"doormats" poems
[I accidentally deleted this, so now I'm reposting it]
This is not an attack, it is expression.
*This apparently isn't a very popular subject,
but then again, when has popularity changed anyone's mind..*
--
**** the 'Selective Service System'; the SSS.
It's neo-conscription.
FDR made us a deal we couldn't refuse
which included a stipulation
that about half of us still cannot refuse:
Selective Service
also known as
Peacetime Draft
But only for males. Only the males.
Not the females, though. Oh, no, not the females;
We need the Females
to bake the next batch of mindless soldiers/housewives/neoslaves.
We need the women to uphold the status-quo.
We need our women
to remain passive, docile, and beautiful ******* doormats
for our glorious and infallible western society.
We need our women
to be complaint, subservient, sex-starved, archaic-gender-role embodiments.
I see it as overtly 'cherry-picking' as well as misogyny both ways;
sexist, selfish, and prejudiced on both sides:
'Feminists' (read: Feminazis) claim to plea for true gender equality, but here is my plea:
If such is true, where then are their demands for mandatory selective service?
Why do they feel above reproach when it comes to the unsavory sides of society?
Why do they turn a blind eye to the ******* Draft if they ***** up such a storm about equality?
Why is it not a federal offense punishable by a $250,000 fine as well as up to 5 years in prison
for a female to not sign their life away to the military from when they turn 18 until at least 25?
How is that 'gender equality'?
Huh?
They, too, are cherry-picking.
-
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"
This past semester I wrote two papers
One, a fire and brimstone sermon
I quoted Anais Nin
sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
For the women they portrayed were doormats
Misconceptions
Monsters
The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
No longer confined to the kitchen
they dropped ballots with their new freedom
they wore short dresses and short tresses
fingers wrapped around cigs
they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
they danced until their feet hurt
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,
I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.
I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.
Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"
I was finally
happy with my womanhood.
****** ****** ***** ********
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.
mine.
I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.
I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.
a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.
I am woman
and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.
I am not rib.
I am ****** ****** ***** ********
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.
Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,
for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.
this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation
could use a little music.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
We were laying down our lives
from the beginning, but we didn't know
how cold the nights could be
or how heavy our feet would sound
on wooden floors, we didn't know we were built
for more than coughing up new ways
to pass time, no we were only
practicing for this,
we were only fighting for our lives,
we were only cutting out new patterns & fitting ourselves with
our wrung-out hopes & dreams,
but those fell limp & we didn't realize
there was anything else
I didn't realize these shards in my lungs were leftover
from the first time learning how to crash & burn, the fall left bruises printed
up and down my arms,
under my ribs, but I thought that was
a good thing, I thought
we're supposed to fight for what we love
we're supposed to feel the pain
but,
we are only a billion lonely strangers
laying down our lives here, I'm hoping
you'll pick mine up before it gets trampled on again
although we really do make the finest doormats
for feet heavier than ours, maybe
we will remain in the dust & the sand until
we are buried, or our throats are filled so that we can't ask whose deadweight
we carry today;
so come lie to me,
tell me that this all goes away
I'm tired of playing in the shade by myself, I need fresher dreams
bigger things than childhood fantasies
they tell me I am only make believe
I am only a lonely star, I am only pretending
they don't see the corners I cut or the nightmares I chase,
the graves I dig just to survive, just to bury
the rot of older skins I shed on the daily,
we don't like the way the gas in the atmosphere
hides the stars so we seek
open spaces & we lay our hearts in felt-lined boxes thinking
they'll be safer there than in our chests, because our chests might be
caving in tomorrow
compressed under the weight of passerby, if you need me I'll be here
(we didn't know how cold the nights could be)
I'll be laying down my life over here.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
Lining up batteries of anti-aircraft anti-everything
all anti- something this and that
distribution centre for psychological pressure
backed by radio, TV presidents staring straight
newspapers, journals and dialogues around
flash round tables on the whys how’s and who’s
sneaky microphone hidden in flower pots,
long distance listening devices. Telephones tapped
wives tapped, senior diplomats and doormats tapped
wives tapped on shoulders
whispered to: watch out for Joe blogs he has a roving eye.
see me tonight, after dinner.
