The Poetic Political
Fumings of a Feisty Feminist
Making waves of change, one poem at a time.
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I get excited as I journey through poetry, never knowing where these winding roads will lead. I follow as it seems to take over and guide me along, confident in its path, knowing it is the journey in itself I seek…not what I will find at the end. Today’s journey has been emotional and painful, yet I am grateful. I went from researching “poetry in prison programs”, to a Ted Talk, to Dante’s Inferno. And just as Dante’s Inferno starts along a path…so have I. In his poem he talks about a place where “all the universe’s ill are stored" (hell/prison) .https://www.ted.com/talks/cristina_domenech_poetry_that_frees_the_soul?language=en#t-30047 "The Gates of Hell" sculpture by Auguste Rodin, 1917. Inspired by Dante's Inferno. Our prison’s overflow
With those we seek to hide Thrown in hell’s confines Satan savagely presides. Tortured by their future. Tormented by their past Hollowed hearts haunt The lonely, lost outcast. Prisoners amassed In hell that is eternal Our modern jail cell Dante’s Seventh Ring Inferno.
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The wall begins to crack
As Republicans attack Each other and their party It’s compromise they lack Extremism and Fascism Now come face to face. But neither side will win And our country is disgraced In an attempt to build a wall I doubt they ever thought That theirs would be demolished As they argued and they fought. I wish that we could stop it Or lend a helping hand But they refuse to take it America be damned. So get a bowl of popcorn Grab a chair and have a seat We will watch their self-destruction As the GOP grows obsolete. Trumpty Dumpty will not lead And is mentally unsound Too busy tweeting insults As their wall comes crashing down. I wrote this poem after reading the following article in The Atlantic. FYI: There are some fantastic Trumpty Dumpty political cartoons/images if you wish to see them just search "Trumpty Dumpty images" https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2017/07/republicans-arent-turning-on-trumptheyre-turning-on-each-other/533952/ Anger is my arsenal This pen my lethal weapon As I raise my voice to fight This political armageddon. A war wrought with destruction Of innocent observers Saving victims of this violence With verbal life-preservers. It’s all I have to offer It’s all I have to give. These words This poem My honesty In hopes that we may live Free of bloodied bullets And of suffocating fear Unsure what lies ahead Our future is unclear. Without new regulations To fix this thriving issue Deaths from growing gun violence Will exponentially continue My scribbles scream for help Its frantic pleas forsaken Trusting you to keep us safe We were thoroughly mistaken. This poem is dedicated to every politician that has refused to pass responsible gun legislation and is a voice for those who will die in the days ahead because of our leaders incompetence, willful ignorance, and greed.
As I read the book, “The Age of American Unreason” Susan Jacoby spoke about Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay, “The American Scholar” (aka: “Man Thinking”). I began to research the essay and was truly inspired. One year after giving this speech Emerson cut his ties with organized religion when he spoke to the Harvard Divinity School’s faculty basically saying that it is only through an individual’s soul search for truth and not through church teachings that one will find salvation. Emerson’s insight
Into the mind of man Came at the perfect time As America began Use our country as a muse Create a life of change History, science, poetry All thoughts we should exchange He calls upon the scholars To use their intellect Their desire for education They never should neglect In nature you’ll find wisdom And in science search for facts With the right books one will learn From our world’s historical acts. Always seek ideas, An individualized truth, Because our country’s future Begins within our youth. Rational thought and knowledge Should guide us politically Because nothing in the world can stop A man thinking critically Our reproductive souls, Are so much more than that. We are equal humans, Wearing a variety of hats. From doctors, scientists, Mechanics, and lawyers, To college professors And military soldiers, No longer the days, When women should be, Only baby factories for their families. Our brains are quite brilliant, And our hands very skilled. As we work towards a future, That we valiantly build. Strong in our minds, And our bodies too. I know, we know, Now if only you knew, That these, “Reproductive souls of society” Will no longer have to, Battle defiantly. Towards misconstrued beliefs, And harmful ideology, Of religious dogma’s, Fictitious anthropology. We are talented women, With a very bold mission. Which goes far beyond, Solely parturition. (Listening to the Lars Larson radio program on 4/25/17 around 12:30. A caller called in to talk about the Manchester bombings and talked about how sad it was because, “Women and girls are the reproductive souls of our society.” When we define women as reproductive souls, we define them by their ability to bear children—something that could not happen without men. But I have yet to hear men spoken of in such a way.) How would it feel, To be defined by your semen? And thought less than women, Because of your penis? Prohibited from all, Ejaculation. The sins of any, Form of masturbation. Cherished solely, For your millions of sperm. Creating new life, Would only reaffirm, Your bodily skills, Of reproductivity. Yet always thought of, As completely unequally. Some states would require, You cremate your seed. Mandated ultrasounds, That you must concede Three day waiting period, To see a physician. Then a few other tests, To confirm your emission. Your body is no longer, Yours to determine. As your pastor explains, In a sinful sermon. Told that your sperm, Is religiously sacred. Belittled, demeaned, Yelled at, and hated, For choosing to want, Something bigger and better. But being incapable, And unable to let her, Define you as something, Worth so much more, Than just your average, Sperm-spewing whore. (*As I wrote the following poem, my 10 year old son was just down the hall sleeping in his bed. I didn't want him to ever hear this poem, but I realized that my daughter, and women/girls around the world are faced with similar judgement from others on a daily basis with what they do with their bodies—particularly their reproductive bodies. This poem is nothing new to them—for it happens all the time. And in writing this, I realized the horrible, absurd guilt we place on them with regards to their own bodies. They read it in the news, see it on t.v., and hear it from the politicians. They read it in books, in talk amongst their peers, they are even judged by of all those who shouldn’t—their family and friends. And those places that claim to be free from judgement and “safe places”, such as churches, are often the most judgmental with regards to women’s personal autonomy. So, I switched the roles. I put men in the place of women and tried my best to judge them for what they choose to do with their own reproductive bodies with the same vitriol that has been used against women. It is a gross disrespect to do this—either to men or women. )
Restrict our anatomy
With legal deception Restrict our rights To buy contraceptives Restrict our clinics With undue cause Restrict our doctors With burdensome laws Restrict our healthcare By cutting the budget Restrict our souls With religious judgement Restrict our futures When you limit our body Restrict our lives That you politic and lobby Restrict our access By closing locations Restrict our choice With misinformation Restrict our freedom Dishonor the nation. With each restriction you close a door Making us prisoners of A reproductive war
I wrote this poem after trying to explain the Sandy Hook School shooting to my ten year old son. Tears were streaming down my cheek as he looked at me and said, "How do they (politicians/leaders) sleep at night?" I had no answer. How do you sleep
At night in your bed? Why aren't you haunted By those who are dead? Your silence speaks volumes Its reticence of action. The NRA’s funding Your deadly transaction. By distorting the words Within our constitution. You wipe your hands clean In hopes of absolution. But the dead are still dead Thanks to your stagnation. Ensuring your campaign Gets the gun lobby’s donation. And just what do I tell My child this time? How do I explain Violent gun crimes? As I tuck him in And I kiss his head I pray that he won’t End up dead. I hope that you will finally see. Your silence creates casualties.
“Life” isn’t just about giving birth
There’s a whole lot to it, for what it’s worth. A mother knows that “life” is much more Than poking through the vaginal canal door. It’s about being there for every moment A time of giving and total enjoyment. We want to provide the best for our children To create the brightest and kindest civilian. We give of ourselves with utmost devotion Our tears and our hugs filled with every emotion. To live is much more than just being born To live is to devote a life that you’ve sworn To being the best you can possibly be For your child you love most tenderly. But to do this we must be able to choose When to start a family and not to confuse It with just giving birth, ‘Cuz for what it’s worth Pro-life isn’t life if you don’t have your freedom. And it’s certainly not right if you have to deceive them By telling us lies about abortions, our bodies. Paying billions of dollars to politic and lobby For the rights to our bodies and wombs like they’re objects Not part of a person that deserves your respect. Prostitutes and whores are now how you see us Must be nice to have freedom that comes with a penis. Let’s call it what it is, and that’s “forced-birth” ‘Cuz “pro-life” is a lie, and for what it’s worth, Please tell me again how I don’t have the right To argue or complain or put up a fight When you try to decide what is right for MY body Then wonder why I’m frustrated and ornery Stop controlling my reproductive autonomy Instead focus on regulating the economy And doing those things that government should do And stay out of my womb and my pink canoe. As I watched the documentary “Gunned Down”, I heard Mark Kelly (Gabby Gifford’s husband), talk about seeing Gabby lying in the hospital bed as a single, bloody red tear fell down her cheek. A bloody red tear
Slid down her cheek On a hospital bed She lay frail and weak. Shot in the head Attempted assassination A victim of violence That shocked our nation. Six others were killed Including Judge Roll And a 9 yr old girl, A beautiful soul. These innocent lives Were taken away, Mental illness had caused His mind to decay Jared Lee Loughner Sentenced to life in prison Gabby Giffords made gun reform Her one major mission. If only our leaders Had passed legislation Before it happened So as to avoid this situation And yet here we are With no laws to protect us While we wait for the next Attack that’s horrendous http://www.starpulse.com/gabrielle-giffords-inside-her-courageous-recovery-from-an-assassinatio-1848206809.html A vile disease is killing us
*One of the top 5 causes of death The number is even higher Than those who die from meth. The AMA has called it A “public health crisis” And yet it isn’t either A bacteria or a virus. Killing at alarming rates Black men its greatest victims Each day it takes a hundred lives Yet has no signs or symptoms. Scientists are banned From doing any research We can only wait and watch As the rising death tolls surge. Children and women killed In alarming numbers too. Feeling helpless and abandoned As our lawmakers refuse To take a stand to stop it Or try to prevent its spread. Our government’s neglect As more of us drop dead. Our politicians are paid To look the other way From the scores of people dying Each and every day. An epidemic only found Within the USA The execution of our country Thanks to the NRA. *http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2017/01/gun-violence-research-public-health/ We overlook these words Within our Constitution As the NRA would rather View guns as the solution Ensuring every man alive Can buy a ton of guns Protecting all we own And even our loved ones Except it doesn’t work that way When a gun is in your home You’ll most likely get shot by it A weapon's effect syndrome. Women and children hurt By the guns you choose to keep But the price you’ll have to pay for it Is undeniably far too steep. A well-regulated militia Has been thoroughly defined But rather we ignore it At the risk to all mankind. And I am left to wonder Where is this brave militia? As you stock pile all your weapons, And unlimited ammunition. There is no regulation For it has been neglected By those who we’ve elected To keep us ALL protected. https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/get-psyched/201301/the-weapons-effect
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Poetry by: AsherahAlthough she was selectively edited out of the Bible two thousand years ago, she raises her voice for women today in hopes of a better tomorrow, as she makes waves of change, one poem at a time. Archives
May 2020
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