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vircapio gale Oct 2015
perfect sunny day--
insects  sing   so    loud!
as i surf the web

pond water--
my hair dries as i click,
getting hot again

One summer years ago, at my childhood home, in a nudist colony whose so-called 'co-founding' is my family's only legacy--perhaps right before my grandmother had passed, or when my father's prostate was scheduled to be removed and he thought it best to hire someone for a last-minute memory (despite his ***-negative crutch-christianity, just in case the operation cost him his jive)--i googled, '*******,' while looking for ****, and the atrocity i found took all of a second to challenge my complacent illusion that i could remain separate or disconnected from the global oppression of women and girls while i consumed the products (i.e., fantasized about having *** with and/or 'making love' to simulacra-women; masturbated to pictures of them) of an industry whose widespread lack of any substantial commitment to fairness, safety, legal recourse and work-place equality has contributed to a new generational acceptance of the ancient memes that perpetuate bigotry:

dismembered girl
on an open body-bag--
why does this exist??

the insects clacking,
droning in the grass--
summer can't hide death

her hip bones' marrow showing,
young *******'s corpse--
limbless

her legs gone--
the image chokes me
from speaking

my sisters, too young to tell--
who do i tell?
why should i tell?

i read she'd run from her ****--
they put her in the river.

young girl,
her blood still--
i can't feel my heartbeat

young woman,
her torso bare--
unfeeling stumps

young woman,
her legs gone,
skin gray from the river

young woman,
your legs gone--
i choke  on words








.
please don't infer any absolute moral judgments here; or absolute relativism; i am questioning harmfulness and interconnectedness.

this experience is from an article i glanced long ago, long enough to leave an indelible pain beyond the mercilessly visceral impact of the image; there is a continuous undercurrent of suffering, accessible each time "feminism" is sneered at or when one wave over another is dismissed outright.

i could never share the article... i felt shame for finding it while searching for **** (which is a sharp irony not lost to me or the puritan in the room); i felt a fear of ruining someone's day, someone's image of me, or the cliche ignorance that seems so essential to happiness; inducing yet additional needless fear in young minds already inflicted with an unfair burden of anxieties seemed pointless if not harmful as well, as if sharing such 'hateful' realities could empower the very organizations that employ these techniques to punish recalcitrance and spread fear (which some may say i'm doing here, though my intention is to overcome fear-induced silence... although i can't imagine sharing the image itself) ... i hadn't realized until recently that i'd also been succumbing to my own fear by projecting it onto others.

these problems are systemic and solutions are manifesting everywhere. future pain is avoidable in the context of education, courageous dialogue, and the kind of love that inspires, liberates and goes to any lengths to understand and empathize.
W Taylor  Jan 2013
A Short Renku
W Taylor Jan 2013
Searching the attic
boxes unfold
as homes parish

An addict thrives
in times of content

As she poses
light captures through
one glass eye

a dark cell
an over exposed memory

a broken man’s watch
predicts turns fine

a fixation on the destination
defines troubled times
once left behind
The dream manifests
As a Spring flower blossoms
So too does Heaven

Heaven is a sunny day
Blooming like Lotus flowers
Mark Toney  Oct 2019
haiku poetry
Mark Toney Oct 2019
renga or renku
a rose by another name . . .
haiku poetry
4/25/2018 - Poetry form: Haiku - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018

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