the many mothers before me, their lives
tell the story
of mine

I am
born of the unknown, a swell in the stream
that spills into the ocean, I am
mother of many daughters
to come

Tell me who you are...
Because we are always part of something bigger.
India  Jun 4
Rape Culture
India Jun 4
A man I am meant to love told me the amount of skin I show represents my right to consent.
Flesh = Yes
Clothes = No
"Deserving" is a word he used.
A grandfather told his grandchild she deserved to be abused based off the length of her skirt, but this is old news; same story.
Only, I've heard it one time too many and now I'm sick of it.
"Devastated" over my hypothetical ****, he'd said,
as though his feelings mattered more than my right to my body.
Well, **** him.
I'm tired of prioritising people whose opinions are so archaic they can't see the crime in their words.
And his words hurt.
He defended the 'nature of men', claiming its an inbreed instinct,
tried to explain the appeal of women as though I don't already know.  
Jokes on him.
I'm ***.
But I've never been under the illusion it's okay to objectify or intimidate your way into a person's life.
I've never felt entitled to a person I've liked
And there lies the generational divide
Because neither has my brother.
Being "unable to control certain urges" is just another lie they feed you to perpetuate a culture of ****.
I'm seventeen, and yet I know the fear a predatory gaze can cause,
I've been leered at to the extent I honestly thought this is it.
This is the moment I've been warned about.
And then I thought "It's my own fault.
It's dark, it's after nine, I went out running in only a sports bra,
of cause I'm going to find trouble"
because I forgot that I'm not an object.
I'd been fed the same message so frequently it was ingrained into my fight or flight response.
Doesn't that speak for itself?
I'd been conditioned to accept the blame before the finger was even pointed.
So when my grandfather looked me in eye and said he thought girls where asking for it by the way they dressed,
I didn't have the energy to suppress my response.
I asked him if I'd been out drinking with friends wearing a sheer dress and matching bralette, and I was *****, would he consider it my fault.
His answer was met with stunned laughter.
Yes, he'd consider me to blame, and indicated his disappointment should weigh on my conscious.
I am shamed I have the same genetics as such a man.
At least I've learned to drown out his words so they can no longer effect me.
Johnny Noiπ Jul 28
I know that girl told u
   her       name was Jezebel
but it's really Tiamat & she's a monster;
   I recognize her face from  
[Neo-Assyrian cylinder seal
                                           impressions from the eighth century BC        
                      identified by several sources
                      as a possible depiction of the slaying
                      of Tiamat from the Enûma Eliš
                      of               Ancient   Mesopotamian religion:
Chaos Monster & Sun ***    [Primordial beings (        )]
                 Abzu & Tiamat.                     Lahmu & Lahamu
                                Anshar & Kishar                      Mummu
               The          Seven gods who decree the       
               Other major deities;
               Minor deities,  Demigods & heroes,    
               Spirits &    monsters             of the
                                     [Tales
                                        of                      ­Ancient Near Eastern religions
[Sumerian &            Babylonian
                   In the religion of ancient Babylon,  Tiamat
                  (Akkadian:AM.TUM, Greek: Θαλάττη Thaláttē)
                   is a primordial goddess of the salt sea,
             mating with Abzû, the *** of fresh water,
             to produce the   younger gods.
                    She is the symbol of the chaos of primordial creation.
  She is referred to as a woman       described as the glistening one.
                                              It is suggested that there are two parts
          to the Tiamat mythos,                            in the first
          Tiamat is a creator goddess,
through a sacred marriage between salt and fresh water,
                peacefully creating the cosmos
                through successive generations;
                In the second Chaoskampf Tiamat
is considered the monstrous embodiment of primordial chaos;
           Some sources identify her with images
           of a sea serpent or dragon
        [The motif of Chaoskampf (German: [ˈkaːɔsˌkampf], "struggle against
                                          chaos")
               is ubiquitous in global                        myth & legend,
               depicting a battle of a culture hero deity
               with a chaos monster, often in the shape
                                       of a serpent or dragon or beautiful woman;
                                       the same term has
   also been extended to parallel concepts
   in the Middle East and North Africa, such
   as the abstract conflict of ideas in the Egyptian
duality of Maat and Isfet or the battle of Horus and Set

