English Club Chatter

I love this poem. I came across it during my bumblings around poetry sites.

"What Do Women Want?"
by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.

Hegemonic Discourse

Would yours be different?
What of history (herstory) suggests it?
Call me naive.
Call me out when I say
you are only more recently, what,
persecuted, enslaved, subjugated, victimized, objectified, etc?
I am far removed.
There are reasons my forbears came to this country.
I am grateful.
I am not the racist nor the genderist nor the
sexual orientationist, etc.ist.
Struggle against the hegemonic discourse.
It is unenlightened in its compliance to maintenance.
But what of history suggests that it should not be so?
What in Nature?
Write me off as Son of The Man.
Assume too much.
Teach your children to blame, to hate.
Overreach with your words.
Announce and denounce.
At some point there is a tendancy to stop studying things thematrical
and brace for action/reaction.
Thought so.
There's apparently no big stick either.
Only more reasons to pretend to fear
and to do the maddest things.
And now comes the Boom, Boom, Boom
entitlement machine.
Things will not get easier,
what with resources being limited and all.
Overconsumption tends to lead to
overfecalization.
Will we drown in it?
Will we break our backs shoveling it?
Will we grow things in it?
I have seen so much change, and
I have tried to understand,
but there is only so much time
and so many balls to juggle
and if I dare stop to take a breath
in the middle of this sentence,
or worry about its proper punctuation,
then how can I reach any kind of satisfying conclusion
in which we debunk Physics and remind ourselves that reactions are not always equal nor in direct opposition but are sometimes
knee jerk responses within the confines
of limited time and thought, and we sort of move on afterward and think aboutit when we have a moment, but that moment is consumed with reaction/action, and, so, your shouts may get swallowed and you may just appear as a speck of dust.
But chin up little buckaroo.
Do what you need to do to sleep at night.

Unencoded, unambiguous messages
leave little opportunity
to slip out the back.
It is a zone of discomfort.

I'm bored. Does it show?

House Slaves (7-25-06)

She sings to the rings
of slaves’ chains
while they march to the
beat of a white drummer
or whip—35 lashes
from the overseer
for attempted escape
because I still live
resistance;
pray for further sustenance
because freedom’s already
in my mind
the struggle for justice
is not about being black
in America
it’s about developing
the means to survive
for everyone
through non-violent negotiation
or indelible self defense
in efforts to withstand any siege
any person who needed proof
can shoot or cut me open
and watch my belief in
equality bleed till the sands
of time fill the wells of democracy
keep going this route
and we’ll watch it run dry
then we’ll blame the wounded
which without knowing;
we are all victims
in that case—
should we blame all people?
Both King and Gandhi proclaimed
If you stand to the side
And observe oppression
From the sidelines then
You’re just as guilty
as those who’ve committed
humankind’s most infamous crimes
or have lived your life in vain
spat and pissed on the unmarked graves
of our ancestors
while we kissed and idolized
our oppressors
resigned to our suburbs
and remained quiet
as house slaves.

Triumph (7-26-06)

What’s triumph?
Its when the single mother
Throws on the mane of a lion
In order to shield
Her child from the world
Now playing tonight
the earth’s crying
because most people don’t care
that people everywhere are dying
the world’s wailing inside
while most run away frightened
She’s strolling from work
Half-past tired
Instead of the head phones
She finds rhythm
In the air raid sirens
Bombs flashing in the night
Lord hide me from the bombs
Protect me from the missiles flying
Fighter jet’s sonic boom’s
providing the back drop
Of thunder and lightening
Apocalypse now; someone or something
Gave her a sign
Now its perfect timing
When living is death defying
Her efforts to make it home safely
To her daughter smiling
Now that’s triumph.

Victory (7-26-06)

What’s victory?
It’s not screaming terror
In a crowded democracy
It’s a few people
Forming a line;
Action!
And being questioned
knowing
The impossible will
Take a little while
Be patient
Wouldn’t want to be
Caught dead outside
When we’re marching

Who’s winning?
Answer never found
In my writing or poetry
Its found in mathematics
The left side
Getting too preoccupied
In intellectual property
Knowledge economies
Rearticulation of theories
Agreeing in general
But too busy fiddling with
The intricacies
Of long division
Instead of being focused
On multiplication
Mitosis
Too many issues to tackle
Paralyzing schizophrenic psychosis
Should triangulate the center
In order to redefine our purpose
Because the answer to our problems
Are beautiful—not skin deep
Because adequate solutions
Are found beneath the surface
With the masses of people marching together
On the strength of character
not their epidermis.

Fearless (7-26-06)

During these times
Where nothing is sacred
Have no time to be scared
Of never writing or speaking
About watching moms blood
streaming from her mouth
Beaten—whole family defeated
Why I believe in the human element
And want to help people?
Because I was helpless then probably
And for those who live in poverty
I’ve resided in the same areas
No room for fear in your stomach
If you’ve ever went to bed hungry
We were the definition of one pay-day away
From speaking the language
Of homelessness completely
Got on the bus and left most of my memory
Can’t turn back the hands of time to reveal
For you to actually see
So there’s no need to believe me
When I say I’m political
Not for the fame or women—but because I’m
A black man in America who already
Assumes that I am vile, ignorant, and violent
Even though my own life has been threatened
Twice—one by a man that I knew
The other was unknown
Found my first taste of what it must of felt like
When Martin and Malcolm answered their phone
Not a single ounce of fear in the body
After doctors told me that I was lucky to survive
Have watched the reaper stroll cross hospital rooms
And seen the fear of death in my mom and dad’s eyes
And some may wonder why
Freedom’s constantly on my mind
Because this world may not be fit for
a future unborn child—but we still fight for
those seeds of the possible who are still alive
to be able to open a history book,
watch the television—not of just booty shaking,
gun-clapping, but an array of black images
representing centuries long of resistance
and black pride
but as long as America refuses to look itself in the mirror
further freedom fighters will be birthed
ready to fight against the modern-day apartheid
and their hearts will not pump any more fear
than mine.

They Say (7-26-06)

They say
We’re vile, violent, and ignorant
Sagging our pants and talking shit
Don’t go to the inner city
Because we’re someone to be feared
Then turn around and listen to our music
Some of the hardest empirical data
Our black CNN—graffiti, freestyling
Unorthodox means of artistic expression
And to many white kids it’s just a beat
And stories that are make believe
While they pass us walking
Turn down the music and lock their doors
Living in a country who refuses
To look herself in the mirror
We have no choice to but to be
Radical and progressive
When beauty equals lily white
So when we actually decide
To buck their images
that reside in their mind
And then have the nerve to say we complain
only a representation of a society
Built upon the scarred back of a slave
some call us white—
until we want to reflect culture
grow an Afro, dreadlocks, cornrows, and braids
its good for our hair—not just for looks
It almost seems America is rather comfortable
When we decide pick up guns and kill each other
Rather than carry books
Because we’re no threat to their world
White-flight; until we start to invade their suburbs
Play our music loud
say words to keep society honest
Can’t erase racism
by omitting the word nigga
Because amongst some of us
it really equals never forget
if freedom’s a mind state
then the society’s yet to open
up to the true reality of equality

Jim--if your bored read some poetry, Austins given us all more than we could hope for ;)

ps. Austin, good words.

yeah, sorry for the invasion (lol)
ps. Jesi, thanks; appreciated

I've tried reading poetry, but it doesn't seem to want to stick. Not that I was ever particlarly adept at reading poetry, but, since my surgery, it's been even more difficult. It's a focus issue that I'm told will pass. Hopefully in a week I'll be able to drive again and be less bored.

I am learning a lot from Austin. His interesting subject matter and straightforward style only requires me to read each piece a couple of times to more-or-less grasp and enjoy.

Lost in the dark dingy shadow
awaiting her call to follow
Known to none on this path
Inescapable pain and sorrow
Love from both sides
light and dark lives
residing eternally in embrace
loves first true taste
with no life to waste
on this path searching for you
no call no voice
what do i do

Envy

My cat and I
looking at each other.

Joe-- tearjerker actually i can feel the pain in that poem...

Jim. I actually laughed outloud. love envy! to comical

"broken pieces"

i still look for you
in the hidden pictures
your brown eyes
break me, keep me
man able to hold me
in your arms so long
that love was real as
my Saturday poetry
painted in shades of blue
i can’t seem to take down
all that art i squeezed out
some broken cardboard boxes
our whole story is written
every brown-eyed-tendril falling
i never have to look far
to see read it all again
even though I burnt the year
I keep the broken pieces

Jesi, thank you for the positive reinforcement. I appreciate it.

Everyday.

Everyday in everyway is lost
hopeless bleeding thoughts
knowledge is power and pain
learning of love and learning of hate
most uneasy is the strain
dealing with life everyday
so in this youth we learn to gain
the knowledge of love
gone is the pain
if not the love to be gained
minds will be splattered stained with hate.

Love all you peoples,
Joe

anti-hero
sarah stevens

been reading
shopgirl and
elephant man
i am not
sympathetic
see myself
rather anti-
protagonistic
except for
camus who
paints me
symbolic
wish i were
that arab
dead in
the sun
on the beach
or the girl
selling gloves
or deformed
just enough
to be loved
thank you,
kafka at least
for your cock
roach burning
my fingertips
and elliot
for this
wasteland
although milton
lost paradise
already
better we never
find cannan
certainly not
in this canon
of pride and
prejudice
that doesn't
account for my
unsympathetic
anithesis or
your love
for the little
shopgirl,
elephant man
in me

“a savior in disguise”

i have a long novelette
written in both our names
at first i wanted to be your hero
a savior in disguise
some sort of hero
to breath some sort of love
sunshine break through
(i’ve never failed
but I did on you)
----i just want to be a friend…

“slicing pain”

slicing pain
when he tells you to leave
and all you want to hear
is i-love-you

a forgotten daughter
in a forgotten world
all he sees is what you haven’t done
not all the hope rising

you pass him a smile
and he passes you by
and your only angry
when he tells you he’s fine
and your all alone

Convergence (8-1-06)

Individuality’s
a myth for me
That’s mass produced
By a false sense
Of originality
Because no one stands
From the margins of history
Unaffected by the
Individualistic,
fragmented views of truth
When everyone’s
Looking into
a kaleidoscopic lens
and into the prisms of
intersectionalities
Of events, ideas, and everlasting time
Not independent,
Nor deterministic
While we strive for balance
We represent harmony and tension
Of our dueling selves
My conscience, ego, the super…,
my id are scheming, debating
Around the round table
Moving and reproducing
Reflections of the next movement
Which is 2.
That arises from within
The omnipresent; translucent
Revolution in self perception
Looking into the mirror
Of interdependent societies
Interactions across civilizations
yet the basic human elements and desires
Form the nucleus
of further trajectories
Comprising concoctions
Consisting connections
Of the greatest natural
and metaphysical resources
Damballah—
Newton’s third law of motion…
Thermodynamics,
I ching,
anything spiritual,
All religions
biblical wisdoms,
the star-crossing alchemy,
and chemically imbalanced astrology
Are all interchangeable.
Everything that has been
Will remain and continue
To reform into something new;
In a timeless time
That’s apart from the extreme
And the human tendency
Toward basic binary oppositions
and self-destruction
creeping towards ambiguity
because convergence
doesn't hold answers.

Toni Cade Bambara = Inspiration = Convergence

Check out The Salt Eaters...