I Am More Than Breath and Bone: I Am More – M.A. Morris

I am more than breath or bones.
I am the Melungeon veins
of my many great-grandmothers
as they run through the coal mines
of West Virginia into Kentucky and Tennessee.

I am more than breath or bones.
I am my mother’s and grandmother’s blood
flooding the snow melt rivers
of Appalachia.

I am more than breath or bones.
I am my mother’s iron ore,
her steel torn from the hollows
among the mountains of West Virginia
in the time of the Great Depression.

I am more than breath and bone,
I am the centrifuge
of history and heritage
of spirits and earth
of women who held
up mountains
for their children.

I am more than breath and bone.
We, my foremothers and I,
mother the culmination
of the next generations
to hold up the sky,
the sun, the stars, the moon
for their children.


 

I am a retired teacher, enjoying everything that retirement means. In addition, I have been active in the LGBTQ community since I was four years old and marched my Ken doll with all his little Ken accouterments to the big metal trash can in the yard. Yes, I dumped Ken, along with said accouterments, into the can and slammed the lid on. My two Barbie dolls lived happily ever after.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

Let there be storms – Georgiann Carlson

let there be storms
so that a woman’s rage
has a place to go
a place of darkness
and light
a place of explosions
and noise
cracks of lightening
and thunderclaps
intense pressure
and drops in
temperatures
in the eye of a storm
women can finally
feel at home


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

The Haunted Saucepan – Georgiann Carlson

the sauce pan simply
refused to do it’s job
she bought it
because she liked
the color
but every time
she tried to use it
no matter what
ingredients
she put into it
she always got
the same results
she tried to make
a thick hearty
vegetarian stew
dicing vegetables
all morning long
but hours later
when she removed the lid
all she saw were
tiny
greedy
power hungry
sexist
little white guys
floating in blood
she told her friends
about her sauce pan
and the bloody
little white guys
and they all said
the very same thing

where can we get one?


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

Deconstructing “Romeo and Juliet” part 2 – Saarah Choudhury

“In the opening scene, Gregory and Sampson, from Juliet’s household, discuss their hatred of the Montegues (Romeo’s household).
Sampson declares he will rape all the virgin girls of the “enemy camp” because they are so weak.
This is all talk, but as we see throughout the play, most characters (other than Romeo, Juliet and their supporters) proudly perform acts of violence.
If you’re defined by gratuitous violence in public, then you don’t suddenly stop being violent behind closed doors.
Yet, as ever, we just want to watch the play and simultaneously victimise, and blame, Romeo and Juliet, as though they were responsible for the chaos, instead of being by-products of it. . .”


Poet. World traveller. Moved from England to Cambodia. Might stay there. Not sure.

You can read more of Saarah’s writing at eastwest_nomad 

The Woman in Black – Georgiann Carlson

she always wore black
always
she said she did it
to mourn for all the
pain and suffering
women were forced
to face in their lives
all the torture and misery
caused by men
and patriarchal society
she kept her eyes closed
for long periods of time
she said she couldn’t look
not any more
broken bodies
broken hearts
broken children
when the solution
was so simple
all men had to do
was stop being violent
she said that
she had been gone
for many years
killed by a man’s fists
but as she was dying
she vowed
to roam the earth
for as long as the violence
continued
on Halloween
she became real
and let her vengeance
run free
she said that on that day
her eyes
were wide open
and she was very
very hungry


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

Sharp Objects – Georgiann Carlson

because she had power
men saw her as a threat
they said she was dangerous
so she ran
never staying in one place
for any length of time
she tried to be invisible
to make herself small
so she wouldn’t be noticed
so she wouldn’t have to speak
but she was quite for so long
that words started sticking
in her throat
and when she finally
coughed them up
they were
sharp objects
that pierced
the hearts of men
and forced them see
the damage they had done


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

Bewitched – Robert G. Wertzler

I did not meet the witches
On the road from a battle
But in a different world
A world between the wires
They had no eyes of newts
Or toes of frogs and such
They had words burning
On pages, and with poems
They cast their spells
Spells of truth and life
Of pain and love
Of survival against the odds
Such spells they cast
That I fell under
I am thoroughly bewitched
Hoping never to be freed


Bob Wertzler is retired from almost twenty years in the mental health field in California and Arizona. There are times the title, “Recovering Therapist”, seems to fit. In 2006 he retired to move to Western North Carolina to help and become primary care giver for his father who had developed Dementia. Before all that, there was work at various times as a soldier (US Army 1967-70), community organizer, cab driver, welfare case worker, wooden toy maker, carpenter, warehouse worker, and other things. He relates to a line in a Grateful Dead song, “What a long, strange trip its been.”