The strength of a woman
Is not in her tongue
Or the length of her hair
Or the songs she has sung
Control is not found
In the clothing she wears
Or seduction she offers
Or the child that she bears
Her honor and glory
Comes not from what shows
Except her reliance
On God that she knows
For God gives her power
Beyond height and length
And makes her much stronger
To display her strength
It’s there deep within her
And flows through her being
Revealing a boldness
And strength we are seeing
For man cannot crush
All the things she can do
For she is a woman
And warrior too
Wrinkle, wrinkle on my face…
Couldn't you have found some other place ?
What made you furrow between my eyes ?
And all those creams, they are nothing but lies….
When I look in the mirror, all I can see…
Is a silver haired person staring back at me….
Then there are the lines , which run down the sides of my nose…
Running in circles, round my lips, down my neck and into my clothes….
Speaking of clothes , isn’t that where the wrinkles should be ?
Is nature playing a trick on me ?
Or is this a sign “ old “ is sneaking up on me ?
It seems only yesterday I was a young girl .. and had my whole life ahead of me…
So simple..so free……
Which don’t take me wrong I have enjoyed my life’s ride…
And there isn’t much in my life, I haven’t tried….
But it should would be nice if I could just see…
Myself with one less wrinkle…when I looked back at me…..
All men (the loser boyfriends/husbands) think that it's their right to be physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward their female companions (girlfriends/wives), well they're wrong. Most guys are always beating their girlfriends/wives up every single day just because they didn't make their men dinner, do chores around the house, or whatever. It seems that these womanizing losers are way better than their women. Actually, they're not; they're idiots. Controlling these women and being physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward them don't make these Neanderthals men; they're like childish cowards. All guys think that they're the only breadwinners in their families and the women aren't. But guess what--they're not; some of them don't have jobs. And does anyone knows what gets on my nerves? Men always cheating on their girlfriends/wives with other women, getting them pregnant, and not taking care of the children they already have. And those controlling, abusive men, they're always telling their female spouses/lovers what to do, what to eat, where to look, and who to talk to. I mean, who are these womanizing losers to judge other men and to boss these women around? I mean, who does that? Everybody doesn't even know why they'd bother spending the rest of their lives with those abusive idiots. This whole saying by these controlling abusive men have been getting on everybody's nerves and my nerves, as well: "You're-not-to-speak-unless-spoken-to," this "You're-not-to-talk-to-your-family" ordeal, this whole "You're-not-to-have-guy-friends," and this whole "You need me! You're nothing without me! You have no money! You have no friends! Everything's in my name: the house, the cars, clothes, everything I own! You're useless! You're worthless! I own you for life! And you will respect me!" Where I come from, the rest of us nicer guys, we treat our women with the respect they rightfully deserve. The last time I checked, the mothers have raised their sons to treat women and other people with respect, but they now know where they've gone wrong with those womanizing clowns. My suggestion for the women is for them to leave their abusive husbands/boyfriends before it's too late because if they don't, they'll end up in the hospital or the morgue. To be honest, these women, they never should've met, let alone dated or married those abusive men to begin with. And if these abusive men think that they can control those women forever, they've got another coming.
Day by day we pray to stay alive, ladies, the face of this world is slowly changing, no longer do we need to hold our heads in disgrace, and it’s about time we take our place. No longer let us be connived, nor let us forget the silent cries in trees that our sista’s souls are still hangin’, see the true in others denies rather waistin’ yourself complaining. Nor keep us from strength to stand by man, strength to leave if struck by hand, no more bruises upon our face for we also help to make this race. No more scars upon our souls for only marked with beauty moles and let our stories be fortold for we are women who behold, a key to inspiration and moral pride, coming out of our hide, Gods rules are to which one should only apply, but most chose pain to keep inside, left alone and died. Your elimination of God’s creation, we are but faith to this nation. Men of ignorance we are sick of belligerence, cuz we prove intelligence, cuz where there’s no woman there is no man strong and on this land we belong as distinct and separate persons walk along. Before your ignorance get the respect that you so vainly seek, practice what you claim til' all things you do or speak shall in reality be the same, nor let us be so eased to blame and give us our well earned past due fame, all musical and sorrowful stories contained. My people, make me proud to know your name and I’ll return the favour by doing the same.
