Long Lifewoman Poems
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I was alone
Travelling Interstate 80
Following the route of the early Western pioneers
2900 miles across the midsection of America
Stretching from the East Coast to California
In Utah home to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
The land becomes flat and straight
Large signs on the edge of the road
Warn drivers about fatigue and drowsiness
Tired and hungry
I drove on
Watching shadows move in the sunlight
Day turning into night
On an empty highway
Finally I stopped at a place off the road.
An old woman showed me around
Small talk
On a warm evening
Life is a delusion she said
Young man
There are terrible people out there
You ought to be careful
Cause you’re young you know.
The room was small
Fan cutting through the humid air
Telephone ringing in an empty room
Lights flickered
In the shadows
She pointed to a spot
Where an old man died
We kept the shabby couch she said
Too expensive to throw out
Out Here
We’re as practical
And frugal as the Mormons
So we kept it.
No sense in thinking about it any more
She whispered
The more you think
The more mixed up you get
Besides it’s wide
A bed for two and very comfortable.
I tried paying for the room
She looked in my face
Searching for something
Then down at the crumpled bills in my hand
Wetting her fingers she counted the money
I don’t know if you kids have everything
Or you have nothing
Time and experience will tell
I guess
Then she handed some of the money back to me
I don’t need that much
Beside it’s only money Son
That’s all it is
Life is short
You hold on to it
You’ll need it later
I looked puzzled
She smiled
We all have our secrets.
I was up early next morning
When the old woman appeared
I figured you’d be leaving soon she said
Heading West?
Yes I replied
Going to look for family out there?
No just myself
Afraid?
A little
Lightly touching my arm she said
Don’t be afraid. You’re young. There’s always been magic in a young heart
The roads are clear this time of morning.
Ride straight and you’ll do fine.
The engine revved up
I was moving at 60, then 70, then 80
Windows wide open
Wind pouring in
Not another car on the road
I was alive
I was free
The morning belonged to me.
Where do I go to hide the pain?
Where do I go to live?
One place comes to mind,
HOME
Home is a place I go for shelter
Home is where it’s safe
I think about who’s waiting there
A woman worth coming for
A woman worth seeing
A woman I call my mother.
So sweet and fragile
So helpful and full of life
A helping hand when I’m in need of love
She is an angel sent from heaven
An angel sent for me
The one and only who’s there for me
She cared for my health
She cared for my life
She needs to see
That I’m on my way home.
But how can I go
I left her there with no one near
She might hate me
She might not care any more
As long as I’m with her I will be ok
As long as she’s alive I will live
As long as we’re together our love will
Somehow grow
So now I’m in front of the door
Waiting to open it
My mother, my angel walks
And opens it.
‘I prayed you’d come back’
And in her arms I start to cry
How did I leave such a dear person?
How can she still love me?
I hurt her, she prayed
I left her, she prayed
I showed no love, she loves me still
She is my mother
My angel
My one reason to live
And now I pray to God for her
‘Save her, help her,
I need her here.
I need the love of the angel you sent to me
I need to know what to do
When I lose my way home.
I need her here, I need her love’
Once I’m asleep she holds my hand
With words that wake me suddenly
She whispered in my ear
‘I will always love you
With love like mine you need not fear
I’ll be here long enough to see you
If I go today, still I will love you
Even when I’m not near
I’m closer then you think
You’ll always find a way back home
I’ll always be with you
If not in flesh then in heart
Take care, my love,
My one true treasure.
That night she passed away
I’m left alone with only a body
I’m walking down the same street as before
The one I walked alone, long ago
But like my mother said
I will always find
A way back home.
- Anna P Chebukina
Form:
A man had wives four in number
Yet sweet and peaceful is his slumber
Goodness flowed from the first in number
Yet turned he deaf to her sweetest number
The fourth woman is his sweetheart
From whom he can never part
Provides her with best from mart
Yet she derides him in her thought
The third queen is a beauty to behold
He and she alone frequent parties I am told
He introduces her as “beautiful and bold”
Yet fears she’ll fly growing wings of gold
His second wife has sharp ears
His sufferings and sorrows she attentively hears
With her counsel extinguishes his fears
She’s been his staff throughout the years
In deathbed, he requested his fourth, ‘Give me company’
Bluntly she refused, “Sorry. You I can’t accompany’
His third wife told, ‘If you die I’ll marry again.”
His second wife told, “I can’t! From me you can nothing gain.”
When he battled with silent and secret tears
“I’ll come with you – have no fears”
His first wife’s voice voluntarily fell on his ears
He muttered, “Sorry sweetheart! I have wasted all these years”
In reality, every man or woman has four spouses
Soul, family, wealth and body you are called to espouse
Second wife - family or friends until grave will cry one with another
Third wife your wealth will immediately marry another
Your fourth wife – your body to dust she’ll return
Your soul – the first wife faithfully follows wherever you turn
Let nourishing your soul be your deepest passion
Is it profitable if a man loses his soul? – asks God of compassion.
Senseless
What is it inside the heart of man
That cannot appreciate another’s suffering
Were we born with this senseless implacability
Is it from life itself we grow these calluses of the soul
Are we created not to care
Is the face of nature so coldly ruthless
That we must come to be so
For what belief in anything in which to believe
Should we maim and destroy and kill
What is it that we know so well
That the idea of difference can cause such conceited violence
How do we become so voluntarily indoctrinated
Is it some desperate need to have sense amidst the senseless
To have at least the illusion of a purpose
When then do we celebrate the diversity of our sense to make sense of the senseless
Should every woman and man dream and aspire
And have every man and woman dream and aspire to the same
Or say this love is stronger or this way is better
This truth more truthful than anything anyone else can know
Who’s despicable spirit can live with out some measure of guilt in overfed luxury
While others starve and die in poverty
Are we not as one with this the global identity we call humanity
Are we not basically and essentially all the same
If right there is to pass on righteous judgment
For cultural and social and political and religious difference
Such conviction and contempt is that all we see in our own reflection
When then do we celebrate our diversity of sense to make sense of the senseless
.........................................
The woman with red rose vine
up her thighs and thine
showed me the way
and invited tryin,
did she wear rose perfume,too?
did I ask
she coyly husked umm yeah
Lol !it all depends what mood I'm in
I suppose, and there is no strict time code
well I must make yours....for sure.......
that vine is dancing in front of my eyes..
like an invite..
but I do make such moods
about at leisure and later
I'm afraid I can't because I'm spoken
she battered
persisted me
For eloquently is it............so
so the vine sways in winds that move against me......
lol !..hahahahahaha..reply backie..soon.......
Now I am gonna just look at that vine
and move away for like...
hard and good.........
thanks is all I can say
as I watch that vine sway away..
with my heart in wine..
I do whine..
and yeah do that do I
now and by and by
don't ya get me wrong..
I am practicing wooing......
if you were unspoken for
how would ya find that.....
honey......fingers in pie..yeah
you say friend you can be and I say
friends I have many
but one who will be lover
as well as caring nanny........
and frightfully hot fanny.....
I have none
They have many..they say choose any..
but god knows why I dote ya and ya alone..
the woman with vine and wine..........
Alas! you are not my sunshine......boohoo crying
helluva lotta......woo is frying!
she had her fingers in the pie!
Labels, 2010
V. Ortiz Vazquez
Girl, teenager, young adult, woman
Hispanic, Latina, Puerto Rican
Sister, aunt, godmother
Lesbian, woman of color
How important are these labels?
Why use them to define myself?
Better, use to be boxed within brackets
Brackets many times use to oppress me and those a like
Box me
Reduce at time, close to nothingness
Trap within groups
Recycling stereotypes, unfairness
Idiotic
Other times, forgotten
I am a woman
A Puerto Rican woman that is
I am a daughter
A Puerto Rican daughter, know this
Born to privileges that do not really exist
I am a Puerto Rican woman who loves another woman
Rights denied
Ignorance still prevail in 2010
I am brown skinned
How important is this? I don’t know, Do you?
Yet, I will not trade the following:
Daughter, aunt, godmother, woman of color, Puerto Rican
They provide an experience taken for granted by many
At times an understanding that others dream off
A strength given, passed down
Not forced or taken
I am the labels you love to hate
I am the labels you hate to love
I stood in line with women
A few men waited
But mostly the people around me had curves and femininity
The morning begun cool but warmed as the sun took her throne
The temperature change was like the change that overcame
The strangers
At first silent
Looking straight
And then slowly sharing
Stories
Truth
Seeing each other
A kind woman offered snacks to the small fussing children
She had grandbabies.
We were all here
Hoping for the same result
But for different reasons, different circumstances
Situations
One woman explained that she kept renting houses that were forclosed.
One was on the news the night before at the Interfaith Shelter, already homeless.
Some had little ones and looked much too young
*Poet's note
This was longer and tied more firmly into the title before I lost this poem in cyberspace
I write fictional poetry occassionally, but this one is not that. This is vulnerablity and I am not
strong enough to rewrite it in its entirity again. Please don't judge this yet. It isn't finished.
Look inside
Down deep inside
and tell me what you find
in the bottom of your soul
Look in the mirror
stare at your reflection
and tell me what you see
in those bright blue eyes
Do the looks match your emotions?
Deep inside those eyes
I see a broken woman
a woman so low
on the verge of falling
deeper.
From the outside
I see a happy woman
a woman with a smile
on the verge of jumping
higher.
Look around you
All around you
and the people moving
not noticing your sorrow
Look in their eyes
glare for a while
what are their thoughts
about you ?
Deep in their hearts
They wonder what is wrong
a woman so withdrawn
on the verge of collapsing
Lower.
From the first glance
They see an ordinary woman
a pretty woman
on the verge of laughing.
Look deeper
into this extraordinary woman
a fighter, a lover
See the sorrow
taking over this great woman
a griever, a loner
Watch the tears
flood from this stong woman
as she breaks.
Are you intimidated?
Do you feel threatened?
By a woman?
A woman with more than half a brain
A woman who can stand up for herself
A woman who can take control
Do you think women should bow down before men?
Do you think a woman's place is in the kitchen?
Do you think?
There's more to a woman than her breasts and assets...
There's brains, there's power and there's a person
Men like you make me sick
You, who are almost 30 but want an 18 year old for the "perky breasts" and "tight hole"
Men like you are pathetic
You feel better when you have a woman under your thumb
You feel like you're in control
But....
where ever you are, there will be a stron woman
A woman who has an opinion - And expresses it
A woman who won't "get in the kitchen and cook you a steak"
A woman who won't put up with it when you can her a wench
And, there will always be a woman who can kick your ............
Form:
Younger men seem to admire a full bloomed flower,
A woman with experience, grace and power,
He is drawn to her domination,
She gives him inspiration,
Her potency is like aged wine,
most young woman are still buds, on the evergreen vine,
Her confidence allures him, her mystery intrigues,
Subconsciously, she fills a void or a need,
Whereas the woman feeds on his infancy,
It brings forth her youth and consistency,
She feels greater affection, adoration and attention,
Even if it is her, that has the comming pension,
His stamina and capacity,
Brings forth a refreshing elasticity,
Fulfilling her appetite,
As they dance into the twilight.
She becomes renewed,
Her countenance glows,
Letting others see,
what they may not know,
A voyage, exploration,
with mutual sensation,
This new type of love,
A doe and his dove.
By: Sabina