The origins of the Chaoskampf myth
most likely lie in the Proto-Indo-European religion
                                          whose descendants
almost all feature some variation of the story
of the storm *** fighting the
      sea serpent; representing
                                           clash between the forces of order and chaos;
Early work by German academics
such as Gunkel and Bousset's                             comparative mythology
popularized translating the mythological
sea serpent as a "dragon."
Indo-European examples of this mythic trope
include Thor vs. Jörmungandr (Norse),
Tarḫunz vs. Illuyanka (Hittite),
Indra vs. Vritra (Vedic),
                                     Θraētaona vs. Aži Dahāka (Avestan);
Zeus vs. Typhon (Greek) among others; Non-Indo-European
examples of this trope are
Yahweh vs. Leviathan (Hebrew),
Susano'o vs. Yamata no Orochi (Japanese) &
Mwindo vs. Kirimu (African).

In the Enûma Elish, the Babylonian epic of creation,
she gives birth to the first generation of deities;
her husband, Apsu, correctly assuming
they are planning to **** him and usurp his throne,
makes war upon them and is killed. Enraged, she,
too, wars upon her husband's murderers,
         taking on the form
of a massive sea dragon; |
                     she is slain by Enki's son,
the storm-*** Marduk, but not before
      she has brought forth the monsters
        of the Mesopotamian pantheon, including the first dragons,
whose bodies she fills              w/          "poison instead of blood" -
Marduk then forms the heavens and the earth from her quartered body.
jane taylor  Jun 2016
fly
jane taylor Jun 2016
fly
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes

shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit

brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times

barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now

an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
***** in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze

i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge

free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation

floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun

you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound

you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul

dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly

©2016janetaylor
my husband and i left the mormon church and lost many friends, family, and community
Khoi-San Sep 17
The bonfire was loaded
With exiting tales
Our forerunners legendary
Exploit's these daggers
Cut deep trenches in
Our mindseye we felt
Like the next generation
Of wrath true tales from
A culture of devil worshippers
Yet the tongue's wielding
The blade was non the wiser
Our innate minds chewd
Every word our lives Satan's
Recycling bin two five ten
Deaths and many generations
After we now realised that
We have to cut out the blade
From these forked tongued
Folk tales that whispers filth
Unto the unsuspecting ears
Of our beautiful children
Heroism emenating from
The subculture of criminality
And gangsterism must no
Longer be tolerated it have savaged
The Innocence of young lives
For far too long
I grew up in this filth *** forbid I should have been a corpse myself
I have lost many friends because of
This generational sub cultural problems
Progress are slowly being made
Through various educational programmes
And community interventions
Tommy Randell Mar 2017
Wear green, anything green, green will save you
For certain - except on non-holy days maybe,
For those, a ****** is the best standby
Preferably one from an old religion
Thus establishing your undoubted innocence
And no matter it hampers the shenanigans
We are after all preventing lightning.

In the absence of a ******, some silk –
Yellow as the Sun and carried in the pocket
Out of sight as if it is a secret -
Damp it through with a drop of neat Poteen,
Drink some yourself to keep the airways clean
And never, but never, carry a stick
Unless it has a rubber ferrule on the end.

Ireland has a big sky so do look up.
Leather shoes are important - don’t wear synthetic -
And patterned socks are best turned inside out,
Though it must be said of this advisory
The ways of lightning are its own to know
And no amount of shoe and sock revising
Can guarantee your safety on an Irish road.

For the rest advices, I do not hold them to be true -
Tried and tested down the generations
My ancestors, and my family too,
Have always known that lightning prevention
Is its own reward, and habit forming.
Finally, there are leaflets available for free and
As you exit the aircraft please do feel
Ireland always takes your safety seriously.
Happy Paddy's Day
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