For all men whom think us fast, remember the good ones always finish last, we women are still raped future and past so personally you can kiss my ... In us your babies wombs all your life fluids we consume, to mothers growing up too soon, to those mommas babies and daddy’s maybes.....REMEMBER, when your round to actin' shady, we are the ladies of this land, women with pride we stand, I am a WOMAN and for equal respect, I would do it again!!!
In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so.
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction.
“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea.
I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want.
And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch.
But I would like to…
I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door.
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.
Back in the year 1621...
Began a tradition, for everyone...
It started with fleeing from religious persecution...
As a group from England sought a solution...
They landed in Holland, but to their demise...
Which after a while brought quite a surprise...
Found their children attached to the ways of the Dutch...
And by their standards, considered frivolous and such...
Threating education and morality...
Which was the original reason why they did flee...
They set sail again, all one-hundred and ten...
Young and the old, women and men...
Where they were going, no one knew...
Not even the Captain nor his crew...
On a large wooden ship , they sailed out to sea...
And for sixty-five days, not all did agree...
So after landing, a meeting was held...
The name “Pilgrim “ was chosen, and no one quelled...
Winter was devastating, so many died...
And of the one-hundred and ten , only fifty survived...
On March of 1621...two Indians appeared...
They both spoke English, so no one feared...
Samoset and Squanto taught them trapping, hunting and planting of corn...
So the next years’ winter, they would all be well fed and warm...
On the fourth Thursday of November, before the snow fell...
The Pilgrims and Indians, or so I hear tell...
Sat down to a feast fit for a king...
On this the first of a “ Thanksgiving “...
THE ANNIHILATION OF UKRAINIANS
Kyrie was struggling to overcome barriers of demarcation.
“Holodomor” she was facing.
This artificial famine was brutally taking Ukrainians lives.
In nineteen hundred and twenty-nine, the manifestation of human hate crimes would
be a terrorist regime.
The screens Kyrie would experience would became life threatening.
“Death by hungry” was in all eyes.
Eighty years has passed.
Soviet Joseph Stalin’s massacre transpired.
From nineteen hundred and thirty-two thru nineteen hundred and thirty-three the
Soviet regime took seven million lives.
Kyrie and her brother Allah was blessed to survive.
The story is her father died early on.
Her mother walked far to find food.
She would exchange her earnings and a gold pendant she wore on her dress just
for a sack of flour and nothing else.
She formed the flour into a loaf of bread, which tasted liked grass.
Tears forms knowing this was all her and her children had.
Wretchedness it is to know that too many peopled did not have anything
at all to eat.
To genocide was an atrocity.
A silent wasteland of God’s people must be exposed.
Ukrainians today discloses.
PENNED ON AUGUST 25, 2014!
It ain’t no man’s world
Someone told a lie
Who would be so foolish to side-line women
Just to show how macho a man is?
It is a woman’s world
For they give birth and
Make men care
It is they who are closest to
Gaia our mother earth and
We should forever hold them dear
Men can’t do without women
For they won’t ever get through the day
Only a fool will say
It is only Men who make the world grow
They should be sent far away
Women are to be praised
For they put up with silly men
Who know not how to value
The women who give their
Without women men would go astray
They will never learn to cope
With the struggles of life
And the ills that living sends their way
Women as ever are guiding lights
They soften the brute force of
They make room for humanity
And teach men the first things they know
To be a woman
Is not all about being feminine
It is about creating a place for love
In this world we know
Puke all over the seat and get some on your dogs head
and a little on the wife’s purse get her good
and Madd at yew so she will take the car keys
and drop them in the piranha pool to keep
the control of the car away from yew.
DO not ever try to drive the car like that again.
Be my friend let the motor idle when the belly
has an idol in the center of your disgusting
fatness leave the driving to the women
or call the rental. Drinking is a disease
of the mind heart liver central being alcoholic yew.
