The Poetry Marathon

Fashioning

Those dressmaking scissors
Heavy to hold and never to be used
Fashioning costumes hiding in
Won prizes every year
Slicing words interspersed nurture
Continuum of dialog
Too early to filter
Dressmaker programming those undressed.

Heavy sinking in
Car journeys
Her and I alone
Unfinished house
He came back so late
So much shouting
English green agoraphobia
Never a good child.

Exotic from abroad
Yet xenophobia for all
Able to create anything
Yet mind turned sharp
Told how special I was
Yet demon you couldn’t handle
Amazed with everything looking so skilled
Yet cradle pushed, no secure base.

Beholden to what puts it in motion
Markings strike stars shards and sparks
Reflected sameness, unclear heritage
Conceptual inheritance with maternal sins
What talent, like you, without foundation
Secret love for those with your face
Hostile hypersensitive and unsafe
Trying to find your love in hers.

So long walking away,
Leaving me, eyes through letterbox torment
More than the hardest times
Holding hitting never sure what to do
With only one of you,
How would another bring me?
So much, subtle profound parts of you
Laying roots far enough to survive.

Madame Curie

As a fellow Marie

You inspired the

Mad Scientist in me

 

My love of physics and chemistry

The  scandalous Madame Curie

 

First woman to win, then

finding true depths of isolation

When you, and only you

Received Nobel number two.

 

You, continued on

Becoming the first female

professor of Surbonne

 

Idealistic mother-daughter bond

Your life saving Little Curies

X-rayed injuries through the

World War tragedies

 

Mother of modern physics

Laid in a bed of lead

Radioactive in the end.

9am Step In

Step into the journey and explore, be present, here fluid, be you.

A Footnote in my Textbook

Illuminated by fluorescence, a brilliant “X” on the paper,

The code to life, the double helix that guides us all.

A discovery that would change the course of science.

 

For years, she was cast into the shadows, a nobody,

While two false geniuses were written into history

Her work, a pedestal, to climb the ranks of academia

 

She died, a young woman, seemingly unsuccessful in her field, an assistant to the superior,

But now we know her for what she truly was, the pioneer of modern science, Rosalind Franklin.

The Revolt Poet – Display of Strength

The more often, we are asked to applaud
The “heroism” displayed by our Armed Force –
Note the significance of the second word,
Defined as strength,
Not compassion –
The greater we find the debate is condensed
To remove all modicum of common sense
Into: Patriot vs. Traitor
Terrorist vs. Saviour
Because though we all know killing is a criminal behaviour
That does not apply where it’s those in armour participating in the erasure
Of some Middle Easter nation
Or population of East Asians.

The truth is
Your propaganda doesn’t frighten me,
Your state displays of power, can’t unenlighten me
You’ll never make me worship profit,
Greed or aggression, in our time of need,
Ahead of kinship, community
Or the quest for peace.

Hour 1: Sylvia

There were two of you?  Perhaps.
playgirl and genius.  Both disrobed
professor and viper, in a pageant

So easy to judge because we
love to judge
Because you left behind so many notes.

Asleep under the house, your hibernating
heart cracked open with a chisel
miraculous, begging for lobotomy

Both frantic in the guts and chambers of
a big apple, you choked,
spat it out

Wove a shroud, a mask of letters
for your mother, you
rehearsed and edited life

Paced the street in brutal ice that
froze all the pipes, burst others,
looking for a phone booth

The switch board doesn’t know
where to send your calls
You have no tolerance for pain

Two of you?  Perhaps.
but it took only one oven and
neither called for help.

2020 Hour 1: Late Breaking Misogyny

#1:  Late Breaking Misogyny

As a woman, for the most part

I have been a failure.

This judgement, by itself

Evidence of years of self-inflicted terrorism

Against my own sex.

So when you ask me now

To praise on this page a woman of influence

I draw a blank.

Instead, I could provide an internal examination

X-rays of cuts and bruises to my sense of self

Probing for some latent feminism

Free-floating and occasionally attaching to cells

But stopping short of penetrating that last layer of skin.

If I asked these women, would they say the same?

How much damage had been done to them

And how much more by their own acquiescence

To a norm they did not invent

Until their DNA, programmed to remain silent

Took up arms, forced to the surface by rage.

But they were more courageous than me.

My praise is jealousy

I wish I were them.

9am

Hey you;

I wish I could tell you
it’ll be easy
everything will go your way
You’ll reach all of your goals-

I can’t

It will hurt
It will sting
it will make you cry

It’s going to make you think
It’s going to make you laugh
wonder why
stomp away
fight another day

Oh the many facets of life-

So many directions to go
so many paths to take
so many choices to be made
But this I know

It will get you dirty
it will take you places you’re not sure
you want to go
It will make you bleed

You’re going to hate yourself
love yourself
challenge yourself

The things you’ll see

will traumatize you
will drag you down
will make you want to die

But I know you will be ok
on the other side.

Love, me

Love Me Do

Even though you can’t.

Despite the fact that you and I will retire to our separate corners as you swim away and leave the lighthouse devoid of illumination.

And I know it’s not what it could be but the way

it ended was the fault of redaction.

I wish you the best and I know that street goes both ways

so don’t be a stranger in a world that knows you better than you know yourself.

Frida Kahlo – Hour One

I very much enjoy the conversations you and I have in my head,

The rambling dialogues cast from my bed

(For different reasons I am anchored to mine much of the time)

Where we find comfort in commonalities –

Teachers who valued connection over hierarchy;

Nurturing souls who lived child-free;

Passionate nationalists for rose tinted lands;

‘Difficult women’ who let nobody force their hands

And over this period of lockdown especially you have focused my thoughts

On how a true period of confinement

Can lead to a refinement –

Unencumbered by oughts –

After all – we could all be hit by a bus tomorrow

But who among us would see a window for growth,

Beyond sorrow.