"dunham" poems
Dearest Reader,
My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.
On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.
I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.
Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a bitch-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.
Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.
Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.
During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."
The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.
I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,
Margot Dylan
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Walking along the narrow track,
parents shepherding ice cream kids,
making way for pushchairs, making waves.
The lakeside watch on ducks and swans.
The nodding smiles and genteel grins,
like a 50's Sunday promenade,
while walking sticks wait by benches
dreams die when mobiles chime.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
He carries her purse on his arm
without awkwardness;
His comfort shows he must have been caretaker,
for some time.
Yet awkward she does feel.
He carries her purse on his arm
as if it belonged there.
Just another parcel to be handled
with care; yet not a care
to what this stranger thought.
This old woman hobbles
ambling behind;
a footfall - thrusts her forward,
one more step.
Doesn’t he understand she wants to go forward -
no more? One step closer
to the grave,
she can sense.
The cane catching
and holding her steady;
The pain, catching
and holding her firm.
She follows his lead; always hitting the mark
with her blue veined hand
wrapped around that staff
in her grasp.
Her gait, unsteady,
wobbly at best
As he carries her purse on his arm,
She follows his lead
one step at a time
A crooked cane
her only assist for the
ambulatory impairment she bears;
as he carries her purse
on his arm.
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
Visitors pass from empty bed
to empty bed, like Royals,
silently soaking up the dread
atmosphere with remote respect.
Examining clipboard histories,
rehearsing their medical soaps.
Volunteers answer questions,
the front line troops in trying
to raise our war dead back to life.
Have a care John Willie was not
just a private, not a number,
nor a diagnosis. He was
a person and a brave soldier.
Old photos frame soldiers' pains,
they're wearing posterity masks,
hiding feelings and memories
that lurch back again and again.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
Seeds of the Dandelion
appear intertwined;
Tightly woven tendrils
weave and hold
in close bond;
Stretched fingers
offer anchor for each other,
though hesitant.
When the time is right
and the slightest wind blows,
seeds of the dandelion
go.
Parachutes of white snow.
A moment in time
stalk stands naked in the wind,
having lost everything;
Though the taproot runs deep
and in reality,
millions more will seek
a new birth.
We may think it a waste,
unwanted seeds being placed
hither and yon.
But what about the Dandelion?
Some call this **** a ruderal
this “lion’s tooth” with the long taproot
feeding bees and butterflies.
With detoxifying properties,
this plant has seen atrocities
of prejudice, bigotry and intolerance;
But it just goes on to do it’s job
holding on as long as it can
til the parachutes of snow
go
and the cycle of life repeats.
© Marlene Dunham 2010
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 12:07 PM UTC
I tripped over
the eggshells
again.
I’m supposed to tiptoe
but sometimes
they are scattered
where I don’t see them
or I didn’t think it mattered;
or they just appear
where a moment before
they did not exist.
So the path that least resists-
is taken.
Sometimes I forget.
(I have not seen them
for so long)
A simple conversation
turns –
There’s neither right nor wrong
but the eggshells emerge.
Decisions are made
on the spot
or not.
Depends.
To walk upon them
or confront them head on;
Turn my back,
(avoid confrontation)
or keep on track,
(Defend my reputation).
What will cause least disruption
in the end.?
I tripped over
the eggshells
again.
I could just walk on top
but then pay the price
of broken eggshells
in my life.
And start all over
or stop.
© 2012 Marlene Dunham
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
One simple thought
goes astray,
away -
beyond the limits
of decorum.
A mind
goes blind;
Descends
to the realm
of madness.
When reality
is the brutality
of suffering
against all odds
and logic;
The mind’s on
a pivotal perch
of distortion;
Sinking to the depths
of despair.
How to escape?
Where to travel -
unravel?
Thoughts create,
minds negate.
Oh, to make things clear;
to again see
flee -
the insanity
of actuality.
What is real?
how to feel?
shall I kneel
and pray
for forgiveness?
for my mind
to find
its home?
But to whom do I say
my incantations?
Why do my thoughts go beyond?
Who’s to say what is wrong?
What is right
I am strong!
Not insane.
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 8:51 PM UTC
Volcanic eruption
corruption
unemployment
recession, depression
Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan
Earth quakes
rumbles
Wall Street crumbles
Haitian children wail
tidal waves prevail
Global warming
fiction or warning?
Taxes, health care
how to handle
the next scandal
Hawaiian birth
takes precedence
over incidents. Coincidence?
Arizona immigration
discrimination
Oil spill
of gigantic proportions
contortions
in the Gulf
causing strife, ending life
Bomb in Times Square
where? not here!
just sit and sip your beer
watch the world go by
with a wink and a sigh!
Sometimes we are powerless
nothing we can do
our head in the sand,
don't understand
not care, or dare
to question?
What is our place
in this space
our destiny and fate
to help our world continue on
so our children can survive?
The world is spinning out of control
Iraq, Iran, Afganistan
Quakes, Rumbles, Crumbles
Global Conservation, Preservation
Distortions, Contortions
Bombs and Beer
Dare to Care
Frenzied
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 8:46 PM UTC
Alone
at the bar, in town;
down the road to the right.
I was afraid
At first
But then,
at the sight
of the warm firelight
In the hearth
thru the window pane
It seemed safe
And beckoned me
to come in, though alone
Laughter filtered
Through the night air
The camaraderie,
good cheer
(perhaps it was the beer?)
spilling over into the hearts of all
that were here, this night
Heady days of my youth
in the old neighborhood
I would never give pause
Or turn and go home
because I was alone
Those folks were family and -
Everyone knew my name.
No difference tonight
Walk in and sit down.
remember your worth!
don’t feel old!
be bold!
Look, there’s a seat
by the fire.
Instantly - I belonged!
not a solitary soul
or mere spectator.
I was the majority,
part of the sorority,
of revelers and folk,
though nobody knew my name
all the same
I wondered why:
had I hesitated at the door.
Did I think I was too old
had I lost my nerve?
To enter the frey
Because they
Were strangers?
and so was I?
Alone,nomore
at the bar, in town;
down the road to the right.
The next stranger I see
enter through the glass doors
with a hesitant stare
I will smile, I think
and offer a drink
and try to share that feeling
of belonging!
(c) Marlene Dunham 2010
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 9:08 PM UTC
The top-secret nature of Allison Williams‘ wedding made it all the more special.
“One of the most special things about the wedding was that it was actually very personal and very private,” the “Girls” star gushed at the premiere of Forevermark’s new film, “It’s a Long Journey to Become the One” on Wednesday night.
Williams, who wed College Humor co-founder Ricky Van Veen in September, kept guests in the dark regarding the actual locale of the star-studded affair, even setting up a decoy site to lure the paparazzi away from the actual ceremony at the Brush Creek Ranch in Saratoga, Wyoming.
“It was something that mattered to me in a sense of just wanting it to feel really intimate, and to feel like an experience that we shared as a family and with our closest friends,” said Williams, 27. “I feel really happy about the fact that it was exactly that.”
After father Brian Williams walked Allison down the aisle, Tom Hanks officiated as the couple said their “I do’s” in front of pals including Lena Dunham, Katy Perry andSeth Meyers.
“It’s an emotional day and people were free to feel whatever emotions they were feeling,” the newly married actress said.
Williams shared a few snaps of her wedding on Instagram, including a stunning shot of her custom-made Oscar de la Renta gown.
“Peter [Copping, de la Renta’s creative director] grew up being around horses and ranches and immediately understood the aesthetic I was going to be in,” Williams explained of the design process. “It came together kind of organically.”
Though Williams let the designers work their magic, she did have a special request.
“I wanted sleeves because I’m always cold.”
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
Childhood should be carefree.
The hardest thoughts should be -
which tree to hide behind
So they won’t find me!
