Wednesday, May 24, 2017

May 2017



HOW…
can we stop ourselves
opening golden geese and
killing what’s inside

WHEN…
contented is not
our natural home
trouble only brings the spice

WHERE…
drowsy drones of bees
pollinate chestnut candles
moving the world on


Saturday, April 01, 2017

We Gave Birth to a Minotaur


So who will be our judge in hell?
When the wealth of Syrian women are
Over millennia, brutally forced into the sea
By insignificant men who pray for balls as big as bulls
And sell Europa’s cunt fruit for freedoms
They never could learn how to enjoy.

Even the honeyed growth that comes from rape
Can never still my rage
How can it be enough to carry a thread?
Through this labyrinthine
Descending slippery
Shell?



Saturday, February 25, 2017

Fool


I was bullied as a child
Taunted with names as so many are
But I learned to bully back
Learned the sweet thrill
Of pinching soft nipples too hard

I grew with the power to wound
Attractive to the weak and the teary
I loved myself powerful and
It seemed I was loved in return
But some people still spurned me

Why those others attracted me
More than those who liked me
I could not fathom
A perverse wanting of what you’ve not got
Or perhaps in your heart you just know

The self-assured ran from my company
They could see how I always talked about me
How I never admitted to any flaw
How I could never let my hair down
And just naked be me.

Finally I was forced to explore
That the discerning knew more than I did
Knew what I was up to, the tricks
Saw through the gifts and cajolery
Were too wise for spider lies

So I let it go and with it went
All the glorious swag my blag had bought
I had to learn to simply be nice
To be fussy in choosing friends
To be only easily hurt

Now when people try to bully me
I bare my teeth, but I understand
Why they chose this niche
That the journey home is hard and long and often cold
But every fighting dog, one day gets old.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Squared


Things have changed since
Van Limburgstirumplein last saw us
Cycling around her
I sit to sip overpriced coffee
Hoping I can still see
Your cheeks puff
Up front on a giant homemade bike
Me with my
Over stuffed rucksack
Dangling from the back
Two foreign girls
Escaping our governments
Looking for life lasting love
And finding it
In each other’s
Secret world faces
Ellyott, my lover is
Several inches shorter than even me
But three times as strong
Astute jockey always pushing through
What else can a dyke woman do?
Over tram tracks
Careful never to get stuck
The number ten
To Javaplein
Which too has been
Reclaimed from the squatters
Renovated and rebranded
Reblended into Amsterdam green
These days’ dykes are not so strange
Everybody is somewhere
On the queer spectrum range
Integration is the new normal
As everyone assimilates our fists
And to be fair our old enemy capitalism
Never needed homophobia as an excuse
To kick anyone where it hurts most
We, like the Moroccans have been priced out
Way beyond the railway tracks
Unless we have money
When we are welcome
To spend in the sunset lit square
Nice bikes sitting upright tidy in their racks
Adorn the advertising pumping station
As if it has always been
Like this there
Not filled with junkies their gums burned bare
The Kemperstraat stands far too quiet
Without her graffiti minded sluts
Near the Avondwinkel in
Need of more than
A lick of paint
The number of bridges getting smaller
As the city council carts
All homeless looking damaged bikes away
The cries of freedom from restraint
Have all grown faint
But the pigeons circle
The square indifferently
Just the same



Sunday, February 19, 2017

Pressed

The white rose
you gave me
the day I left you
in our gypsy wagon
is rusting at the petal tips.
Cells of mortal memories
Are always called to this.
You wanted our developing
To end when I pushed
You away
And now you want me
To return
Because I’ve got your back
But plucked it was
By your fair hand and
I’m not sure I understand
How our soft start
Accelerated already to this?

Friday, February 17, 2017

When Walking Over Muddy Fields

Start slow,
Keep your eyes on the baby steps low
Do not look too far ahead
instead, plod on
Know you will get there
Find stones and tree roots to press
your careful feet into
Follow the dogs for high ground, not pigs
they look for hollows to wallow in
Scan the sides for elevations
however small
And don’t take the bramble’s jokes
personally at all
When climbing up a muddy bank
follow the footprints you know
Steady as you
ninja go.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Hygge




These fabrics…our society...maybe cloaks…friends…enveloping…soft fond fringes… rich brocade ties…binding fast…snug between breasts…for when we tear…mindless into awful chill…bitter souls…deserted…if we cleave to one another…clutch and cling right tight…then perhaps…be scooped up…swaddled babes in fine yarns and balmy fragrance…braced…dandled…clothed decently together…for a secure landing.