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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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. )
Tens of thousands Abused by their priests. Innocent children Raped by these beasts. Covered up Paid off Ignored and mistreated. Their childhood lost Left broken and beaten. These “heralds of mercy” Had their lives put through hell Thanks to the church’s Perverse personnel. But rather than stop it To keep our kids safe They just moved the priests Finding new kids to rape. The priests continued Vicious violations Without reprimand They found new temptations. Forgetting to practice The words that they preach The Ten Commandments Just a figure of speech Guess when God was explaining What was wrong and was right The raping of children Was careless oversight. The guidance they preached They considered subjective When protecting the church Was their one main objective. I wrote this poem after reading an article where the Pope called the victims of the church's sex abuse scandal, "Heralds of Mercy". It felt like it was just another PR trip for the Pope. https://www.nytimes.com/live/pope-visit-2015/pope-calls-sex-abuse-victims-heralds-of-mercy/
(*This poem was inspired from a story in the book, "Life's Work" by Dr. Willie Parker. In it he recalls growing up in the South and attending church. One Sunday a young girl had to come in front of the congregation and confess her sins of getting pregnant. ) In church, she abides, And walks down the aisle. Standing alone, She forces a smile. Her white flowing dress, A symbol of purity. Her legs are trembling, With insecurity. Her gentle voice cracks, As she softly speaks. Her hands start to shake, And her knees are weak. The judgement begins, While the women sigh, Crystal tears fall, From the sides of her eyes. I began to contemplate, What I already knew, As with all procreation, It requires two. So where was the man, Who created all this? And why was he allowed, To be so remiss? It doesn’t seem right, To shame and judge her, When given no choice, To become a mother. (When reading the bible, it is quite apparent that women are not thought of much, nor thought of highly. Their main occupations in the Bible are as either wives, prostitutes, or objects with which to barter or rape. “The word and works of God is quite clear, that women were made either to be wives or prostitutes.” –Martin Luther, Reformer (1483-1546), Works 12.94 In the book “Life’s Work” Parker talks about how since the bible and onwards, men have continually, “thrown Eve under the bus”. ) Since the Bible first began
Life has been unjust Particularly for women When Eve became corrupt Women were just objects That men could buy or trade Wives or prostitutes Were how we were portrayed And poor ol’ Virgin Mary Abstinence be damned That sneaky pesky God With his quick and slight of “hand” Our job back then was clear Childbirth would be our penance Motherhood our only goal When God afflicted vengeance But things have changed since then We’re not so treasonous But men still try to throw Eve underneath the bus. |
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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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