Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Nov 2015 Kate
Dana Kathleen
After this November will be the most dreaded month
not because it was when I lost you
but when I knew it was coming,
looming, and this time lightening wasn’t dancing
in the distance it was creating it.

Collecting moments of you
like storing food in a bomb shelter
for when I’m at war with your new
hand watch for not letting us work.

Every time the hand ticks
it is moving me closer to a time without you
and everyday is watching the hourglass of us run out.

Despite this, if I could live with you
in a calendar filled with Novembers, I would.  

But I can’t so before you go,
will you watch 44 sunsets with me?
 Nov 2015 Kate
Shashank Virkud
Dismissive and incredulous,
could something be so ridiculous?

Solitary, eight armed octopus.
I look at you with bulging eyes-
nothing stranger could exist.
I sulk back into the abyss.
 Nov 2015 Kate
Shashank Virkud
She wants
she wants
she wants
she wants
she wants to know
why I'm spreading
my time
so thin,
why I'm spreading
my mind
so thin.
She wants to know
why I'm sinking
just to swim.

She can take a ride in my car.
She can take a side of my heart.
She can.

She wants to know
why my neck
is so thin,
she want to go
to Jupiter again.
She wants
she wants
she wants
she wants.
 Nov 2015 Kate
Emily Dickinson
180

As if some little Arctic flower
Upon the polar hem—
Went wandering down the Latitudes
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer—
To firmaments of sun—
To strange, bright crowds of flowers—
And birds, of foreign tongue!
I say, As if this little flower
To Eden, wandered in—
What then? Why nothing,
Only, your inference therefrom!
 Nov 2015 Kate
david mungoshi
When the grass has  sprouted and the countryside is a soft green hue
and the hills are clothed in feathery russet and gold
Remember me upon a drowsy afternoon
with the cicadas singing in hypnotic monotony
Remember me when the milk-laden cows are lowing
for it is in such serene moments that we recall our regrets

When the countryside is mad with life
and natural perfumes spice your safari with wild abundance
Remember me upon a dry riverbed
where once we stood upon an island happy and free
*Remember me when the milk-laden cows are lowing
for it is in calm and peace such as this that we mellow betimes
final version
 Nov 2015 Kate
Taylor St Onge
1611: Emilia Lanier became the first Englishwoman to publish and collect patronage from her original poetry with the publication of fifteen poems, all about or dedicated to particular women, in her “booke,” titled in Latin, Hail, God, King of the Jews.  She was the fourth woman in England to publish her poetry, but the first to demand payment in return for it.  The first to see herself as equal to the paid male authors of the era.

This was the same year that the King James Bible was first printed.  This was eight years after the death of Queen Elizabeth I.  This was 180 years after nineteen-year-old Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.

                                                               ­      +

The Querelle des Femmes is “the woman question.”
Frenchmen of the early fifteenth century created a literary debate: what is the role and the nature of women?  Is it stemmed within a “classical” model of  human behavior; gnarled and rooted with misogynistic platonic tradition?  Should women actually be allowed into politics, economics, and religion?  There are scholars that say this debate radiated across several European countries for three centuries before finally fizzling out.  

                                                         ­                   But it is still there; has crossed
continents, has crossed oceans, is sizzling, sparking up fires, flaring out
into the night, leeching onto the trees, onto buildings, onto people, onto
anything flammable.  It is burning down monarchs and their thrones.  It is
raking back the blazing coals.  
                                                   Exposing the charred corpses.  
                 Proving their death.  
                                                   Burning and burning and burning them
                                              twice more to prevent the collection of relics.
                 It is chucking the ashes into the Seine River.

Lilith: who was made at the same time, at the same place, from the same earth, from the same soil as Adam, got herself written out of the Bible because she thought herself to be Man’s equal. Because she got bored of the *******.  Because she wanted to be on top during ***.  Lilith was replaced in the book of Genesis with a more-or-less subservient woman that was made from the rib of man instead of the same dirt and dust.  She was replaced with a woman that Adam named “Eve.”  She was replaced with a woman who served as nothing more than the scapegoat for Man’s downfall.
                                       The original Querelle des Femmes.

