Women's History Month: Saturday, March 20, 2021: Gabriella Garafalo's poem "Hard Times"

Hard Times

Hard times on the horizon,

Hush everyone, the deranged clerk

Threw his ‘nope’ at the CEO-

And now the houses ablaze in blue

Are shunted into shards of disdain,

And now young women on a night out

Are hopping on their heels,

Think they look smashing,

Yeah right-

Same old, same old,

There she goes,

Her stranded soul

Amongst cold stars,

Marooned on desert skies,

Chanting God feeds you

Even though he let books,

And burning souls wander around,

Chanting Odysseus and his mates

Gorge on your mind-

Her soul, sure, why not,

Once you met her, she’d got an ASBO

After setting ablaze men, blue,

Scrap, dissension,

Bless her, she couldn’t let go

Of times, creeds, and rites-

Got it now? And her shades, now,

The ungodly shades rhythm or grace

Always shunned- look at them,

Still hooking up with electric blue eyes,

Still hunting down words, while anger

Scars her with cider, flowers, glazes-

Great for mothers only, aren’t we, my days?

Keep clear, then, don’t trust birth, time,

As only waves, only skies

Slake their thirst in her mind’s cafés,

Adrenaline spiking and raped winters

If you ever chance on them-

Such shady guys, and starving to boot-

Thank God hypermnesic stones can help,

So, rage as hard as you want,

But your light’s dying, I’m afraid,

She’s lighting fires on her way out,

And yes, the CEO gave us such nice treats,

Limbs, and free will, so what?

Women will show up as electric shocks,

With their shrieking voices,

Men as sudden blackouts,

With their silence-

‘Course the last word shall be yours,

My darling, to spite you rotten,

And make you choke on fizzies and pies

You fancy a lot-

Good for you, oh and so sorry

My life’s confort food for you starving rotten,

O darling demise

© 2021 Gabriella Garafalo

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of Lo sguardo di Orfeo; L’inverno di vetro; Di altre stelle polari; Blue Branches, and  A Blue Soul.

 

Women's History Month: Friday, March 19, 2021: Margaret Saine's poems "Women of Women Born" and "Female Birds Sing"

 

Woman of Woman Born

 

La femme n’a d’amis que ses songes.

A woman’s only friends are her dreams.

      Jules Michelet

 

 

We were not thought of

we were despised

disposed of and

pushed into corners

mental and otherwise

No bonus of being

a woman of woman born

quite otherwise

We forged then were forced

to forget the womb

all the dreams we had

We were not given the facts

we were given stories

older than Methusalah can remember

of Snow White, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty

tied, tried and true

to extricate from them

what women were

might be, or become

We were allowed to puzzle out

our often dire fate

with Pythia Cassandra and Ariadne

Like ignorant poets

and lazy kings

we [being neither lazy nor ignorant]

were forced to invent our lives out of

not whole and not new cloth

but from a stale barnstorm of spiderwebs

snowed-in like dandelion fluff

[dandruff fluff]

snowed out of our lives

in difficulty of our self-birth

our becoming

 

And we made it

we are in the making

© 2021 Margaret Saine 

 

Female Birds do Sing

 

 

Hmmm...

female birds

what is it about them

we thought they couldn’t sing

Darwin said so

only males sang

male song was only

to attract females

 

And we women poets

covered our heads in shame

feeling like usurpers

while male poets

painted us into a corner

their corner

as muses

silently coaxing out

their male poems

 

It is nice

to serve as a midwife

for male poems

--any poem really is

an improvement of human life—

but we women wanted

to have our own voice

 

And then they told us

that female birds don’t sing

But now we know better

Female birds sing birdsong

just as males

 

Hello male poets!

Here we come!

Women poets!

© 2021 Margaret Saine

 

Margaret Saine was born in Germany and taught Hispanic literatures in California. She writes and translates in five languages. Books in English are Bodyscapes, Words of Art, Lit Angels, Gardens of the Earth, and A Book of Travel. Saine published four poetry books and a childhood memoir in Germany. In 2021 a book of Spanish poems will come out in Spain, French poems in Montreal. Two Italian books are to be published. Her poems have been translated into Arabic and other languages. She is an editor of The California Quarterly. Since 2008 she has written over 5 600 haiku.

Women's History Month: Thursday, March 18, 2021: Kathie Giorgio's poem "To the Woman Who Died on the Train Tracks"

 

                        To the Woman Who Died on the Train Tracks

On Sunday night, October 6,

you curl up like a new baby

in a cradle made of train tracks

in Waukesha Wisconsin.

You let a train carry away your life.

You are sixty years old.

The newspaper says you died instantly.

You didn’t. You’ve been dying for a while.

Five days later, on Friday, October 11,

police report they still haven’t found anyone

to notify.

No phone calls. No doorbells. No telegrams.

I’m so sorry, but <fill in the blank> has died.

<fill in the blank> killed herself.

<fill in the blank> is gone.

Gone.

Nobody knows you,

but many strangers wonder who you are.

Your silence and the silence around you

screams.

<fill in the blank>

You’ve been dying for a while.

Nobody knows you.

Such loud silence.

Such silent screams.

© 2021 Kathie Giorgio

Kathie Giorgio is the author of five novels, two story collections, a collection of essays, and two poetry chapbooks. No Matter Which Way You Look, There Is More To See is her first full-length poetry collection. She's been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in fiction and poetry and awarded the Outstanding Achievement Award from the Wisconsin Library.

Women's History Month: Wednesday, March 17, 2021: Anna Maria's poem "The Farmer"

The Farmer

They said they would come again 

the promises still remained

the wait was long and a pain.

Nothing took away the pain

of seeing  him hanging

from the mango bough

he had marked out for his final rites.

Rightly done, the same bough

that sheltered him after he had spent

time in the fiery sun sweating

out with the spade and the seeds,

now wept barren, unable to fulfil the last

obligation it had made with its master

the seed sower, grower, the farmer

now dangling, his open eyes seeing

the emptiness where the greens

should have been?

His wife dry eyed,

asking that the bough

be cut down,

that the last rites

be performed by the three year old son

who played outside, posing like a child artiste

for  the avalanche of photographers,

that he may find rest from his labours

while  they began theirs.

Since no one came anymore,

in spite of the wait,

all promises in vain,

she bore the spade,

dug the earth, started to sow

not as a widow, 

but

as a farmer

who begins with ambition and hope.

© 2021 Anna Maria

Dr. Mary Annie A.V.,writes under the pen name Anna Maria(™). She has two collections of poems to her credit, and is working on the third. She’s been published in various anthologies in India and abroad, and featured  in many personal blogs. She resides in Kerala, India, along with her husband.

 

Women's History Month: Tuesday, March 16, 2021: Patricia Carragon's poem "These Foolish Things Remind Me of You"

 

These Foolish Things Remind Me of You

(sung by Ella Fitzgerald)

 

 

at a bar off Waverly Place

I sat by myself

imbibed gin & tonic thoughts

stared at solitary candles

& coupled daffodils inside glass jars

 

the piano by the corner   unoccupied—

if keys could recollect  

would they play it again, Sam?

 

me as Garbo   you as Crosby

never Bergman or Bogart

 

cigarette butts kissed by lipstick—

reminiscence rose from ashtrays

 

the bartender knew better

paid attention to twentysomethings instead

my mind time-traveled—

an airline ticket to Capri

paradise lost on a sunny beach

gardenia essence hugged our pillows

that trip to Île-de-France

the midnight train to Paris

 

foolish things burned strawberry incense—

my heart flew too high & fell

loneliness lit another pipe dream & cigarette

your ghost reborn in smoke

  

© 2021 Patricia Carragon

Patricia Carragon has been widely published online and in print. Her recent publications include, Alien Buddha Press, Bear Creek Haiku, First Literary Review-East, Jerry Jazz Musician, Madness Muse Press, The New Verse News, North of Oxford, Paterson Literary Review, Poets Wear Prada, Oddball Magazine, Redheaded Stepchild, Right Hand Pointing, Sensation, Silver Birch Press, et al.  Her debut novel, Angel Fire, is from Alien Buddha Press. Her latest book from Poets Wear Prada is Meowku, hosts Brownstone Poets and is the editor-in-chief of its annual anthology. She is an executive editor for Home Planet News Online. Patricia lives in Brooklyn, NY.