24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
the thick mantle hidden deep beneath our feet
melts bit by bit and fists of molten rock thrust
themselves into already cramped chambers
but my mother always strokes restless
eyelids closed to try stop even
the lightest bit of magma
erupting through one of many
cracks in the earth crust surfacing
as scorching lava from my eyes and mouth
Beth A. Fleisher
Hour 1
Prompt: Write a poem about an influential woman you know personally.
DIRT AND DIAMONDS
Linda was born in the South, transplanted long ago to Oregon,
living in the country with husband, Bob, and inspiration-cat, Gracie.
Green fields, color-packed planters and free-form flower beds,
a homey house where you can take your shoes off, brew yourself a cup of tea
from dozens of choices, and settle into her living room couch for a chat
about anything from your kids to Black Lives Matter, work place politics to
spirituality, an inspirational book to a heartfelt thank-you letter from
one of her clients at the women’s prison.
Women mired deep in the dirt,
sometimes a hole they dug,
sometimes a hole dug by a friend or a lover.
Locked inside the facility to do groups for a few hours a day,
Linda changes lives, one woman at a time.
Women who don’t trust anyone,
especially not themselves,
women with no hope of a different future.
Or any future.
Until they encounter Linda: a petite 5’4” package of pure optimism,
a warm smile and astute blue eyes,
that ingrained Southern charm that catches you off guard.
Voice soft, inviting you to listen hard as she starts
rebuilding self-confidence and self-esteem,
day by day,
group session by group session,
until you know in your knower that you can do this!
Your past does not dictate your future,
only you
can limit how far you go.
You can discover diamonds in the dirt,
If you just do the work.
It’s okay if you don’t believe at first —
Linda will believe for you,
until you can believe for yourself.
Her influence reaches far,
But her heart reaches farther.
Faceless hue,
Exhausted clouds seemed to show me the way.
There was color on the other side….
Today would be my lucky day.
Dull from my travels, I searched inside for my bold.
Crimson told her story…
She was tired….
She was old.
When you reach your destination,
I want you to think of me.
Colors are beauty
Colors are for the world to see.
There is only ever going to be one woman this poem could be about
And frankly I’m embarrassed
I know how it will look to other people
Cos it has to be my mother
Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not because I can’t think of any other women
I know loads of women
OK, maybe not loads of women
OK, some women
One or two…
But regardless there are few PEOPLE in this world
Who had more effect than my Mum did to me
And only fifty percent of that
Is motivated by fear
Don’t judge me, this is the woman
That history claims at the age of 9
Broke a 12 years old boy’s arm with a skipping rope
For doing playtime wrong!
This and other stories are perhaps the reason why
As a mother of young children
She shows great pride
In having never had to count to three
Before getting her own way.
But there are positives as well
She has:
Taught us right from wrong
“I’m right, your father’s wrong”
How to be self reliant
“What makes you think I’m going to do your ironing for you?”
How to be impartial
“I don’t care who started it! I’m finishing it!”
To have an appreciation for the natural world
“Stop lounging around the house and go play outside! I don’t care if it’s hailing!”
Unfortunately I must end this poem now
As she has just read this over my shoulder
And I only have a few lines left to say
That regardless of the fear
She did provide an example
Of someone you could be proud to be
Strong, confident, honest, fair
All a son could ask for…
Send help! Please!
She, who never says an untoward word, thinks an unkind thought,
surprised me with her assessment:
“You have deep humility, accepting anyone without judgment. Sure,
you’re a little sad but that makes you relatable.”
Me, a proud woman who judges the ants that dare to walk beneath me,
the husband who falters at my hands, the children
I bore, through no fault of their own, and the world, belching forth steam,
storm and dung, that dangles on a thread at God’s fingertips, I laughed.
A teacher, business woman, President of the governing body of
all bodies, my body, those of my clients, friends, and students,
heart of my income, soul of my future, guru, acharya, spiritual grift,
I pay in sweat and sacrifice for a sideways glance, enlightened lint.
She shares my laughter
and soothes my pain
embraces darkness
and celebrates rain.
She’s the only person
who accepts me for me.
When I encounter a blind spot
she helps me to see.
I’ve never known anyone
so strong and wise
A stalwart soul
who can empathize
A generous heart
that gives so much.
She creates safe space
with a healer’s touch.
I’m so grateful for
the love she shows.
And if she ever wondered,
I hope now she knows.
Where others kept a facade
She lived for her work,
Fearless and forgiving
in another’s name.
Where others judged
she opened her arms.
When backs were turned
She counselled.
Every needle track
in a junkie’s arm
told a story.
Every cell door
that slammed
let her in.
Christlike, she entered
under the roofs
of the most wretched.
Christlike, she was shunned
by her peers.
She’s gone home now,
He life’s work completed
An angel among us.
My favorite famous woman has been Maria Montessori for over three decades now. Her fame arises from her research into infants, and how they could blossom given simple freedom to choose. She understood if children are allowed—given respect—to play, or work—at their own pace on whatever material, toy or tool, they choose with free will; then concentration will form, attention to detail will be sparked; confidence blossom, and the unique self of the human being is born. Dr. Montessori developed environments for young children, ages 2-6, to draw from. She developed and provided materials that the children would be drawn to; beautiful, durable manipulations that the child would play with, work with, experiment with. Each child develops at their own pace—in their own time—so the environment or classroom was designed to be a self-directed learning environment—depending on each child’s sensitive period. They may pour water, testing weight and capacity, they may draw, trace, paste, cut with pencil paint and scissors. They may build with blocks, they may sit quietly and watch—observe the other children—wait for just the right time to choose to begin. Maria Montessori discovered the human soul that is innate in every child born—she not only discovered it, she found the soil, the water, the nutrients to enable the psyche to grow, to flourish.
She breaks into tears
broad shoulders shuddering
under the weight
she must bear
every waking day.
I wrap my arms
around her broad form.
She is so soft
to be so hardened
against the world
of walls she batters against.
Walls I cannot break down
alone. Walls I and others
like me helped build
through our complacency
our acceptance.
The shame I feel
as I hold her to me
is all this moment can do.
We take deep breaths
step back
each seeing now
the color of our skin.
We smile. We nod.
We say
I’m okay for now.
But there is so much more
work to do.
[Prompt 1: Write a poem about a famous woman or an influential woman you know personally.]
When a boy
is granted a family
comprised of
Women
He is privy to
The Intelligence
The Power
The Influence
That X can have over Y
and
if he has the courage to grow
to feel with his whole being
He knows that the old parts of the bible got it wrong
He knows that the Head is turned by the Neck
and doesn’t see how when someone says
topple the Patriarchy
they can’t understand that The Matriarchy already has control