O'Keefe
unreal
in the
surreal
close-ups
do
reveal
her
choice
synthesised
pictorial
voice
Two In One
In
the
quiet
painting her
synsthesia-
'music that makes holes in the sky'
Music-Pink & Blue No 2
coloured close-ups in intimate relief
close-up
and
personal
A debutante was Berthe Morisot
But her mother loved her a lot
So a pupil of Corot she became
And marrying a Manet
brought her more fame
With genre painting she made
Berthe Morisot looking at you
the inner woman comes into view
An artist herself- an equivalent
with feelings so ambivalent
Manet's painting of Morisot*
sister-in-law not his beaux
Reclining in an inviting pose
herself an impressionist some chose
They called us witches to keep us silent,
our words curling in smoke. They held
our heads under water, tied feet to a stake;
judged those without children or mark upon
skin. They accused us of misleading children,
that poor crops were due to our sin. Crone and
whore, bossy and loud; battle-axe and tart,
frigid and shrew. They called us witches to cover
our screams, they called us witches to hide
our power. They called us witches to spread myth,
they called us witches to dispel our magic. Strong
and independent, courageous and true; brave and
united, nurturer and proud. They call us witches?
A name begets importance. We call them, nothing.
she was as curvy and convex as a teacher can be
with green eyes that glowed like a Venus moon
Bait for enticement, making students eager for advisement
the males congregated as if she was a new queen to the hive
we females were irritated she had stolen our thunder
A quiet dare to every fear that said I shouldn't chase this thrill,
each shaky push a promise that I'd bend the board to my own skill.
The concrete hummed beneath me like it knew I'd come to rise,
and every wobble taught me how to trust the fire behind my eyes.
The park became my canvas, every ramp a line to trace my name,
each rail a chance to rewrite chapters where I once felt small or tame.
Falls turned into teachers, bruises into proof I showed up strong,
and every scrape reminded me I've had resilience all along.
I learned to carve with courage, letting motion pull me through,
discovering that age can't cage the part of me that still feels new.
There's art in every risk I take, in every trick I dare to start,
because there's always more to learn when you ride with an open heart.
She walks the shoreline fearless, every curve her own to show,
the sun leans in to kiss her skin and make her spirit glow.
Waves applaud her comeback as they rush to meet her feet,
the wind lifts up her hair as if to say, "now this is heat."
Birds chirp their admiration while the sand bows soft below,
for her inner light outshines the body everyone's dying to know.
I send my wheels on uneven ground,
fear humming louder than the street,
but courage sparks when I push off,
a girl who won't accept defeat.
I land the trick I thought I'd miss,
not built for crowns, I’m built for this.
Highland bull arrived on our doorstep in time for Halloween
His hair was all curly, his eyes had an all-knowing sheen
He asked to speak to the witch’s autumn queen
We knew he meant Miss Minnie, she is not at all mean.
Minnie came by and did some talking with Highland bull.
They rode around on the farm and instigated a taffy pull
We had a lovely bonfire, when the party began to lull
The festivities were marvelous, they were never dull.
Lighting up their world for charm
Newly or fully.
In those unsure, bashful ways.
More provocatively.
Adding up to does each phase
Girl to woman smiled
A lifetime in a month of
The moony-compiled.
Contest : Write a Beautiful Verse
Sponsor : Constance La France
Third Placing : Standard Contest : Jan 26
_________________________________
“Without the Female Human Form, life as we know it, would fold & our entire Cosmos would be the lesser. Whatever it looks like to egoic vision, it encodes powerful human birthing energies, therefore is the most Beautiful Creation.” : Poet
__________________________________
Sacrosanct female form, undulating curves receptive
from soles, toes to nine openings imbibe Gaia's yields
crown maned entice Sky gifts, gaining sons, daughters, fields
arms, buxom or slender circle efforts, keeps us from harm
plump-honeyed baps drip milk feeding mouths sucking charmed
bellies endearingly blood-nurture life's births
caboose ebony or ivory mirrors omni Earth
phalanges stroke or wrinkled contained, nuances claim
spine serpentine homes mutating blue violet flame
coral lips mirthfully melt flesh intoxicate fruity
its purpose inspiring cameo nurturing, a duty
Female Form, embodies Now Power Beauty !
Salsa classes
I learned to dance at
family and friend’s parties.
I learned by watching.
Not very structured.
When I dance with my husband;
he complains that I don't let him lead.
My mom taught me,
women should be in control.
I danced like this for many years.
At 50, following my soul's desire.
I took my first salsa class.
What a surprise!
Maybe,
my husband was right.
Just let the other take the lead.
Let go and flow.
Perhaps. I can change
my unconscious dance
into a more harmonious
sensual movement
This shelter, most sturdy
For friendship
Is by them erected;
The female.
Men scratch heads! When that on
The inside
Shrunk back from is measured
For a gale!
Violently overwrought.
Sob on sob.
Whiny. Bewilders! Noise
Off the scale!
i feel rage inside me.
Itching, begging to erupt from within.
I cry for reasons unknown.
Tears trickle down before i can realize
so i look up at the sun as punishment.
I want to remain stoic.
My personal martyrdom in exchange for protest.
This cruel world has robbed me of much to receive more of my essence.
I believe tears are extractions of our life form
Our soul losing pieces of itself, defences too weakened and fragile to protect itself.
Instead I choose to feel my own warm embrace, shut my eyes and clasp my hands over my ears to drown out the noise.
I breathe in deeply, exhaling all the pain
waiting patiently until the rage returns.
A wasp stung
my ring finger
Place of the ring!
My hand is double
Sharp acid pain
This is a sign
Oh, save me!
I am afraid!
Save me, Light!
the adorable teen dancers with the bouncing hair are sweet
dressed in outrageously cute frothy plaid and tule skirts
I wonder if they are wearing matching shorts
One of them should be wearing matching panties
She turns and bounces around a bit more
Her skirt flies up an inch to her waist.
I see her shorts and feel relieved.
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