                                                                     +

1558-1603: Queen Elizabeth I ruled England in what is considered to be a masculine position. Although a woman can take the throne, can wear the crown, can wield the scepter, can run the country, the actual divine task that goes along with being a part of the monarchy, being a god on Earth, is thought to be the duty of a man.

Nicknamed The ****** Queen, Elizabeth never married,
                                                     never found a proper suitor,
                                             never produced a direct Tudor heir,
                                   (but this is not to prove that she was a ******).  
Chastity, especially of women, is a virtue.  ((To assume that she never had ***
simply because she never married
                                                                ­ is another Querelle des Femmes.))

For nearly forty-five years, Queen Elizabeth I did not need a man by her side while she lead England to both relative stability and prosperity; did not need a man by her side while she became the greatest monarch in English history.  
                                                She held the rainbow, the bridge to God, in her
                                                                ­                     own small hands just fine.

                                                          ­           +

Saturday, February 24, 1431: Joan of Arc was interrogated for the third time in her fifteen-part trial in front of Bishop Cauchon and 62 Assessors.  During her six interrogation sessions, she was questioned over charges ranging from heresy to witchcraft to cross-dressing.

At age twelve Joan of Arc began seeing heavenly visions
                                                                ­               of angels and saints and martyrs;
age thirteen she began hearing the Voice of God—was told to
purify France of the English,                          to make Charles the rightful king—
age sixteen she took a vow of chastity as a part of her divine mission.  

When the court asked about the face and eyes
that belonged to the Voice, she responded:
                                                      ­                      There is a saying among children, that
                                                         “Sometimes one is hanged for speaking the truth.”


Joan of Arc was declared guilty and was killed by the orders of a Bishop during a time when men were beginning to question the role and nature of women in society.  They thought women to be deceitful and immoral.  Innately thought Joan of Arc to be deceitful and immoral.  (Perhaps she was one of the catalysts for the Querelle in the first place.)

((The church blamed Eve for the
fall of mankind.  Identified women as
                                                                     temptation:
                                                               the root of all sins.))

Twenty-five years later she was declared innocent and raised to the level of martyrdom.
The Catholic Church stood back,
saw the blood,
                          the ashes,
                                            the thick smoke and stench of burned body that
                                                                ­               covered their hands, their clothes,
                                                                ­                    their neurons, their synapses;
        a filth that couldn’t be washed off by Holy water—
can’t be washed off by Holy water.

Four hundred and seventy-eight years later Joan of Arc was blessed and gained entrance to Heaven.  Four hundred and eighty-nine years later she was canonized as a saint.

                                                         ­            +

Lines 777-780, “Eve’s Apology in Defense of Women,” Emilia Lanier, 1611:
                         But surely Adam can not be excused,
                         Her fault though great, yet he was most to blame;
                         What Weakness offered, Strength might have refused,
                         Being Lord of all, the greater was his shame…


Adam, distraught and angered that his first wife, Lilith, had flew off into the air after he had refused to lay beneath her, begged God to bring her back.  God, taking pity on his beloved, manly, creation, sent down three angels who threatened Lilith that if she did not return to Adam, one hundred of her sons would die each day.  

                              (This is where the mother of all Jewish demons
                                         merges with the first wife of Man.)  

She refused, said that this was her purpose: she was
created specifically to harm newborn children.  This legend,
dated back to 3,500 BC Babylonia, describes Lilith as a
                                                                       winged feminine demon that
                                                     kills infants and endangers women in childbirth.

