“My alone
feels so good,
I’ll only have you
if you’re sweeter
than my solitude.”
— Warsan Shireஇڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—…இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—இڿ
Monthly Archives: July 2015
Affirmation
Deconstructing Masculinity & Manhood with Michael Kimmel @ Dartmouth College
YAAAAEEESSSSSSS
You know what I like, and feel is so important? That he doesn’t say “Men thinks those are THEIR positions”. He says “We think those are OUR positions.”
As a male feminist, he still doesn’t exclude himself from the group of men.
Bad Logic
Constance, check out the quote below:
“Claiming there is no other life in the universe is like scooping up some water, looking at the cup and claiming there are no whales in the ocean.”
— Neil deGrasse Tyson, reply to “Aliens don’t exist because we have not found them yet
Of course, this is very cute, and one of those zingers that makes a certain sense…but one could also say
“Claiming there is other life in the universe is like scooping up some water, looking at the cup and claiming that I just haven’t found a whale in a pond because I haven’t checked every single pond yet.”
My point is more about logic and how it’s used (or ignored) rather than so-called alien life-forms.
That topic is somewhat moot, as the potential presence of aliens still does not address that thing that’s off inside of humanity. The topic of logic and thought, however, is pretty relevant at all times for humanity.
I Lost Time Today
I lost time today…misplaced it completely
as I sat, wondering how
the lavender takes body and position
in the skies above.
Does it wish its way up there?
Does it woo with song and dance?
Notes so sweet floating on air
to paint and wash and seize its chance
to smear its bloody beauty stain
upon the sky’s face once so plain
just blue…and now in wonder-grains
of beauty brief that won’t remain…
I lost time today…
It’s The Wonder
Lately it’s been getting harder,
harder to breathe…my chest
is burdened, weighed down,
constricted and heaving
and breath, a woman writhing in labor,
gasps and tears at air so thick
it only gives up in pieces ragged
and jagged and grippy.
The older I get, the harder it is
to breathe.
Doctors call it asthma, they say
I’ve had it all my life
(who knew? Not I!)
And me none the wiser, I just
worked so hard and suffered harder
and swam straight on thru strife.
But recently, I coughed real hard!
And what I thought was sputum
was really a fresh bud coughed up
and then spit out for good!
That’s when I realized, my lungs
have turned into a flower bed
of Mama’s Blossoms Fragrant
and oh so beautiful.
To Be Standing Under
“We’re all so desperate to be understood,
we forget to be understanding.”
we forget to be understanding.”
| — | Beau Taplin // U n d e r s t a n d i n g |
I Fly Steady On
Past Lady Liberty, looming silent still
thru slant snow, icy, cold,
frozen feet firmly planted
atop the broken chains
of captives loosed, unbound.
Past her seeming sightless eyes
fixed on an end unseen (as yet)
by mortal eye, and unfelt by
frozen human hearts transfixed,
addicted to poisonous demon draughts,
dolorous naughts of racism,
oppression,
of hate.
I fly steady on…I fly.
My breath a billows sucking air
frozen cold in sips so sharp
in hurty breaths constricted, choked,
and exhalations honk their way
from my leaping, working chest
tugging me on towards Her Light,
into Liberty’s coming sun.
Follow…follow past frozen
Liberty so stark and solitary
standing witness silent
but never mute!
Follow me bravely
and let your frozen breath
be transformed into
HONKS of freedom
to the ones enslaved
still by fear and hatred.
I fly on, true.
I fly on.
The Birds of Desire
“She was like a forest,
like the dark interlacing
of the oakwood,
humming inaudibly
with myriad unfolding buds.
Meanwhile
the birds of desire
were asleep
in the vast interlaced
intricacy of her body.”
— D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover
Save Your Magic
I saw these pictures laid out just now…and oh how I laughed!
Constance, how often have you found yourself
in a situation in life that is basically just uncooked fries?
They are raw, frozen, and must endure some heat
to be transformed into something
edible and delicious.
And yet, you fear the flame, you dread the pain
and thus you look to magic for escape
the magic place inside that we all have.
Magic isn’t free, no! It involves
a different kind of pain, more permanent,
more costly and more precious in its gift.
Hey, open up your heart and let a smile
consume your face like sun consumes the night!
And get you in the oven…get you in your fight!!
and let your fries be cooked so you can eat
and with such joy your days you’ll rise to greet!!
He Said…She Said
“…I have remained a poet, in the most radical sense of the word.”
| — | Friedrich Nietzsche, from a letter to Peter Gast |
I am laughing as I read this quote
this poor man sounding like Bill Grogan’s Goat
who swallowed the farmer’s red long underwear
and now has indigestion everywhere!
remain…poet…radical…sense…the word
that sentence is red long underwear
giving me indigestion, and as I bleat
I cough it up down at the rail road tracks
and flag the passing train that hurtles by
rolling towards the trestle out, destroyed!
how can I remain a poetess? I am still “main”
and thus have no access to “re”…just main
and Poetry? She scoffs at notions, high pretensions
such as “most” and “sense” when grafted
to the context of the Word.
NAY! This heart poetic, precious is defined,
is described, is found and measured
in the shadow cast and context of the Word
*in the beginning was/is/shallbe*
and in the Word “sense” is mere nonsense,
and radical is a sub-atomic particle straining free
and remain is so redundant, oh so boring
and goats munch red underwear and choke
I am a poetess, because the Word
and Poetry my mistress and my Queen
and nonsense is outside sense as dark is light
and I “main” my flow, my creative Delight
I am Charissa Grace and I am free
so sorry for Nietzsche, too fearful to be
THE FACTS (about transgender kids)
Originally posted on gendermom:
A couple of weeks ago, I read the following words in an article on the home page of The New York Times: “…studies suggest that most young children with gender dysphoria eventually lose any desire to change sex,…
Catacombs and Caverns
I heard caverns deep behind your words of wonder.
I heard water dripping softly from wet ceilings
in those hollow places that you talked
so gingerly around…I heard your words resound,
your words of wonder…
in catacombs within so dark with dying
and dismal longing smothering and sighing,
the death to self and terrible becoming
in places of deep grief and self-discovery
those spaces once full, quick became so hollow…
I hear your hollow places faintly filling
with sorrow bleeding, and thus filled becoming
drained, emptied in the lonely tearful crying
that hallows fearful places looming darkly,
places of slow death so severely emptied,
bereavement fresh yet ancient,
everlasting and then grief become
dark resurrection hinted at
in every birth brand new,
in every dying….
I found your trails familiar, well worn, hidden
so deep within the kidneys of your words
and yet those trails well known in rising darkness,
(a left at that root ragged there, then quickly
around that rugged rock jutting sharp right here).
I have been walking word roads too, becoming
and finding that my caverns dark and thrumming
catacombs full, then empty, full then empty
more times than I can count or e’en remember
and I wonder in such a holy horror
when my wonder became wander…wander…wander!
Yet I am here! Alive and breathing! Singing!
I’m here to tell you, it gets better, Darling
But only on this singular condition:
the losing of your everything in dying
and thus it is
you can be born
again and live
so lively new,
again.
Today, as I sit, listening to your heart, Dear
I look back at what I have lost…oh my God!
The stuff of Titans, losses heaped and horded,
my trinkets, treasures tossed, honors awarded
all tumbled in the twilight, gleaming dully
in the hot noon listless sun, laying there lifeless
and in the evening gloaming calling mutely
midst catacomb become my living darkness,
that cavern now my womb filling with wonder
all finally lost…and now? And now…The finding…
truly nothing
can compare
to the all surpassing
wonder of a world
made brand new
and my
Catacombs and Caverns
filled forever,
never failing, filled
and brand new
every morning,
every mourning
every warning
made brand new
and full of wonder
full of wander
full of You.
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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