Colors of chalk
on the sidewalk.
What to draw today?
Which frilly dress
from the old wooden trunk will I pick?
Which bobble of beads from mom’s jewelry bin
Shall I loop around my neck and spin
like the ballerina atop a music box.
Running free on the water’s edge,
chasing sand dollars down the beach
as far as the eye could see and within reach.
These are what memories of childhood should be.
The jingle jangle of the ice cream truck
on a sunny summer day.
We immediately stop our play
and run;
First to mom for money,
then to the street to beat
the neighbor kids and be first in line
for a treat.
Childhood should be unfettered
of burdens and worry.
The qualms and cares of the world
in a hurry to destroy itself
should burden the shoulders of others.
Not brothers
or sisters.
Not the children.
Not the children.
I was their protector,
defender, guardian and guide;
They trusted me, to be their god
who would heal and deal
with pain and strife
of life;
How could I know
That I was not protecting them.
Enough?
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
Memories linger, like a gentle breeze;
days of youth, those feelings of desire,
like heat from a burning kiln when fired;
The pottery glaze blisters as it frees
the finished sculptured work of art with ease.
Yet, the gentlest of touch is still required,
so this masterpiece can be retired.
If you, oh just once more, could hear my pleas!
I’d beg for one more chance at love this time
Though our bodies wracked and broken,
simply old
I long to feel the touch that I remember
Intoxicated by your breath near mine;
One day before life ends and I lose hold
To have you near, once more, I would surrender.
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 8:16 PM UTC
why did Shia LaBeouf cross the road? because he wasn’t a chicken, he was Shia LaBeouf. I want to worry. it is funny to me like Patton Oswalt and Lena Dunham being flabbergasted. I wrote once how suicides fight for position. suddenly everyone knows they were once Leroi Jones. some of course were and I want to be sorry. the original thought in my head was to be postdated in birth like a present. because of where his home is, Lars Von Trier is homeless. imagine I lived from the age of 18 to 23 and from the age of 24 to 29 I got paid to reenact those years previous. I will waste my time with yours and there will be a whirlwind of poverties speeding by and seemingly one. if the great performances of James Franco say again how the unknown soldier is the eater of fame I swear I’ll call you and your double out as Lynchian.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
We'd like to think that we could go
Out for an evening and not have to worry
That we are going to end up being
The helpless victim of a gunman's fury.
One would think that mass shootings
In which so many lives are lost
Might compel lawmakers
To stop the killings at any cost.
When so many shootings occur
On American soil year after year,
Don't enough people wonder
What the hell is happening here?
What are people waiting for?
How many more victims will die?
Must we sit by helplessly
While lawmakers turn a blind eye?
Another horrific act of violence
Occurred at the Borderline Bar & Grill
When a solitary gunman
Had one thing on his mind: to ****
Eleven young people gunned down.
An officer shot dead as well.
Only survivors who were present
Can talk about their glimpse of hell.
The killer, too, lost his life
From a wound, possibly self-inflicted.
Some say in retrospect
His actions could have been predicted.
No one can fathom the suffering
Of the victims' parents, families and friends--
Their heartache and anguish from knowing that
Their loved ones met such violent ends.
Just two weeks before Thanksgiving!
This year it will be a chore
To ask the parents staring at empty
Seats what they are thankful for.
A call to action is the only response
To the horror that this nightmare evokes
When twelve innocent victims must
Lose their lives in Thousand Oaks.
Remember the victims:
Sgt. Ron Helus (54)
Sean Adler (48)
Cody Coffman (22)
Blake Dingman (21)
Jake Dunham (21)
Alaina Housley (18)
Daniel Manrique (33)
Justin Meek (23)
Mark Meza (20)
Kristina Morisette (20)
Telemachus Orfanos (27)
Noel Sparks (21)
A mother of one of the victims has said,
"Here are my words. I want gun control.
I don't want prayers. I don't want thoughts."
-by Bob B (11-9-18)
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC