Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Taylor St Onge Oct 2013
The inadequate bookshelf that sat near the door
that my sister used to call her own was
mostly made up of adolescent reads,
books better suited for preteen girls rather than
intellectually budding young ladies—
juvenile vocabularies and simple, non-complex
plot lines do little to craft and create
worldly, knowledgeable women.

I thought I must spring clean the
naiveté away and replace it with
the works of great authors like
Sylvia Plath
                        Simone de Beauvoir
                                                              Virginia Woolf
                        Margaret Atwood
Betty Friedan;
ingenious femme fatales that cut down
to the brittled bones of the misogynists
and burned their marrow along with the
ashes of bras and aprons and 350 degree oven heat.  

Growing up, to me, seemed like a wonderful epiphany
chock-full of ideas and opinions and
clever, ironic remarks that chased satirical witticisms
like felines to rodents and wolves to deer—
being an adult would guarantee me a say,
a vote
           prior 1920’s America
                                                  play dress up as a suffragette
           women’s rights
femininity personified by dolls in plastic houses.

To be eighteen-years-old,
the goal, the legality, the bright light at the end of the tunnel;
the official womanhood it would bestow upon me
seemed like something almost tangible
with the way that it loomed over my head.

Get good marks
graduate high school
travel back in time sixty years
meet a nice boy
become a “good wife”
have dinner ready by five
bear two beautiful heirs
clean up the messes left in the kitchen
fast-forward to the twenty-first century
go to a good college
find a stable career
settle down if the fancy strikes you
live non-docile and full of passion—
the parallelism of times are severely
di
    lap
          i
            dat
                 ­ ed.

1950’s America would never be a home for me
because I am much too wild to be contained.
wow I got really feministic there. sorry, man.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
that's a trinity of nouns in that one symbol 0,
that rhombus to a square (omicron) -
zero, nought, oh... and then there's fifteen-love
in tennis, and also nil - so that's more than
a trinity... never mind...

i know why Islam is attacking, a scene from
Hellraiser Hell on Earth, the church scene dialogue:
- my child, what's the matter, what on earth's the matter?
- i have to get back to my apartment, back to the window,
  but they just keep coming, they just keep coming!
- who keeps coming?
- the demons! the demons!
- demons? demons aren't real; they're parables, metaphors.
- then(,) what(,) the(,) ****(,) is(,) that?!

shows you how much people over-read the unearthing
of the Nag Hammadi library in Egypt,
simultaneously with the unearthing of the Isaiah script
after he was cut in half... so i guess this is a competition:
getting crucified (with so many eager Philippine Phillips
eager to address the Olympic record of a day on
the crucifix) - oh wait... didn't the saviour travel to Egypt
in fear of Herod? funny we should find the unorthodox
and therefore more prescriptive writings there...
all hell broke loose in psychiatry in the 1960s...
we had R.D. Laing cite the gospel of St. Thomas...
it's like that Hellraiser narrative... people really took it
seriously... a final testimony of mankind...
the Order of the Templar's Idol: the Bahomet -
that's why Islam is attacking... oh forget the king controlling
the pawns... Iranian women are having none of it...
they're mobilising pawns as we speak, day by day...
every single ******* day... they're mobilising men
against the abomination... supported quiet clearly
by a fear of striking emotion with language...
in Oxford, just recently, there was a ban on denoting
social status of Mr. and Ms., i too would have favoured
the idea of demonic possession, and the joke of the
town is transgender... for whatever feminism does,
it's insulted under the horse's galloping hoof and a
statement by the suffragette: Emily Davison -
she's being insulated... you little ******* are playing
the puppets of Iranian women, that's why you can't see them!
under their niqabs they're playing the boss...
who gives a **** whether they drive their cars!
do i have to be the ******* Greek around here?
ever talk to a woman about homosexuality over a glass of wine?
no, i bet you haven't... prostitution ain't that bad, after all...
but talk to a woman high on ******* about transgender...
see where civilisation ends up at... it won't be chess...
it'll be chess with a blind man, changing the rooks...
you can't be that ******* gullible, but you are, so i'll continue...
these are acts perpetuated by men by argument of women...
they're attacking Christendom (forget western culture,
that's pig ******* deep fried gone and dusted with
Trump as with Ronald Reagan)...
they're attacking because when the library of non-orthodox
Christianity emerged, it was like the Soviet Union
collapsing: a wild west... sure we lost a few good women
to the slavery of the brothel... but in return we learned to
make people obedient in being wrong... can't go
against archaeology... sure... shift the pyramids just a little
to the east and you'll get Auschwitz chimneys puffing...
hell, you might even get the wild idea of the hanging gardens
materialised.
so with that demon story... i'm starting to look at it:
well, thank **** for feminism, but, wait, oh, the insult...
the slap in the face... and then the defence mechanism
of politically correct speech... the transgender movement...
to me that's a perfect safety mechanism for Islam to attack...
this is Christianity 2.0... this is neglecting poetry,
this is the necessary ambiguity of language...
given that people are actually practising trans-gender
ergonomics rather than saying: well, if ambiguity has a case...
i'll just wear a t-shirt... but no! but no! castrate the *******
and send him off to Siberia! you know that Islam
is perpetuating war because of this, Islamic women are
laughing at us... one was noted for the childish example
of tongue-out-of-cheek pointing beneath the veil: hell bound.
the Jews of Europe never made use of political
correctness in the realm of speech - but we don't
have Jews in Europe, America is thriving,
we're stuck with Muslims teaching us German guilt...
i'm not French, nor the mythological Swede kept neutral
even though receiving parts of the Marshall Plan
rejuvenation program of the war torn parts...
the part of me with Mongol just says: well,
Golgotha Pyramid of Baghdad - later known as
the Laughing Cranium Dynamo of Baghdad.
but they really did take the metaphors too literally...
just read the Gospel of Thomas...
it's all there, trans-gender and lubrication -
defending trans-gender rights just insults women,
those in favour of defeating the western cause are obvious...
all that care for feminism gets the cold-salmon fillet slap
across the case... get the **** back into the water!
king in chess a mere cameo extension of pawn -
queen in chess a marooned combination of bishop rook and knight -
or the ****** diversity, mantis and black widow,
the abstract, looking down onto a board...
but in the mammalian realm? the reverse...
oh ****** i'll mobiles... fascism against fascism...
i'm looking up... and what i see i see as what Horace said
to me in the 21st version of the Diverting Comedy -

vivere si recte nescis, decede peritis.
Lusisti satis, edisti satis atque bibisti:
tempus abire tibi est, ne potum lagrius aequo
rideat et pulset lasciva decetius aetas.

                 (you alone bring no bettering of life,
allow others to live, who can beyond your incompetence
to likewise aim at the laurel crown of economic competence
of mortality. you have used enough of allowances:
you ate aplenty, drank aplenty, it's time to go,
so that the hasty youth of what's to be drank, ahead,
for the good per se, not ridicule nor ordained itself better)
.

well, i'd put Bukowski with Horace as alike...
maybe that's why i chose Horace, above Virgil, Ovid
or Homer... it's the ******* drinking, the honesty of
drunks... as sober men we're nothing more than lost cabarets...
but i am seriously about the above cited Horace...
no matter what feminism does to women right now,
in the economic realm... equal pay and what not...
women are doubly insulted, a frame of mind from
neglecting reading poetry, where poetry could have
incubated words into an internal reality of speaking
about femininity and masculinity, we're talking
real, the Ten Plagues & Transgender... the ****'s that about?
that famous citation found in Spinoza's Theological-Political
Treatise, chapter 14 (faith and philosophy), aphorism
no. 12... god and the trumpets and Mt. Sinai...
concerning? the voice of god gave the Israelite audience no
philosophical or mathematical certainty about
the diabolical "certainty" of the Catholic omni-plus
geometric and quizzical knowing of dates and time differences
between Moscow and the Galapagos islands...
well, never mind that reference... i'm frightened that we're
actually hearing the moaning and groaning from Golgotha
just now... when poetry dies... and people take religiously
indoctrinated language without keen interest in poetry... hell spawns...
at the moment it seems the re-establishment of Israel
is working miracles against the Valley of the Shadow of Death
that Europe represents to the Jew's memory...
and in that Koranic reference, Jesus is the Messiah...
what, with a few of our men attempting metaphysical
acrobatics in the genital region? why not?! added to boot
France tickling the guillotine with its tongue.
susan Oct 2014
give me shelter
from these thoughts
that can destroy me
offer me protection
from words
that are better left unsaid
release me
from the prison
of my mind
that forces me to become
a suffragette
for causes i don't believe in
offer me my courage
let me take back my strength
so i can rebuild the morality
of the person i once was.
Aa Harvey Jun 2018
Rosemary’s Baby


Rosemary’s baby is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.
Rosemary’s baby is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.


My wife and I, we couldn’t have kids,
So we called Rosie and now we have three.
Our surrogate, suffragette,
Sacrificed, all she had to give.
A selfless act, an adopted kid,
A world of joy is all Rosemary could give.


Now Rosemary’s baby, is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.
Rosemary’s baby is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.


We had waited for years, to become parents,
In just nine months, Rosie showed us our Heaven.
A baby boy called Ethan, with pale blue eyes,
A year later, the twins lay at his side.


Little Rosie and little Mary,
Have made us such a happy family.


Now Rosemary’s babies are babies of mine,
Rosemary’s babies, dropped right on time for me.
Rosemary’s babies are babies of mine,
Because Rosemary’s babies,
Brought our family to life.


(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
the vagrant, a pretense
letting light in tiniest cracks
on the pavement, again
wherever did i pass out
seizing the Ssseferoth sufferer syndrome
sinking in this suffragette
i am almost a cough away from zeitgeist

the world complained
the gods , sure they listened
but only with a nuisances negation  
does the noose hang higher
nonsense st of patient anger

plagiarize my past lives
seal my fate with cement
pavement, how do i feel you
when my ashes scatter

how do i fill you with children,
cracks seeping sin and sensation
eradicated slowly by noiseless geraniums
wheres the
PJ Poesy Aug 2017
There's something I need to say
in resolved alliance with communicable insanity
Particulars are of no interest to me
Neither are excuses
What's worried me are your uses
and aloofness to them
"How is it," you say, "are the bonds between us
that give us sanctity?"
I say, "No no, mincing words with the poet
will do you more harm than
you already believe you suffered"
So, please
find yourself at ease
and suffer no longer
You are free to go
It seems my reasons for divorce are as vague as the reasons for the marriage. That is all I can say about this one.
Hayley Siebert Jan 2017
I'm a feminist.
I'm a feminist because 85000 women are ***** every year
I'm a feminist because domestic violence will effect 1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 men
I'm a feminist because a woman has a right to wear no make up and a man has a right to wear make up
I'm a feminist because if a woman faces difficulty in terminating a pregnancy why doesn't the man for leaving in the first place?
I'm a feminist because a father has as much rights to his children as the mother
I'm a feminist because 1 in 5 women aged between 15 and 59 have experienced ****** assault
I'm a feminist because I believe in equal pay regardless of race, religion and gender
I'm a feminist because a 1/3 of people blame the victim for their **** or assault
I'm a feminist because 12000 men are ***** every year
I'm a feminist because I believe it is ok for men to cry!
I'm a feminist because male victims of abuse deserve the same support as females
I'm a feminist because most women in the UK do not have access to a **** crisis center
I'm a feminist because what I do with my ****** shouldn't determine my self worth
I'm a feminist because there are 5700 cases of FGM in the UK alone
I'm a feminist because a women has a right to cover or uncover her body
I'm a feminist because middle aged men are the at the highest risk for suicide
I'm a feminist because who you fall in love with shouldn't be a sin
I'm a feminist because crimes against properties receive harsher punishments than crimes against a person
I'm a feminist because everyone has a right to say "No"
I'm a feminist because my position as a woman shouldn't be determined by whether I breed or not
I'm a feminist because no ones gender determines their career in life
I'm a feminist because my ****** shouldn't prevent or deter me from body modifications
I'm a feminist because women are far more likely to be assaulted or killed by their partners or ex partners
I'm a feminist because everyone has a right to education and health care
I'm a feminist because everyone has a right to practice their religion
I'm a feminist because being a man is not determined by the size of his ***** nor the amount of women he has ******
I'm a feminist because men can be pampered too
I'm a feminist because fathers deserve as much time as mothers off work to be with their children
I'm a feminist because manspreading is pathetic and sexist
I'm a feminist because of the Suffragette movement
I'm a feminist because of Elizabeth Tudor, Anne Boleyn, Boadicea , Cleopatra.
I'm a feminist because I needed no father to learn how to be strong, loud and powerful
I'm a feminist because my Mother raised me on her own
I'm a feminist because my mother inspired me to be as loud and as crazy as her
I'm a feminist because my father beat my mother
I'm a feminist because my uncle committed suicide
I'm a feminist because my brother is branded a freak for his mental illness
I'm a feminist because my sister is branded a scrounger for being a mother
I'm a feminist because I buy my boyfriend flowers and pay for meals and treats
I'm a feminist because the man who sexually abused me walked free
I'm a feminist because the ex that abused me branded me a *****
I'm a feminist because I can be as brutal as any man in the metal scene
I'm a feminist because songs shouldn't glorify **** or violence against women
I'm a feminist because being blonde doesn't mean I'm dumb
I'm a feminist because no one should touch anyone or grab their *****!
I'm a feminist because my pads and tampons are not a luxury but a necessity as I control control the bleeding from my womb
I'm a feminist because my breast tissue is no different from a mans yet why must I be shamed for uncovering them?
I'm a feminist because no ones bodies should be sexulised against their will
I'm a feminist because I shouldn't be made to wait until 25 to have a smear test
I'm a feminist because I came from no man's rib but a woman's womb!
I'm a feminist.

"I will have but one mistress here! And no master!"
Ben Jones Feb 2013
In wilted droves they shuffle weary
Denizens of concrete plains
The brutal truth of Darwin’s theory
Striving grim for jealous gains

Hungry wallets snap at pockets
Morning thick with susurration
Eyeballs sunk in heavy sockets
Darting wild in consternation

Fleeting bursts of mock affection
Melt away as summer frost
Vague, the gaze of recollection
Quick to mind, the current cost

Clad in suits of gloomy weather
Human traces still remain
Shackles wrought in gold and leather
Wireless is the ball and chain

Winter stains the sunrise bitter
Drizzle darkened pavements wet
A fearless sun, the rain clouds litter
Lemon yellow suffragette

Incarcerated under skies
A bubble never fit to burst
As from the ape we reckless rise
And by the fallen angel cursed

To toil about the in-between
Loose of foot and fancy free
Creators of the never seen
Joyous bleak humanity
Felicia C Jul 2014
I wasn’t ready for your sky-eyed nostalgia any more than I was ready for my suffragette seclusion.

I couldn’t have swallowed any more of my snake bitten hollow intellect than that which allowed me to kiss your throat to the stars skin.

So I’m hoping the ochre-rayed sun moon stars rain clock parts will aid in the time that can make things like they were in the gazebo with the puddles stuck in my shoes and your hat already full of thoughts.

And then can we spin around again?
May 2013
Alice Apr 2014
Boys at school, they’ll laugh when they read this.
The regular blond hair
the regular blue eyes.
Average Southern Belle
aren’t you?

They’re men, aren’t they? And if they aren’t yet
well they’re well on there way.
They hunt and fish and urinate in
the bushes. What do women do?
They put on pretty pink blush
and paint they’re little lime nails
and brush they’re golden light hair.

They’ll make suffragette speeches
And watch Breaking Bad
and have so much passion in
their hearts it spills out onto
their swelling round worlds.

They’ll listen and take pity
and see every side to be seen
and write novels daily
and look at the world through
the clearest blue eyes.

The lulling twang in the voice
and the piercing sight of sea blue.
Quite the intelligent girl,
aren’t you?
Boys at school, they’ll laugh when they read this.
But it’s true.
REMILEKUN Dec 2014
Wake me up from the nightmares of my sleep..
Illusions of vehemence and intrusion..
Help me to face up to the reality..
To forbid the pain that I'm suffering..
She was an innocent damsel..
A by-standing suffragette..
An angel caught up in a daze..
She fell into his eyes..
Enraptured and hypnotized..
She pranced into his jive..
She was my sunshine,the brightest spark..
Young enough to know the road she had chosen..
He grasp her hand and led her to the pitch-dark..
He toyed around with her emotions..
He entrapped her virtue and purity..
Offered no recompense nor sanity..
Left her feeling tarnish and fouled..
Built up pains from the inside..
Hide all the tears she cried..
Away from this  world..
I just want to have her held to make things alright..
To mummify the distress of bad memories..
To give her the comfort she needs to get..
To help her pull through all the misery..
If I could just take away the torment ..
To just take away the shame for a moment..
Casting its shadow in her heart..
Creating the crystal tears..
It hurts me to see her fear..
It hurts me to see her cry so hard..
My adored priceless belle,I'll always be here..
When you need a shoulder to cry on..
When life's an illusion within a blank stare..
And memories can't be relied on..
I'll open my arms to embrace you..
To share with you all the pain..
I'll cry the same tears from my eyes..
I'll renew your innocence..
Cleanse out your inner sense..
I will return your smile..
Let out the anger that's built up inside..
Let your instincts go on the rampage..
Scream at the rain, scream into the night..
Scream out the emotional wreckage..
Then roar your triumph..
At the unapologetic and unsympathetic world..
Unwise to the heartache you've been through..
They may not know your pain..
But of course I do..
I shall gallivant after dark  
when droves of waves depart at dusk
to point a gun at Mortimer here
still swears allegiance to France
but bid my bride on coach farewell
only to surmise inheritance again
how treacherous the streets lurk
there's upheaval in every crypt
so peruse if your dreams scheme with mine tonight
with a legion in silhouette
as her benevolent shall copulate  
even corporeal lie mosey and
to pretend such revolution here
only justice might enhance constitution
on the road with sound
where golem ampleness in sweat
still sings a melody this ritual part in excellent lore
that would succumb world in the dark
if gander again jog along memory lane
while seance must intrigue each tog
that Nottingham's still absorption and namely a craft
in situ just to incept a suffragette abdication abound
this an extant with luxury again
and forthwith evermore.
Shaheen Dec 2018
L.O.L.
How great is your expectations toward me.
No acquaintance
No Relation
My mere existance provokes criticism
Child of the new age
Much is required of you
The bar is set very low
Rise up its time
Centre your stage
Valuable gems come tumbling down from your lips, hips and your tippy toed tango
Come on strong
Declaim
Declare
Frame
No time to gasp
Talk sense
Arise Oh Suffragette
Exist to Emancipate
C F Dec 2019
At first, I judged you.
Unfairly.

Afterall, society taught me
those who employ
Militancy.
Hurtful.
Disorderly.

Tactics

Those wouldn't be
Deservong
Of the right to
Liberty
Freedom
Justice.


Then j realised something
I am female
It is genuinely, literally
Only
Because of me
And my kind
That you exist.

Then I realised  men
Men who were born from us
People
Who are only possibly of us


You literally cannot live without us
You power comes from us.

So therefore,
Shouldn't your mother be paid the same as a man?
Shouldn't your sister get itM
5as I'd she were a man?

You burned shops and people because it's a shame, but men only react to an emotion

So we must terrorise the men.
Or else, we won't survive
as Jacob's
ladder alas
chary puff
adder as
his ascent
harried suffragette
herein the
milkweed but
wary she
fled if
a rabbit
heard her
plea again
and butterflies
here like
epistle with
wind chimes
an ascent to god
Chandra S Nov 2019
I

THE REMARK

She scornfully remarked,
"Ha, Ha, men?.....
They are dogs,
all of them"
and then went on
and said,
"Most of my friends are men"

II

THE QUESTIONS

It was a casual conversation
but left behind nagging questions:

One:
Is woman really liberated?
For if that were so,
she would be free to sow
the seeds for a malice-free life:
A life that is
marked by sobriety
and unshakable fraternity –
A distinguished burden which principally she
can carry gracefully
till we all reach Goshen.

Two:
Has man been always liberated?
You may or may not agree,
I just say what I see.

III

THE VICTIM

Among the countless atrocities
on the vast womankind,
a hoarse, feeble voice thus pines:

Look at him;
He has been trained to ****
and be unflinchingly killed.....

He is:
an oblivious slave to his condition,
.....a victim of unmindful persuasions
by apathetic social conventions....
crippled....plagued...
by inherited apparitions
of our grand forefathers.

He has been brutalized too
on his way from a wobbly boyhood
to a hard-bitten manhood.

IV

SYSTEMIC SCARS

One could write a manuscript.
Instead I cite a sparse list
about how
he has been systematically marred
by the oppressive
socio-economic-political farce:

......of the defense ministry,
or salvation through insurgency...

......of the drug cartel,
or the liquor-tobacco lobby...

......of the boss's fancy,
......of female friendly courts,
...even sports!!!
......of the spousal gripe.....
and most of all...
....through the stereotype hype.

V

DIS-EMPOWERMENT OF MAN

Is man really enfranchised?
I am a man and I vouch otherwise.
........

Bully the other boy
else...
just play with a toy
solitary.....a *****.

You are born with a member,
Now, my goodness,
prove to be better
than your female opposite number;
An impossible task,
for no gender
is exclusively first-class.

Prove your chivalry;
find a nice young lady
or carry some forbidden
infamous label.

Hide your malaise,
pretend to be at ease,
do not brood,
or be doomed
as a sentimental fool.

Always be okay alone
wherever you are
whatever you are...
sickly or strong.

Feel guilty.
After all, all social malady
is solely your responsibility.

You are just the "unfair ***"
...an ugly accumulation
of grossly vile testosterone,
no match for the noble progesterone.

My unfortunate friend, do you see…
That radical crowd....so elite?
That is the "fair-***",
not ye.....not ye.

Apart from a backbreaking childbirth,
most other dangerous or physically stressful work
is a man's traditional berth.

Even the macrocosm
has been a scrooge,
depriving him
from the possibility of motherhood;
...the sensational miracle of natural creation.

Is man really free...?

VI

THE SLOG DOG

But yes,
as my good friend said,
there still remains
a thin little thread
of fragmentary credence,
hanging like a dire dog-collar.

It says:
Man is a two-timing slog-dog;
unfaithful to many
but loyal to love,
wagging the tail
for his lovely suffragette dove.

She can heap
his eating bowl
with puppy-love chow
and he will be forever hers.
Inspired by the fault in popular notion that only a woman is disempowered in our social setup. The truth is that both genders suffer though the reasons may be different.

I am just making an attempt to write from a man's perspective, which is often ignored or understood only in a singular way - that all men are by default oppressors of women.

It is not my intention to hurt anyone. Any offence caused is purely unintentional.
Sometimes Starr Oct 2019
What talent belies the aging boy?
Fost'ring there an ancient flame
Once was used to get him here
Now he flickers with his shame.

Tearing there upon his skin
Between victors and those whisked away,
He is peeling off the edge--
And can you see it in his eyes?
this is probably the most self-depricating poem i've ever written. i'm not even that young, i'm 25.
A W Bullen Feb 2023
Becoming
husks of things
hollowed out and sickening
for nourishment

mystically redundant

raised to graze on empty calories,

spineless fluids puking
endless effluent
of chosen pronouns

Influence biology

Identity a bracelet taken
on and off at will, by
Pop-up preachers,
screeching out
their digital misogyny,

Narcissistic troglodytes,
who, prancing in their
echo-chambers,
jettison the Suffragette

there's no such noun as Woman,
Helen Reddy-or not,

Forgotten sacrifice of troops
has stooped to this..

Time to decontaminate

shall I tell you
of the Snowdrops
that are showing,
by the garden gate?
do not feed the unicorns
joey Jan 2020
When did, ‘You can be
Anything’, become –
‘You must be everything’.

The mother, the provider, the
Teacher, the preacher
Of hopes and dreams for

Millennial babies. Their lot
In life cast only by themselves.
An epic of their own making.

9-5 then home again,
To dishes and husbands,
Both alike in tediousness

The warrior of sleepless
Nights, lost teeth, and
Abandoned dreams.

My mother was a Mosuo,
Her grandmother an Amazon,
Matriarchs of power

Who ruled as iron ladies.
Wooden spoons were
Their guns, and

Aprons their armour,
With a flint-like stare,
And perfectly curled hair,

They convened court in
Their sitting rooms with
Cups of tea and an intelligent

Eye; that told tales, tales
Of a proud matriarchal
Ancestry, a dynasty.

‘You are one of us,
Dear millennial baby,
A future queen whose

Kingdom will be your
Kitchen, a place where
No man dare step’.

I am not a feminist
Nor a suffragette or
A dictator. I am a

Millennial baby, and
My dreams are not aligned
With the ancestral stars.

I am a daughter and a
Sister, my voice is cast
From the silent mountains

Who rise like towers to the east,
To the drought stricken
Valley that grows more

Brown and crinkled with
Each day. Do you hear me
Now spirits of old?

You tell me to be a lawyer
So I will teach. My hopes
Do not align with your stars.

I am watched by
Eager eyes for the time
In which I may rise as queen.

Those eyes will be disappointed.
For millennial babies do not
Become queens. They are

A pair of ******* with legs,
To be gawked at by the peanut-
Crunching gallery of

Men. Men. Men. Those
Who reign in the bedroom
where their power is greatest.

‘You are Otrera. Esther.
Joan of Arc. You are Rosa Park,
Portia, Ophelia, Deborah’

Those matriarchs seem to
Say. ‘You are a matriarch,
Uphold our legacy!’
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
in terms of ontology: all is permitted,
given that so much is left,
dangling upon a damoclean
                         thread of a single
horse hair...
                            of the unexplored:
ontology is a waiting game,
with what, already is,
   a fixation on the constraints
of: ex simiae:
                       hence my approximation:
**** similis...  
    it's still a desire to preserve
a base, an origin story transfixed by
the use of fungus...
      accidently swallowed a mosquito:
suddenly grew a ******* pinocchio...
and somehow, slyly:
fixating on keep the libido
                                     momentum...
that's crucial, that the momentum is kept...
yet i wonder...
     racism:
                       poland vs. senegal was
the first game when the rams bothered
to clash horns...
       oh i can be crytical when i see it
through a lense of: crypto-nationalism...
unlike the romance of the noble prize
being given to Milosz...
            economic migration background:
i'm not allowed to romance about it...
there's no "grand" furore to mind,
no expectation,
           and certainly no: bending the knee
of the hosts...
  ****! from calling them natives
i'm starting to think in american terms
of hosts...
                  given i'm an alien "body":
                 more or less a thought, prior;
but that was the first instance of
deviating from playing out the sport,
poland vs. senegal...
            ******* europe versus a people
who know of europeans...
                            belgians and the congo...
slim afro beauty that she was...
no wonder...
               could almost say the *******
came when i felt my frontal pelvis
bones was sore after she
                rammed her coccyx onto me...
but outside the realm of serving
seductive cocktails while playing
          cedric 'IM' brooks'
                                     satta masa ganna...
no, i'm just curious about
the dynamic, behind a word such as
racism...
   and language in general...
           who are the people who use
a first tier definition of a word?
          i'm sure language is as loose as
well oiled spaghetti in imitation of
a pit of snakes...
           and yes, the linguistic atomists
(akin to myself) who care to mind
                          diacritical exceptionalism
in uttering a micro-seance
      prior to a syllable... notably via
ü (the classical umlaut)
               and what could become an
applicability of orthography in english:
with, oh so many examples in need of
being addressed:
             namely: from pout,
               came pút,
                                pool
                           ­             (pül),
                and the disguised vowels
of english: putter versus a patter...
  the subtle elongation of the A
  in a: pāt on the shoulder...
i already know that my suggestion is
too impractical to be ascribed
a subsequence with a towed effect
being ascribed...
           but at least there's the observation,
in the open.

  with this one particular word,
what is it: from zenith to nadir,
  or from a nadir to a zenith?
    definition 1.
             first, or           definition 3. first?
vocab. inheritance tax...
or just mindless fronting concerning
the affair?
    
is it a priori:
   1. a belief or doctrine that inherent
  differences among the various human
racial groups determine cultural
or individual achievement,
  usually involving the idea that one's
own race is superior and has the right
to dominate others or that a particular
     racial group is inferior to the others

or 3. hatred or intolerance of
               another race or other races                 ?

seems rather contradictory that
there could be such a priori complexity
to begin with, to be inherent...

zenith / nadir
                   a priori / a posteriori
dictum would suggest
  that: definition no. 3 is a priori...

while definition no. 1 is a posteriori...

    which also allows a psychological
dimension and
    the Freudian-Jung dynamism to
"explain" the proton, neutron, electron,
egg shell egg white, yoke,
               sclera, iris and the pupil
dynamic invoked by the psyche-dissection
into compartment
of a consciousness,
                    a sub- and an unconscious...

definition no. 1 can't be a priori:
it's too worded to make sense of
what an a priori statement looks like,
i.e.: 1 + 1 = 2.

an a posteriori statement?
               given that 1 + 1 = 2 is an a priori
statement?
                                    √-1...
   ­  lo and behold!
             you get a letter! as substitute to
the meddling in numbers...
     and then from i, to iota,
                       and the concept of a pronoun
in english (gender neutral) you go...
                              wunderbar!
                ­       ja...
because you can begin with an:
a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i...
                  clearly there's a priori
favour, to subsequently allow
a loss of explanation with a 1 + 1 = 2...
inheret bother:
      because when wasn't
         arithmetic ever akin to spelling?
the frequency of the letter-usage
compared to numbers?
      
              do you call the mann unable
to count or spell:
at the same time blind
            and deaf, synonymous?
what definitions behind a word
do you use?

what tier of a word are you making
                           allowances for?

using tier no. 1?
        or using tier no. 3?
   how can you even allow
an "ambiguity" of secondary tiers
of red...
               given there's no celtic ginger...
and shouldn't tht belong among
painters who can actually
see past the writer's daltonism,
  or x-ray in teutonic schwarz und weiß...

   a sch't'ern tongue:
          among, platzieren ziegel von die rot
                von Marienburg
...

what is the dictionary "ambiguity"
of red?
            
            one subsequent definition is:
BLAH!

               so we've established word
that acribe to tickling a thesaurus
ambiguity...
    but sure as **** there are some,
rigid, orthodox, words:
that can be used, un-acriptive
of a challenging authority
wishing upon it a counter-usage...

  i was born a pollack,
i acquired english:
            god forbid i don't die german!
hence all this crypto-nationalism
*******...
      i am a crypto-nationalist,
given that a nation is a cryptic,
quasi-noun suffragette...

             ich, werden sterben ˈjərmən!
point being: i'm hardly welcome...
        but death is hardly
a grieving mother,
               rather, a welcoming *****.

i've "said" enough,
  question is...
                                 have i drunk enough?
Susan N Aassahde Dec 2019
origami mice bramble
anchor suffragette
piñata hopscotch fuss
Susan N Aassahde Feb 2020
robber wave mould
Kingdom suffragette
skate whiskey craft
Ray Irvine Jan 2020
Pagan roots a whisper, adding to my Thesis,
Then She works her Majick dearly, and feeds Telekinesis!
I've deterred realm muddied, absorbing all Demonic,
Not just Placebo, who hold No Go Zone Harmonics

Cover me in Monarchs, a favourite Butterfly,
And reattach my beside-Soul, as I roll up Mount Sinai.
That trek down Gilgamesh, HâH I finished in two strides!
And I fly round orbit, Fire Euphoric, with Earth-Heart every night.

Orpheus & Eurydice, Jezebel's Suffragette,
I Fly in a Witch Volcano, imaginative Lunette.
The only way out is within, I'll soak up all Infernal,
Then chew them up and spit them out! Please read deeper my mind's journal.

May you Cast the Circle, Thrice about, soft èYé and light of touch,
And savour no Voce unless you've spoke, and really Listen much.
For She expects in retrospect, to adorn your heart & mind.
And sail away from conquests Wiccan, if you are so Disinclined.

New Moon Gemini's Rune, it's got me all so Ritual,
Ancient Axiom Pagan, it's got me All Habitual,
Wayfaring Strangely Reconciled, it's served by Many Reasons,
And smiling as your **** ran down, A day for All Four Seasons.

A Light that's Burning Low, still floods Singularity Source,
And I prefer Snow and Sunshine, on the Same Day I speak of course,
All Roads lead to Home, and Rome hosts Colosseum,
And now Summer's Solstice Beckons, Marquis' shields down Igneous Unum

My Ceilings all transparent! Don't Worry or You Frown,
But What is All Apparent, journeys from my Heart to Crown.
Everything I touch ya say.. Hah, Genie rubs Divinity,
How Quaint again a Saint Emplane, you Bypassed Holy Trinity

Hex marks the Spot, be loving Hexadecimal,
Multiplex or not, I'll conduit All your Seminal.
I Found Peace in All Your Forestry, I Learned of Waters Flowing,
Cast out to Sea, so Mote it Be, Heart's 5D and Glowing.

I Now talk to Feathered Friends, down with Ornithology,
To Equate a Severed Aether, I Rewrote my Chronology.
Universal, Atmospheric, Galactic, Solar, Lunar
963Hz, we don't need Piano Tuner!

She served me Heart, where does one start, when all Rhodes lead to Roam,
Within Headwaters and those Two Daughters, sent in by D'orcY Gnome.
Mistakes you made, Great Lakes you Paved with your Clapped Out Clapperboard,
A Tagteam Willing, ten for a Shilling, a Major7th F Chord!

And then again, my Spiritual plane, was spoiled by that Gnome!
Into my life, my lovers, and evens in my Home.
I can't begin to work your Sin, your manipulation dwelling,
Well I'll tell thee, now in my Quay,
We cast our EA Spelling.

I place my Heart on Her forest floor, and listen as I whisper,
She speaks Back! But makes no sound, the same as Seven Sisters.
The Weight has Slowly Lifted, Usual Program Resumes,
For Ancestral, I shall blow to Ease Magdalene Wounds.

Widdershins go by the Waning Moon,

Chanting out the Baneful Rune,

Need the North's Wind, Magenta Grail,

And that's some Cache for your Eggs of Quail.

Akasha Spirit Come to Me,

Sèé Shapeshifter's Synchronicity.

And Ravaged in Adrenochrome,

Attempts my Soul, Rites in my Home!

Nein Woods in the Cauldron Go,

Burn Them Fast and Burn Them Slow.

Eight Words the Wiccan Rede Fulfill,

"An It Harm None, Do What Ye Will"

                          o O o
♎️
Sometimes Starr Mar 2022
There is a brand of sickness I will never expel--
He manifests in ways
That stake your body
In hell
I'll never be the dreamer I am watching,
At least to keep me company while we still sing.

And so I met a suffragette with moonlight for hair--
In desperate need of blood, I drank what she had to spare
And now I think I'll dream a little more,
At least to keep on running from this fatal Thing

With Michael soaring over me,
I am the lowly vampire
I do not inspire
And I cannot create

I drank up all our blood
My love was not enough
We had to let it go
And sink our buddy's fate.

I'm host to many parasites, but one of them is me--
Who compounds the vacancy,
Which meets itself Free
A lot of stars were cast out in the process,
Well, they all run away from me. Don't you see?

I see myself reflected in their image
Yet disparate and beautiful,
I let them Be
I miss them in the dark
No, I will never see you
Again

So bring me to a Happy End

— The End —