The russians have warship A into Zone B
the chinese have shifted anti-missile up
the mountains near tibet, near nepal
near taiwan, near the hormuz straits
into africa, zimbabwe, fiji, and northern china
who cares. Tomorrow they will shift out again.
the pressure is building in the ukraine, turkey is on fire
The north koreans have no power
as seen from satelllites
The president has run of tomato sauce so he has asked
for a shipload from us of a
ship it with some spies dressed as tomatoes
god its killing me
these acupuncture points
three more needles please!
Author Notes
Relentless. ( an wacky I s'pose). Think about it all.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
Don't mean to get political,
I can't help but wonder why though,
we claim everyone is equal.
We sure don't treat people like that,
we treat some like they are our doormats.
All they want is to be happy,
just like us,
so why do we try and forbid it?
Don't tell me they aren't right.
Don't say it goes against the sacred books,
cause I know every book teaches you to love your neighbor,
why are they different?
'Cause they have different preferences?
How many of you know someone like them,
but refuse to help or care?
You claim you support them,
but you support the ones who stand against them.
How is it that you claim everyone's equal,
when you try to forbid,
so many people to be happy?
Just saying that it isn't right,
what if I told you that you aren't allowed,
to be happy, to be with the one that you love?
Just something for you to think about.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
my mind went white
amongst tiered humans walking like dying elephants.
there are other worlds. other minds. other heart break.
like the needle that sewed my skin when it came apart
there is constant reconstruction below this bewildered place
constantly in a state of shock
in a state of livid chaos
in a state of controlled happiness
held stealthily like the slaves shoulder to iron branding
the screams are loud, but the masters do not hear them
they do not flinch at the sight of this unruly pain
and so we have come to a place this universe has known far too long
the betrayers hand placed so solidly above the heads of those who have become numb
and a shadow above the minds of hope.
In the old market, I walk by a man who's family's hunger is painted on his face
like the gushing of blood red smoke. I had wished to wrap my arms around him for the day/
instead of walking around looking at things he would never dare lay eyes on
for there are mornings when he would give a fragment of his body in return for full stomachs
that sleep in the same room, so small at night/ little reminders that there is a reason behind his
undeniable struggle resting upon his eyes like doormats to homes of the elderly who have been abandoned, peering out the window trying to hold on to one beautiful memory to keep them alive
in there what is to most, the most foreign loneliness.
what will his children be, I ask myself. Why is it me that has been given more and not them.
these thoughts ache in my veins.
I pass by a building, where the rocks are ancient
a small thing it seems left behind by history. vacant .
there is a man selling raspberries that are rich with sweet sap
he stares at them only wishing that his life was as rich
flooding with envy at the sweetness of their nectar
then brakes away in thought to stare at the marvelous ocean
swaying like the beautiful mistress he never met under the arabian sun
droplets of sweat break at the rate of breathe that is taken
on these grunge filled streets, auras coming and going of loss and celebration
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 9:27 AM UTC
Don’t ever be the doormat
To somebody else’s life
Whenever it’s convenient
For them
Doormats are used to
Wipe your feet
From **** and mud
And stay just on
The outside of the house
Never to be inside
Remember that
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
Been there and done that
Highly sensitive person in progress
Know the difference between worrying and caring
I am the latter
Real human Care Bear
Life lessons learned and still evolving
When learning stops you are over and done
Learned that liking me is more important than what others think
Doing good in this world and wanting to do the very best one can is fine
If you don't like it and are selfish and cruel
Don't let the door hit you as it closes
C@rainbowchaser2021
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC
I wish kisses could leave
scars, and pain
would leave no trace of its
presence behind. I've been
to so many places with strangers
and each time I imagined it was some version of you
with me instead.
Save our own hearts by
entering another. Devouring another.
I'm not sure what love is
but faulty incantations, a changing
forecast in stormy minds.
I'm denying myself again from touching
the truth because
holding someone forever and
into eternity
is difficult to comprehend for
a mind that feels more alone when looking
at the stars,
for someone who feels like an intruder
in the house they grew up
in, and is still searching
underneath doormats for "home".
It would be nice for a breeze to catch
my lungs like a net
and whisk me away from
where I stand
against myself. I'm hoping sooner or later
I'll get lost enough in a warm place
that wholly embraces me in ways
I can't for myself.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
I feel like a staple! Funny, eh!