It is now not only whiskey but people drugging
swagging smoking of the left handed Turkish variety
just puffing passing smoking inhaling
like a Clinton Will. Stronger measures now aer
needed to stop the added danger of a high
mucky muck brown frame toker from totaling
the soccer van of Mother. There is station wagons
on the road this mourning with whiskey bumps
all over them the women drivers not exempt
from hitting poles and other cars
and then my friend there is the LAW of Johnny
combined to probable cause. When the police man shines
his light inside the car and sees at least thirteen
empty beer bottles laying in the back seat empty
he has a right to ask ewe iff ewe aer recycling them
or drinking. A road test complete with breathalyzer
please make them touch the nose
never mind the sneezes please.
Kathryn's Saga.....a work in Progress.....
History.....A lone Viking ship...with Black Sails......Pounding the waves.....in the midst of
natures fury.....The worse the weather the more the Gods looked on with favor.
Gunder Nils hated and loved this journey.....
Everything about it was wrong.
The wrong time of year (Fall).
Winter storms...he did not care.
The Welsh had killed his son
And there was to be revenge....
Gunder lamented the losse of his first born son
Who had just turned twenty-seven....
a mature and strong Viking....
out to prove his worth by raiding Southern Welsh shores....
but yet he was dead......
killed by a so called....
Welsh Tribal Prince.
“Revenge! Killing has to be done....
his blonde gray mane matted to his skull from the salty spray...
”Damn you all...
he bellowed from the helm.....
and the gods listened...
The Sail's filled
and the Viking ship pushed Southward under Gail force winds
Gunder at the helm...
There will be blood!
Welshland.....before pre-history....after the Battle of Epona Plains......A victory.
A Festival was held.......
A Fall Harvest...
Let the Northlanders starve...
Our men are warriors
and we are are their wives
The women sang as they danced around the bond fire...
covered in blue clay....
from sacred places.
“A Galic Wiccan Womens Song”
“Our men..all brave to the one....
We are your women!
Our men saved our homelands!.....from the hordres of the North.
Sing to how much they love us..our men..
They who fought so hard to save us....
Take our heros to your beds....
We need the seed of strong men....
Oh! Our men....need us now.....
To create more sons....fighters....Warriors all....
So our daughters may survive...
Kathryn was but a child of thirteen that year....
And was not allowed to dance with the women
And older girls..who were ready..and oh, so willing
To take on the strongest......
of our men.
Sex is survival......
of the strongest.
The wails of women in the throes of ectasty...
filled the night air
and into the early morning....
till the fires needed tending.....
For the next six months the ritual was practiced....
until all the fertile women were with child....
every man a Father or Uncle.....
The Men......to be continued...
Woman,purposed on earth
She called the being phenomenal,Maya Angelou to my heart she spoke
Scriptures articulate,bold,crafted like a dictionary it gives the meanings to our lives and struggles
Man made first woman made next,we men pretend not to see or acknowledge the fact,our purpose and place.like frozen choclate that reality i know but peace it brings.
Growing woman,you make it or break it; fun and freedom is overstated,presumed and misused.
I dont believe in freedom on earth all tied up each one of us to that dark page,climax movie,breakdown moments torrents of insults.
Beautiful woman dont be selfish give love,dont run,talk to you smile at you laugh with you.
A woman is ambitious,bold,cultural,diligent,experienced,fun to add innovative,meticulous,productive,reliable scholary and Prayerful.
Are "dirty chicks" women who don't bathe?
Or are they "colored" girls who got too
much sun, forgetting to hide in the shade?
The term "dirty chicks" may refer to women
who are raunchy,
The alternative could be boring and staunchy,
Who creates these labels, and why?
Women have enough on their plates without
having to be bombarded with negative accolades,
"Dirty Chicks" are probably women who have rubbed other
women the wrong way, so they seek sympathy by putting their
jealousies on display.
here are a few prose from the bible................
in matthew,an angel is sitting on the rock outside the tomb;in mark,a youth is inside.in
luke,two men are inside.in matthew,the two marys rush from the tomb in great fear and
joy,run to tell the disciples and meet jesus on the way.in mark,they run out in fear and say
nothing to anyone.in luke,the two women report the story to the disciples,who do not believe
them and there is no suggestion they meet jesus.in matthew,when mary magdeline and the
other mary arrive at the tomb,there is a rock in front of it,then there is a violent earthquake
and an angel descends and rolls back the stone.in luke,when the women arrive at the
tomb,the stone is already rolled back.
these are but a few contradictions,in prose form.
Why do people associate the name Bertha with a "colored" woman?
Is it the strut,
or the way she carries herself?
Or is it just the mischief of demonic elves?
Caucasioan women are confident with their well
Many would try to augment their shape,
Yet, they never get labeled with words like "ape",
or rarely get called Bertha,
So why is it that colored women are always associated
with the name "Bertha"......?
in this world of the limped nuptial
i’ve appeared as a power-missile of the lac-dye
that is used by the hindu women
to paint the border of their feet
the tooth-ache of some-one pumpkin
that grows on the thatched roof of a hut
has wringed spirally
my mythological birth with corporate death
managing and arranging my thoughts
on what I was in the past
what I would be in the future
or what is my dos at present
the wonder-paintings of the altamira cave
unfolds its wings beside my painful in-growing nail
and in her own sky of miss marry
my hands become so much condensed in every drops
as if within that moping smog
without any speech
speaks the twinkle twinkle little star…
beside that labour pain what awakes then
is the patronage of a one-horned idea
along which while walking without much preparation
i can enter into any e-mail
though our love pulls a very long-face about itself
and in the opinion of the married women
the sigh of the sin ? of our love wants to cultivate
mustered-seeds on the soil of the inhabitants
of this human-life
with a stick by which the monkeys are driven out
what more can i say in lieu of
a piece of red-salute written in green ink
if i say in the dawn of the 52-cards
i touch your face
by the hands of a school-boy
your calmness and earthly perfume
make me stunned
then in this field of sweat and war
the explosion of logic and intellect
of your top-floor
seems more famous anchor than the milk
that spilt over on the fire
and more to say
when daubing all over the body
all taste of the path of joy
enter into then fort of gold you can notice there
when in some unknown moment
my pajama dies socially
by the bite of the snails and oysters
to keep the heart of the break-kiln always move
this form-less interactions are so well
in the harvest-arrangement of the late-autumn
we are all uttering the name of cherry-flower
and begging shelter from the mango leaves
In love, a woman gives her heart, soul and mind,
Men seldomly reciprocate in kind,
They'll take whatever godness is offered
and run with it until they get tired,
If women only give a little of themselves,
The well will overflow and the relationship
becomes more intense,
The law of least effort comes to the rescue,
delivering women from relationship issues.
The Lady From Afar
(verse 1 by Jimmy Boom Semtex/Nick Armbrister. Verse 2 by P.J. Reed)
I see the lady from afar. She looks away, not from me but from something else. I'm unsure what. It appears to be known only to her. Some malady tormenting her that others can't see. Is it in her mind or something else? A mischievous spirit or malevolent demon? With the power to tarnish this lady's reputation, hound her senses and crush her will to live. A frightful expression forms upon her pretty face. Shadows drop over her light green eyes. Real or imagined? Fantastically cruel or fakery beyond doubt? Her long black dress once looked elegant. Now it's stained ever darker - blood! Her own or another's? If another's, what happened? A fight with a lover? A duel with her sister? An insane mother finally coming unhinged? Or herself, falling to the abyss?
She approaches; trailing lavender fields and golden summers through the amber streets. A thousand years of ancient wonder in the greeness of her eyes. Drifts of ebony hair wave to me as she walks. An intoxicating eastern beauty I reach out as she glides by. Black dress caught between by fingers, crumbles to my touch. I breathe her ash, it cuts my throat, makes my eyes bleed red. I choke in penance for my lust and fall screaming to the ground as I see in the distance the lady from afar.