In the Christian Middle Ages, Lilith changed form once more:
she became the personification of licentiousness and lust,
she became more than a demon, she became a sin in herself.  Lilith
and her offspring were seen as succubae, were to blame for the
wet dreams of men.  Taking it a step further, Christian leaders then
                                                                ­                           wed Lilith to Satan;
                                                                ­                              charged her with
                                                                ­               populating the world with evil,
                                                   claimed she gave birth to
one hundred demonic children per day.

Lilith is considered evil in the eyes of the church because she was insubordinate to Adam.  Both she and Eve are considered disobedient; are too willful, too independent in the way that Lilith wanted to be on top and Eve wanted to share a knowledge that Adam could have refused.  They are perceived as a threat to the divinely ordered happenings that men see to be true.

Men wrote the history books because only their interpretation was right.  
Emilia Lanier writes:
                                       Yet Men will boast of Knowledge, which he took
                                           From Eve's fair hand, as from a learned Book
(807-808).

The Querelle des Femmes is not just a literary debate in the fifteenth century.  It is a way of life.  It is the divine portion of Queen Elizabeth I’s job being fit for men, and men alone.  It is Joan of Arc being a woman and hearing the Voice of God; it is Joan of Arc being burned three times by the same Catholics that revered in Jesus, a man who, too, heard the Voice of God.  It is Lilith being deemed a demon for not wanting to have *** in the *******.  It is Eve having to apologize in the first place for sharing the apple, for sharing knowledge with her partner.  It is women holding positions of power and yet still feeling powerless to men.  

The Querelle des Femmes is wanting to use gender
to keep one group of people above another.  The Querelle des Femmes
is continually thinking that the ***** is greater than, but
never equal to, the ******. The Querelle des Femmes is
                                                       not understanding the difference between
                                                                ­       ***          and          gender
                                                                ­              in the first place.  
The Querelle des Femmes is me,
burning your dinner and telling you to eat it anyway.
This is part of a larger project that I am working on pertaining to the Querelle des Femmes.
 Nov 2015 Kate
Bows N' Arrows
"The best revenge is living well."
               - Dorothy Parker

I'm so far from where I've been
Words are only words not
Set in stone
Tomorrow will be better than
Today
Amounts to lies within habits
Hard to shake
One mistake becomes oceans
Of regret
Throwing it all away for one
Moment of peace
Some holy redemption
An immediate release
Promises I told myself
That were never kept
Lye the stones of my tower
High in disappointment
And that look you get
From someone who
Doesn't understand why
You push away their helping
Hands
To grow is to embody that
Betterment from those
Destructive impulses you
Draw with your mind
In the grey cement
I've told myself a thousand times
"I'm not perfect" how
That weighty reality
Becomes evident over
And over
To any freebird who wishes to
Wonder and die young
See the plane crash of their life
For others to mourn
Means nothing to nature
Who by nature is stern and
To those ghosts who died of
Exposure, hunger and
Malnourishment-
Do their footprints in the
Snow live on to anyone?
Was their life just a comet
That burned once upon a time
But now is gone?
To purify my intentions in
This life when I'm sometimes
So jaded by my maladies
Reinforcing habits that
Enable my demise
I could barely cross the street
I was so sketched by those passing
Eyes I would stare down at my feet
I'll try to beat all those instincts
Of not knowing whom to trust
Of being abandoned in the
Crippling dust
Of sinking inside most of my
Faults of
Never conceiving that I would
Get back up
And changing my mind when
The inspiration rusts
And choose to be simply
Happy for once
Smiling and laughing at
Myself
Belief that one day I'll be
A success and not succumbing
To all that pressure and stress
Instead of realizing
"This Isn't me"
I'll paint the picture of who I want
To be
My life is worth more than that
And where the univers guides me
Are the first gleaming steps
To salvation from all
My secrets and unrest
Being reborn from my ashes
I'll be the Phoenix
I'll take all my shame and
Plant it in the earthly soil
Where it will grow into a
Tree-
A resilient weeping willow
 Nov 2015 Kate
Darkly
Penguins waddle.

Camels spit.

Aardvarks burrow.

And bovines ****.
Next page