I hold things together round this place,
In a mild-mannered old lady way,
Like the staples in a book,
I guess there's no need to sook,
I am a helping hand today,
Nothing lasts forever, eh?
Avoid confrontations with the ex,
Who carries on like old T-Rex,
The old staple of their lives,
I would do stuff anyway, being kind,
Doormats do get exploited, eh,
I feel it's a staple kind of day!
Smile!!
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
outside, rain drizzles down
from the grey sky
droplets race down the foggy windows and
splatter onto the ground
any form of colour is lathered
with a layer of cold rain
double-decker buses race through puddles
on the cobblestone roads
the streets are full of nothing but black umbrellas
hurriedly, people clad in dark raincoats
scurry to soaked doormats and creaking doors
there is light conversation in the coffee shops
and hot tea is served
this is the true london.
-C.C
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
I am reading
about a piano
when you begin
to play.
-
I will continue
to wish
you were dying.
-
you say
to pictures
me, before I was taken.
-
you have one story involves a failed grenade.
I wish two, you wish
ambitiously
none.
-
forgive me, death, I am drunk.
sober, I sell doormats.
-
in our imaginings
gutted baseballs
became
the skulls of small animals
through which the wind
called heads.
-
in daytime, you inspect
a dark stone. you tell me it could take
all night.
-
in heaven’s garage
they’ve yet to make
a horn
that works.
-
if I leave, it is to write this poem.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
You talk trash like a doorman,
who treats others like doormats,
thinking you have that right, cause,
you fired first!
did you get lost on your way to a poetry
slam, and so you have no where to compete?
as self appointed (shr)editor,
you stir the *** and leave the room,
leaving your P.I.E.D. in plain sight,
just waiting for it to go off.
do you unto others as you would have do unto you,
somehow you forgot it is true, and I am sorry,
but no worry, I have even liked some of your
real
poetry,
What Was I Thinking?,
Observe life and report in rhyme or prose,
But rhyme with hurtful slime, uglier than my
ugliest of toes, might be poetry but stirs woe in me,
dress it up in classic forms,
who let you create a standard of norms?
take us on fanciful journeys, tell us of loves lost
and loves won, but instead you
load your keyboard with angry
words, waiting for the sound you like,
the sound of your own voice, PULL!
to achieve release...
who died and left you in charge,
or are you sitting sad and alone,
on one of the google barges?
cute trick to hide in hash tags,
not very original, gotta hand it
to you,............................................... you are the best dressed word
bully around. linguistically pure,
of that I am sure, for no human,
would c\ut a/nother's .............................artistic creation
down, unless perfection was in the D.N.A.
what did the others word-
hunters go on vacation and
you got stuck taking turns?
What a way to waste a holiday?
So be a good gourmand, and
get back to excessive feasting,
on food, and
not people's
works.
KTWK
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
The roaches on my doorstep
They show nights of neglect
Follow me to darkness for I’ve not yet wept
Sweep me under doormats and follow path
The untimely death was apart of the wrath
Breaching the veil I’ve not yet pushed through
Legs start to quiver at those thoughts of you
Will I be met by the moon
Or shall she lay dormant
Whispering to stars of my utter torment
Clawing at life she has found her strife
Not until mourning will I be cut by son’s knife
Whisked away the smokes of today
Unable to lay safely in the bed I have made
Clothed in mindfulness
I shriek at joy
Just another game; and I am the toy
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
Velvet touch through crimson gloves,
Jim beam and laserbeams,
ice cubes and dissolving scenes.
revolving dreams, and closing doors.
metaphors,
have we met before?
Familiar face, ghost tinged skin.
I see through you with x ray vision.
Doormats and matadors,
The house of cards all over the floor.
Card tricks and loose lips.
Lipstick and misfits in each and every district.
Misguided violence, breaking the silence.
The pin drops but bursts the earth,
the secrets rise but remain unheard.
The bubble pops,
the penny drops.
Adrenaline of ten men combined,
demonic trance and piercing eyes.
Lie to me freely,
freaks speak with free speech,
and never reach potential.
A sentinels honour,
but a peasants workrate,
role reversal curdles and the hurdles change landscapes.
Constant contours,
a colourful conscience,
that constantly wants more,
o
ominous nonsense.
Breaking bread on the deathbed.
Let them rise phoenix,
the ashes have done there rounds,
compressed underground,
look what they found.
charcoal, oil and natural gas.
Running your mouth,
then running out fast.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
I changed the colour of my hair from brunette to blonde
not for me but for you
maybe then you might respond
I got rid of my natural nails and replaced them with longer more colourful gel ones with lots of details.
not for me but for you
I stopped wearing sweats or comfortable pants and shirts, I now wore dresses and short skirts
not for me but for you
I tossed my sneakers and flats, started wearing high heels which are all lined at my doormats
not for me but for you
I spoke softer, more high pitched just like every woman "should"
you make it a part of womanhood.
not for me but for you.
Is there anything you would like me to change?
Is there anything more you want me to rearrange?
Of course it's not gonna be for me, it would be for you.
Afterall, it's a game you play, it's the thing you do.
Not for me but for you.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
I gaze at some human behaviours,
Was Elvis such a saviour?
All those impersonators,
Then there's folk like me,
Total doormats, to bullies,
Is that acquired behaviours?
For doormats, who is a saviour?
As we study our own sociology,
With observational methodology.....
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 11:05 PM UTC
The silence was sinister, as if, sound had lost its vocal chords,
the days arrived and sunsets painted the sky in crimson
and gold leaf ensembles of artists dreams.
While they sat around a table, document drivers ran around
pushing agendas, translating armageddon scenarios
if the other side raised a finger or pulled a trigger.
So the sulky diplomats sat like doormats where
the national feet were wiped upon and trust was invested
in their stupidity. Harvard education, pin-striped suits
with loud aggressive neckties announced their status
to TV crews and intrepid journalists, hanging on every word
like guillotines, to ravage the leading newspaper stories.
Headlines were deadlines. Diplomats drummed
up side angles for photographic faces to appear firm
and responsible to the taxman's money.
Here they gathered
with their policy whisperers awaiting for a signal
to open their loaded dialogues of positions and
policy shifts. Yet no one said a word.
The silence, for once, kept all the mouths shut
( one wished permanently!)
no one said a word for 3 long hours,
but they sipped chilled water, took notes of nothing
glared at each others sides and took notes
again of what was not said.
At the stoke of two, when the clock belted
a twang and the echo bounced through
many empty heads, the diplomats rose
to call it another day of negotiations.
The cold war had just had its 9th meeting.
Author Notes
The Revolution says little, but the war take sides. Diplomats are busy 'discussing' how to end the war, and find a solution. Their policy positions are so entrenched, that little happens. The silence is as loud as could be. Meanwhile, the guns boomed and little childrens playgrounds were pock-marked with cluster bombs. Lines of refugees, walked up the mountains seeking shelter in neighbouring towns. The cold war complemented the heat war that was raging on the battlefields of doom. Please stay indoors.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
this is a trick.
the ghosts of the past
are not gone.
sweeping smoke
beneath their doormats
whispering, "get in"
within their smiling teeth.
they are talking
to my rubber face.
happy to be learning to say no,
i can contentedly and stubbornly
say "are you crazy?"
and walk away.
this is something
i never would have been able
to do before.
i was never good at knowing
when indulgence
under the surface
was for pleasure
or to reverberate even further
into the echoes of pain.
notice the easy grace
in the red flag painted morning
warning some
of the coming rain.
tell them
i am typing this poem on a
phone screen
walking into a building
supposed to fill me with knowledge.
tell them
that some of these people
took in the lonely smoke
wandering around
in the night
looking for a warm mouth;
they are high today.
tell them
that some of them
don't need the bitter whip
of substance
to substitute for beauty.
tell them
i have walked away;
and let them know
that i
am the happiest that i have ever been.
~
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
I wonder about our future
And what it will become
Will we forget about the King
Forget about His son?
In God this nation founded
And its in God we trust
But I wonder if later on
Depravity will be a must
Will singing become silence
The Bible became banned
I fear in the future
Christians are hunted through the land
I know this will happen
If His fire’s what he lack
If we continue to be doormats
Instead of fighting back
Choose to raise your hands
Refuse to stand still
Never let your voice die out
Become a city on a hill
We are warriors of Christ
We live not in this world
So spread the news of God
Stand up every boy and girl
With God on our side
We must stand and fight
To bring honor and glory
This is our right!
Don’t back down from fear
For we are the many!
We will fight for Him
For we are the Lord’s army!
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC