Ziggy was a sexually curious alien
A celestial rock star from sanguine Mars
a Stardust being who journeyed to Earth
A Moon Age Starman made a five-year voyage
described in Bowie's playlist as having
"a screwed down hairdo like a cat from Japan"
Bowie took on the iconic persona of Ziggy
who landed in an alley of cardboard boxes.
Maybe it was his idea of a Suffragette City
The album cover's artwork was meant
to give a view of Bowie's thoughts
on politics, drugs, sex, and his fame in the 70s.
But Ziggy felt his telescopic view of Earth
hadn't prepared him for what he found
on what he thought of as a 'voodoo planet'
Go figure, since he had spiders for friends
The fret of his guitar was silenced
by the fretting he did over feeling lost and alone
Ziggy was a space invader,
Bowie's alter ego who explored themes of fame,
identity, and societal expectations.
Back cover instructions read...
"TO BE PLAYED AT MAXIMUM VOLUME.”
To which many replied, albeit perhaps without words:
"Aye aye, Captain!"
Not meant for my ears at those decibels
Bright young things
the class of 2019
Tories with their fresh rosettes
they said they could level up the Red Wall
now bide their time to forgotten promises
in their brazen suites
lost chance saloon in a cavalier fashion
ill affording suffragette society
look at them in their run in
Labour ushers a bravo return,
The Reform party
picks up on the crumbs
of discontent
Dignity, purity, hope,
Entwined in a delicate rose.
These are the colours which hold
The futures of all women to come.
Run, run, run,
To the Free Trade Hall we run,
Eyes bright, souls lifted, the taste
Of excitement on the tip of our tongues.
Suff-ra-gette,
Was the name they gave us, scribbled
In every single newspaper, as if to say
"THESE WOMEN ARE TROUBLE."
Emm-el-ine
Pankhurst, her name. Equality, her goal.
The union, her child. The cause, her pride.
The name "SUFFRAGETTE" became our own.
Man-che-ster,
Where it all began. Where
The fires of change lit and stoked and
Spread their message in the dangerous smoke.
Da-vi-son.
Whatever became of poor Emily? I heard
It was she whose body trampled
Beneath the hooves of the King's horse.
Im-prison-ment.
Prison, the only place strong enough
To handle our emblazoned spirit. And so
They dampen it with poison down our throats.
One hun-dred
Years passed since our victory. I
am young but their strength runs through me.
My present is the history they endured.
To the women who came before,
We continue on your notion.
After all, it's "deeds, not words"
Which set the change in motion.
Composer Ethel Mary Smyth
broke her glass ceiling when alive
Also an active suffragette
writing her own liberette
The women's body does not
Belong to the government.
Once again this, borders,
On personal harassment.
The woman's body is hers,
It's a personal choice.
The abortion issue ignites the
Woman and her voice.
A typical case of men trying
To control women.
It is a personal thing what
Can grow in her abdomen.
Do you really want another?
Suffragette movement?
Are you doing this for?
Your own amusement?
Abortion has no place
On a ballot.
It will end up in
The court of appellate.
If Roe-VS-Wade,
is overturned.
It is bad juju for
All concerned.
Let's not get the women of
America in an uproar.
The government should stick
To the faces of MT. Rushmore.
I am a woman, I beg you,
"Leave this one alone".
This is for women the
Choice each to their own.
Single mom's make-up the
The majority of single parenting.
If you mess with this, Beware
The day of reckoning.
There are many reasons why
A woman would choose abortion.
If we upset this it can throw
Our existence out of proportion.
Turbo1904 ?
slithering through a suffragette smattering
the serpentine has no shoulder
on which to give
or have taken
piggyback rides through pantsuit criterion
so certainly lacks the same of which to dry witch salt tears with
whirling up and around then down up her ankle
thick thick thigh
deliciously dry coconut shunt
lipstick cracking
open pistachio shells
bravo to the mercenaries!
at least the split is red enough to pull the lever
and
spill how
women got their seat
at the
baccarat table
Rosemary’s Baby
Rosemary’s baby is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.
Rosemary’s baby is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.
My wife and I, we couldn’t have kids,
So we called Rosie and now we have three.
Our surrogate, suffragette,
Sacrificed, all she had to give.
A selfless act, an adopted kid,
A world of joy is all Rosemary could give.
Now Rosemary’s baby, is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.
Rosemary’s baby is a baby of mine,
Rosemary’s baby dropped right on time for me.
We had waited for years, to become parents,
In just nine months, Rosie showed us our Heaven.
A baby boy called Ethan, with pale blue eyes,
A year later, the twins lay at his side.
Little Rosie and little Mary,
Have made us such a happy family.
Now Rosemary’s babies, are babies of mine,
Rosemary’s babies, dropped right on time for me.
Rosemary’s babies are babies of mine,
Because Rosemary’s babies,
Brought our family to life.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
How can I snap out of it?
Open hearted, contents spilled to the world;
crying as if that might redeem it,
self-same reliant, or did I dream it?
If only, I scream it, if only
I wasn't so damned and lonely;
if maybe, just maybe, she
would rescue me,
deliver my dependency,
abolish my despondency,
unchain my love and set it free.
Anchored to her centre of gravity,
magnetised by her protective coil,
nestled in her aura.
Reborn some spiritual suffragette,
and yet, in love, and yet, and yet
time crosses time and lapses torpid,
sunk in the clay of derelict duty,
and fades the spectral memory,
fades the days, the essence of beauty.
No choice of letting go,
no chance of holding on,
everything drifting away,
everything emptied and gone.
Why worry, why fatally ruminate,
pace the foot worn floor,
why be the disenchantment candidate
when you could be so much more?