Poets & Writers challenge for todays is to transcribe a poem—one of your own from this month’s challenge or a poem that’s spoken to you sometime this month—onto a postcard. By the end of the day, slip that card into the mail to be delivered to a friend.
I think that in addition to transcribing one of my poems for a friend, I'll write a postcard poem.
Wish You Were Here
Danna
Dear Siobhan.,
I wish you were here beside me,
alternating between holding
your breath and screaming curses
into the swirling chaos. The sky
is a threatening lapis blue,
and the trees are bent in a sideways
prayer beneath the wind's finger.
You always loved to be scared,
always loved knowing that the whirlwind
was out on the horizon waiting for you,
sharpening its scythe on its leather strop.
Best,
Danna
Showing posts with label 30 Poems in 30 Days. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 30 Poems in 30 Days. Show all posts
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-nine: Driving to Mercury
When I finally looked at the clock last night, it was midnight and too late to get my twenty-ninth poem in on time. If you've been reading this blog, you know I've written a poem every day,(well, except for that Oregon weekend where I posted three poems in advance). It appears I'm the kind of runner that runs strong the entire race until the finish line is in sight, then just peters out. Not that I'm a runner, but an apt analogy. Speaking of running, I used to run everywhere, compete and win races at elementary and middle school. I had dreams of becoming a track star, but my mother told me it wasn't "feminine", which I understand now meant independent, tomboy, perhaps alternative, oh my! Come to think of it, nothing I did was "feminine", even the church patriarch after he gave me a blessing, said it was a "man's blessing", but that's a story for another day. To be fair to all involved, this was right on the cusp of the equal rights movement, and the cultural paradigm shift, I mean, women could be ticketed for wearing slacks in public buildings. No kidding.
I wish I had continued running. I really miss those muscles.
Here's Poets & Writers prompt for yesterday's poetry challenge: Pause today and allow yourself at least fifteen uninterrupted minutes to write freely, using the first word or phrase that comes to mind to guide the entire exercise. If you come to a stopping point in the writing before time is up, revisit the initial word or words as you would a refrain.
Driving to Mercury
Danna
We shred ribbons of highway
stretching across the planet's surface
under the watchful eyes of the stars
the car's headlights illuminating our path
I am strapped into the driver seat
hands holding the steering wheel loosely
heading toward that dark horizon
pulled by its gleaming iron core
My dog is curled in the passenger seat
whimpering in his dreams
He is unaware the smallest planet
of the solar system
is expecting our arrival
I know we must hurry into the distance
to win the race with the swift
footed messenger's flight across the heavens
before he disappears
once again in the morning light
I wish I had continued running. I really miss those muscles.
Here's Poets & Writers prompt for yesterday's poetry challenge: Pause today and allow yourself at least fifteen uninterrupted minutes to write freely, using the first word or phrase that comes to mind to guide the entire exercise. If you come to a stopping point in the writing before time is up, revisit the initial word or words as you would a refrain.
Driving to Mercury
Danna
We shred ribbons of highway
stretching across the planet's surface
under the watchful eyes of the stars
the car's headlights illuminating our path
I am strapped into the driver seat
hands holding the steering wheel loosely
heading toward that dark horizon
pulled by its gleaming iron core
My dog is curled in the passenger seat
whimpering in his dreams
He is unaware the smallest planet
of the solar system
is expecting our arrival
I know we must hurry into the distance
to win the race with the swift
footed messenger's flight across the heavens
before he disappears
once again in the morning light
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-eight: What Goes Around
Poets & Writers challenge for today is to choose a clichéd phrase ("fit as a fiddle," "think out of the box," "running on empty," etc.) and turn it around. Use the new meaning created by this reversal to fuel a poetic meditation.
I'll be working with either "have your cake and eat it too" or "what goes around comes around", but much later today.
What Goes Around
Danna
the burdens of the dead
float inside him
like a boat made of sharp bones
his own death is coming
a shadow out on the dark water
I'll be working with either "have your cake and eat it too" or "what goes around comes around", but much later today.
What Goes Around
Danna
the burdens of the dead
float inside him
like a boat made of sharp bones
his own death is coming
a shadow out on the dark water
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-seven: Him
Today's Poets & Writers prompt is to write a poem to or about a person close to you using any of the senses except sight.
Hmmm... sound it is.
Him
Danna
dry
staccato
rasp
of
calloused
skin
rubbing
like
cicada
wings
against
cotton
sheets
Hmmm... sound it is.
Him
Danna
dry
staccato
rasp
of
calloused
skin
rubbing
like
cicada
wings
against
cotton
sheets
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-six: Pernicious
The following is Poets & Writers poetry challenge for April 26:
Choose a word or phrase you find yourself saying often (e.g. like, totally, hate, really, kind of) and write a poem using it as much as possible, turning it over and over, repositioning it, extending it, playing with its uses and the parts of speech into which it can be shaped.
I love the words alchemy and peripatetic, but I'm really leaning to pernicious at this moment. I'll see if I can calm myself down. In any case, I'll be back in to write the poem later this evening. In the meantime why don't you try writing a poem based on a often-used word.
I was watching The United States of Tara, basically procrastinating writing this poem, when I got the idea to steal dialogue and switch it up a bit.
Pernicious
Danna
come inside my world
same pernicious time,tomorrow
pernicious you, pernicious me
pernited kismet, ying to my yang
a warning: this per-ni-ci-ous damage
does not hold together
well, well, well
do you understnd you are not
the boss of this perniciuos process?
really, well then, prepare to get pernicused
where do you think you are perning going?
the elements have conspired perniciously
can't you feel it?
the perny eye of the storm
is out there watching
what are you perning going to do about it?
this is the perniciousing real world
you have to be smart as pern
or the system will eat you
it's so perniciousing exhausting
it is about pernicious time to get out
of this perning basement
I'm running out of pernicioused things to say
for pern's sake, will you please start talking?
Choose a word or phrase you find yourself saying often (e.g. like, totally, hate, really, kind of) and write a poem using it as much as possible, turning it over and over, repositioning it, extending it, playing with its uses and the parts of speech into which it can be shaped.
I love the words alchemy and peripatetic, but I'm really leaning to pernicious at this moment. I'll see if I can calm myself down. In any case, I'll be back in to write the poem later this evening. In the meantime why don't you try writing a poem based on a often-used word.
I was watching The United States of Tara, basically procrastinating writing this poem, when I got the idea to steal dialogue and switch it up a bit.
Pernicious
Danna
come inside my world
same pernicious time,tomorrow
pernicious you, pernicious me
pernited kismet, ying to my yang
a warning: this per-ni-ci-ous damage
does not hold together
well, well, well
do you understnd you are not
the boss of this perniciuos process?
really, well then, prepare to get pernicused
where do you think you are perning going?
the elements have conspired perniciously
can't you feel it?
the perny eye of the storm
is out there watching
what are you perning going to do about it?
this is the perniciousing real world
you have to be smart as pern
or the system will eat you
it's so perniciousing exhausting
it is about pernicious time to get out
of this perning basement
I'm running out of pernicioused things to say
for pern's sake, will you please start talking?
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-five: Dear Ellora Caves, Maharashtra
Tonight's challenge is from Poets & Writers 2009 poetry writing challenge. Last year on April 25 writers were to write a letter to a landscape or scene you pass through today. For example, “Dear Williamsburg Bridge..."
Dear Ellora Caves, Maharashtra
Danna
I have never been inside your basalt womb
never felt the Indian earth beneath my feet
I have only seen you in photographs
in which you are described as being near the old
caravan route linking northern cities
to ports on the west coast.
I have read that you are cut
from the Charanandri hills and are very old,
dating back to 600 A.D.
There are thirty-four of you,carved from the earth
for Jain, Hindu, or Buddhist observance.
Such a large family!
You must be proud of Ellora Cave 16,
the world's largest monolith
and axis between heaven and earth.
Neither the Greeks, Romans,
nor Egyptians can claim this honor.
So strong are you, that not even thirteenth
century muslims could damage you,
and they tried.
It is a delight to imagine that the caves,
Shiva and Parvati's Himilayan home
was coated with white
lime to resemble snow.
Dear Ellora Caves, Maharashtra
Danna
I have never been inside your basalt womb
never felt the Indian earth beneath my feet
I have only seen you in photographs
in which you are described as being near the old
caravan route linking northern cities
to ports on the west coast.
I have read that you are cut
from the Charanandri hills and are very old,
dating back to 600 A.D.
There are thirty-four of you,carved from the earth
for Jain, Hindu, or Buddhist observance.
Such a large family!
You must be proud of Ellora Cave 16,
the world's largest monolith
and axis between heaven and earth.
Neither the Greeks, Romans,
nor Egyptians can claim this honor.
So strong are you, that not even thirteenth
century muslims could damage you,
and they tried.
It is a delight to imagine that the caves,
Shiva and Parvati's Himilayan home
was coated with white
lime to resemble snow.
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-four: Strip
Tonight I'm writing an erasure poem using The Christian Science Monitor's Erin Cunningham's article Gaza Strip moves to preserve its abundant ancient treasure. Erasure poems excise words from existing text to create an original poem.
Poets & Writers magazine issued a erasure poem challenge a few issues back in which they provided the text for the erasure exercise,(and a poetry challenge from 2009 that I will use for the remaining five days of National Poetry Month, and my 30 Poems in 30 Days poem writing mania).
Here's a erasure example from a very cool blog.
You might enjoy reading Travis Macdonald' O Mission Repo erasure poem that used The 911 Report as the text it erasured.
I'd suggest that you print out the text and work with a hard copy rather than scrolling up and down a zillion times with a digital text.
Strip
Danna
empires
alabaster sprawl
ancient hoard
of rich
terror walled
to bronze
in the absence
of us
relics
plundered black
rule
secrets
of private
archaeology
and remain
to put away
god
The Gaza Strip was conquered by empires that left behind fortresses, alabaster jewelry, and bronze weaponry. Now the impoverished Strip is trying to rein in the black market in ancient treasure and better preserve items often found by chance.Gaza City, Gaza Better known for its long-running conflict, the Gaza Strip also has a reputation as an archaeological treasure-trove.Iraq's antiquities garner international attention Iraq's urban sprawl, not looting, threatens Ninevah antiquities When laborers stumbled on an ancient hoard of 1,300 silver coins and the walls of a 3,300-year-old city in the southern town of Rafah in January, it was a fresh reminder that the tiny territory maintains a richpast.At least a dozen major empires have conquered this tiny territory – including the Egyptians, Persians, Romans, Byzantines, Ottomans, and British. They left behind everything from walled fortresses to alabaster jewelry to bronze weaponry.But in the absence of solid laws or regulations, relics from as early as the Bronze Age are happened upon mostly by chance, poorly kept, plundered, or sold on the black market."Gaza is very small geographically, but in terms of archaeology, it is very large," says the Hamas minister of tourism and antiquities, Mohammed al-Agha. "Gaza was at the crossroads of Africa, Asia, and Europe, and there is a great accumulation of human civilization here. But we don't have our own specialists so we can't manage the sites professionally."Many of Gaza's artifacts, including 3,000-year-old anthropoid coffins, can be found at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem, dug up by Israeli archaeologists during the country's 38-year occupation of Gaza. Other Gazan antiquities are as far-flung as Istanbul and the British Museum in London."Gaza was for centuries the primary trade outlet of the hinterland of Jordan and the greater Arabian Peninsula," says Salim al-Mubaid, a professor at Gaza's Islamic University. "The Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Mamluks, and Ottomans all ruled us. There are secrets of history under every square meter."Until fairly recently, black market antiquities dealers say their business was nothing short of a free-for-all. Of some 25,000 gold and bronze coins discovered since 1990, for example, 14,000 were stolen and sold off, according to the antiquities ministry.Construction contractors like Jawhdat Khodary, who opened a privatemuseum in a beachfront space in 2008, would pay laborers and local fishermen for any artifacts they found, preserving at least 3,000 pieces."An ancient piece the size of a cellphone from the Pharaonic or Canaanite eras easily sells for $1 million on the black market," says Abu Ahmed, a dealer involved in the underground antiquity trade. "And I used to make a major deal every month."He says Israel's new travel restrictions through the Erez border crossing have hampered smuggling. But the market for relics in Israel, which he says is the biggest, is still there.Many Israelis consider the ancient region of Canaan, in which Gaza is believed to have been located, the precursor of the original land of Israel in the 2nd and 1st centuries BC.But Hamas says it is making both the regulation and preservation of historical sites a priority. The tourism and antiquities ministry inaugurated in January an artifacts museum in Gaza City – in an Ottoman-era governor's residence – and took control of the Rafah coin find.Mr. Agha says the ministry also plans to cooperate with Gaza's Islamic University to expand courses on archaeology. Hamas hired a new guard for the remains of the 3rd-century monastery that Mr. Mubaid says is Gaza's most important site.But Mr. Khodary charges Hamas with censoring some of his finds. He claims Hamas asked him to put away tiny menorahs – and a small statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, whose gown was deemed too revealing.
Poets & Writers magazine issued a erasure poem challenge a few issues back in which they provided the text for the erasure exercise,(and a poetry challenge from 2009 that I will use for the remaining five days of National Poetry Month, and my 30 Poems in 30 Days poem writing mania).
Here's a erasure example from a very cool blog.
You might enjoy reading Travis Macdonald' O Mission Repo erasure poem that used The 911 Report as the text it erasured.
I'd suggest that you print out the text and work with a hard copy rather than scrolling up and down a zillion times with a digital text.
Strip
Danna
empires
alabaster sprawl
ancient hoard
of rich
terror walled
to bronze
in the absence
of us
relics
plundered black
rule
secrets
of private
archaeology
and remain
to put away
god
The Gaza Strip was conquered by empires that left behind fortresses, alabaster jewelry, and bronze weaponry. Now the impoverished Strip is trying to rein in the black market in ancient treasure and better preserve items often found by chance.Gaza City, Gaza Better known for its long-running conflict, the Gaza Strip also has a reputation as an archaeological treasure-trove.Iraq's antiquities garner international attention Iraq's urban sprawl, not looting, threatens Ninevah antiquities When laborers stumbled on an ancient hoard of 1,300 silver coins and the walls of a 3,300-year-old city in the southern town of Rafah in January, it was a fresh reminder that the tiny territory maintains a richpast.At least a dozen major empires have conquered this tiny territory – including the Egyptians, Persians, Romans, Byzantines, Ottomans, and British. They left behind everything from walled fortresses to alabaster jewelry to bronze weaponry.But in the absence of solid laws or regulations, relics from as early as the Bronze Age are happened upon mostly by chance, poorly kept, plundered, or sold on the black market."Gaza is very small geographically, but in terms of archaeology, it is very large," says the Hamas minister of tourism and antiquities, Mohammed al-Agha. "Gaza was at the crossroads of Africa, Asia, and Europe, and there is a great accumulation of human civilization here. But we don't have our own specialists so we can't manage the sites professionally."Many of Gaza's artifacts, including 3,000-year-old anthropoid coffins, can be found at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem, dug up by Israeli archaeologists during the country's 38-year occupation of Gaza. Other Gazan antiquities are as far-flung as Istanbul and the British Museum in London."Gaza was for centuries the primary trade outlet of the hinterland of Jordan and the greater Arabian Peninsula," says Salim al-Mubaid, a professor at Gaza's Islamic University. "The Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Mamluks, and Ottomans all ruled us. There are secrets of history under every square meter."Until fairly recently, black market antiquities dealers say their business was nothing short of a free-for-all. Of some 25,000 gold and bronze coins discovered since 1990, for example, 14,000 were stolen and sold off, according to the antiquities ministry.Construction contractors like Jawhdat Khodary, who opened a privatemuseum in a beachfront space in 2008, would pay laborers and local fishermen for any artifacts they found, preserving at least 3,000 pieces."An ancient piece the size of a cellphone from the Pharaonic or Canaanite eras easily sells for $1 million on the black market," says Abu Ahmed, a dealer involved in the underground antiquity trade. "And I used to make a major deal every month."He says Israel's new travel restrictions through the Erez border crossing have hampered smuggling. But the market for relics in Israel, which he says is the biggest, is still there.Many Israelis consider the ancient region of Canaan, in which Gaza is believed to have been located, the precursor of the original land of Israel in the 2nd and 1st centuries BC.But Hamas says it is making both the regulation and preservation of historical sites a priority. The tourism and antiquities ministry inaugurated in January an artifacts museum in Gaza City – in an Ottoman-era governor's residence – and took control of the Rafah coin find.Mr. Agha says the ministry also plans to cooperate with Gaza's Islamic University to expand courses on archaeology. Hamas hired a new guard for the remains of the 3rd-century monastery that Mr. Mubaid says is Gaza's most important site.But Mr. Khodary charges Hamas with censoring some of his finds. He claims Hamas asked him to put away tiny menorahs – and a small statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, whose gown was deemed too revealing.
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-three: Karma Will Cut You to Ribbons
Have Your Cake Distressed Red - SweetDee on etsy.comI love the phrasing of this poster. The word "will" changes the emphasis from having a devil may care I'll do as I please and what are you going to do about it? attitude to the devil's gonna get ya and get ya good. SweetDee's poster makes me feel much, much better about things. Seriously. Just the thought of those particular cake--eaters getting theirs, well, my heart rate zens out.
Karma, what goes around, comes around, is the springboard for today's poem. I've posted basic information about karma from wiki. I really don't know where this poem will go. It may be about the law of returns, what you sow, you reap, or perhaps about a woman named Karma. I'll see.
Even though I always try to make meaning from every situation, I'm leaning more to the randomness of life, in case you're wondering if I'm a believer in karma. I do believe in actions equals consequences, except that there are a lot of people out there whose egregious behavior goes unpunished. What's up with that? I suppose bad behavior is in the eye of the beholder. What I know from the list of how karma is produced is that I better clean up the invective and mafiaoso-speak while I'm driving. And I need to stop with the snarkiness.
"We are the heirs of our own actions." Buddha
Karma is not fate, for humans act with free will creating their own destiny. According to the Vedas, if we sow goodness, we will reap goodness; if we sow evil, we will reap evil. Karma refers to the totality of our actions and their concomitant reactions in this and previous lives, all of which determines our future. The conquest of karma lies in intelligent action and dispassionate response.
According to Paramhans Swami Maheshwarananda, we produce Karma in four ways:
through thoughts
through words
through actions that we perform ourselves
through actions others do under our instructions - from wikipedia
Karma Will Cut You to Ribbons
Danna
go back to that sightless fish swimming
inside the cave of the body
toward the dark-haired girl
her virgin skin shimmering
in the kitchen's ambient moonlight
metal ringing in her ears
knives falling from the rocking table
like reverberating echoes pinging
through the cave's recessess
to the waxed linoleum floor
go back to the girl looking to the doorway
her shadow self standing at the threshold
a slow hiss lifting in her coiling tresses
30 Poem in 30 Days - Twenty-two: Horoscope
On the way to work today a rat ran across the street in front of my car. It was raining so I slowed down to make certain it was a rat. It was. I thought "what does this portend for the day?" then just as quickly, forgot the question, until I was trying to figure out what to write for tonight's poem, and my thoughts returned to rodents, and also, symbolism and mythology.
It turned out that it was a "rat" kind of day, lots of unpleasantness and petty annoyances. A literal portent. But, according to Indian mythology, Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, rides on a rat, so, silver lining, and all that.
I decided to write a poem inpired by horoscopes. Everyday when I open my computer, or read the news, I read my horoscope. It's usually random, but today's was a little eerie, which must mean I want to believe it, or I've made the prognostications conform to the events of my day. All of this lead to writing a horoscope poem.
Horoscope
Danna
A problem you have been avoiding since the day
you were born, will resurface today. It is the residue
of a past life. You have a restless spirit which twists
inside your skin like a snake. The planets have aligned
themselves against you and will continue until the Saturn
Uranus opposition has run its course. Do not attempt to exchange
the cards you have been dealt today, as this will only foster
disappointment and despair. Your deepest desire
is to run blindly into battle, armed only with the sharp
elbow of your erection. A lightening strike of clarity
will reveal the truth of your current situation. There
is a tendency to yield to nostalgia, dwelling on the past
when you clothed yourself in the blood of the living
and the dead. Focus on the present.
It turned out that it was a "rat" kind of day, lots of unpleasantness and petty annoyances. A literal portent. But, according to Indian mythology, Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, rides on a rat, so, silver lining, and all that.
I decided to write a poem inpired by horoscopes. Everyday when I open my computer, or read the news, I read my horoscope. It's usually random, but today's was a little eerie, which must mean I want to believe it, or I've made the prognostications conform to the events of my day. All of this lead to writing a horoscope poem.
Horoscope
Danna
A problem you have been avoiding since the day
you were born, will resurface today. It is the residue
of a past life. You have a restless spirit which twists
inside your skin like a snake. The planets have aligned
themselves against you and will continue until the Saturn
Uranus opposition has run its course. Do not attempt to exchange
the cards you have been dealt today, as this will only foster
disappointment and despair. Your deepest desire
is to run blindly into battle, armed only with the sharp
elbow of your erection. A lightening strike of clarity
will reveal the truth of your current situation. There
is a tendency to yield to nostalgia, dwelling on the past
when you clothed yourself in the blood of the living
and the dead. Focus on the present.
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty-one: Denied
The inspiration for this poem is taken from the events of the day, actually one event. I've been in a snit since I received the news. This poem goes out to a certain entity.
I grabbed the closest book next to the bed and started pointing and culling words for each declaration of denial. This exercise did lighten my mood, a little.
Denied
Danna
no ghetto thoughts
no dinky leaves
no cicada revelation
no grass soul
no disappearance lines
no designated burst
no sabotage minnows
no archbishop stage
no mayonaisse violence
no mob hiccoughs
no ruinous water
no milk darkness
no myopic thorns
no blurred celebrations
no bottom glow
no fleecy dimensions
no syrup sails
no nameless before
no thirst nightmare
no kisses counsel
no jelly history
no statutory laughter
no straw knees
no doormat solitude
no corn sun
no mercury vixen
no composite mania
no gulping year
no dead book
no forest miracle
no poison heart
no April basilca
no intonation pyramid
no pantyhose anger
no indifferent luminescences
no melancholic sky
no flagpole shimmer
no doll transgressions
no phosphorescent coil
no throat invasions
no butterfly nonchalance
no moth constellations
no tunnel goodbye
no memory moon
no desert orgasm
no garden rippling
no homeostatic church
no wind stanzas
no cigarette theology
no blue sobbing
no hawthorn squall
no pixel cardinals
no prophylactic theories
no lavendar sneeze
no quilt tenements
no dream opera
no gobbet throbbing
no virgin interference
no money avatar
no twig philosophers
no smoke eternity
I grabbed the closest book next to the bed and started pointing and culling words for each declaration of denial. This exercise did lighten my mood, a little.
Denied
Danna
no ghetto thoughts
no dinky leaves
no cicada revelation
no grass soul
no disappearance lines
no designated burst
no sabotage minnows
no archbishop stage
no mayonaisse violence
no mob hiccoughs
no ruinous water
no milk darkness
no myopic thorns
no blurred celebrations
no bottom glow
no fleecy dimensions
no syrup sails
no nameless before
no thirst nightmare
no kisses counsel
no jelly history
no statutory laughter
no straw knees
no doormat solitude
no corn sun
no mercury vixen
no composite mania
no gulping year
no dead book
no forest miracle
no poison heart
no April basilca
no intonation pyramid
no pantyhose anger
no indifferent luminescences
no melancholic sky
no flagpole shimmer
no doll transgressions
no phosphorescent coil
no throat invasions
no butterfly nonchalance
no moth constellations
no tunnel goodbye
no memory moon
no desert orgasm
no garden rippling
no homeostatic church
no wind stanzas
no cigarette theology
no blue sobbing
no hawthorn squall
no pixel cardinals
no prophylactic theories
no lavendar sneeze
no quilt tenements
no dream opera
no gobbet throbbing
no virgin interference
no money avatar
no twig philosophers
no smoke eternity
30 Poems in 30 Days - Twenty: Autobiography
The prompt for today's poem is to take a moment from your life, or an imagined life, and recreate it in rich sensory detail and imagery.
Autobiography
Danna
Sitting
in the crook
of the
tree
Hard bark
pressing
into
flesh
Sky the color
of a fresh
promise
Geese honking
overhead were
messengers
Sent to tell
me I
needed
my own
ocean
I was the
master
of a great
ship
A captain
of the roiling
waves
Life was
so much bigger
then
So much
smaller
Autobiography
Danna
Sitting
in the crook
of the
tree
Hard bark
pressing
into
flesh
Sky the color
of a fresh
promise
Geese honking
overhead were
messengers
Sent to tell
me I
needed
my own
ocean
I was the
master
of a great
ship
A captain
of the roiling
waves
Life was
so much bigger
then
So much
smaller
30 Poems in 30 Days - Nineteen: The Oven
The idea for today's poem is an adaptation of a fairytale. I chose the original version of Hansel & Gretel, pre-stepmother.
The Oven
Danna
mother at the sink cutting
strawberries,red juice
bleeding down white cupboards
her husband's children
fraternal twinned red-haired
girl and boy enter the house
grab handfuls of quartered
strawberries,emptying
the bowl while mother is bent
over her oven
blood-red juice stain their child hands
out, out, to the forest with you, pick,
mother says, handing each a small pail
menacing trees crowd
the bread strewn path
a bend reveals a confection-laden cabin
the hungry children eat without permission
an old woman burdened with greetings
and gifts appears
eat, eat, come inside, eat more
she says, handing each a porcelain dish
inside, a cage, a lock, an oven
The Oven
Danna
mother at the sink cutting
strawberries,red juice
bleeding down white cupboards
her husband's children
fraternal twinned red-haired
girl and boy enter the house
grab handfuls of quartered
strawberries,emptying
the bowl while mother is bent
over her oven
blood-red juice stain their child hands
out, out, to the forest with you, pick,
mother says, handing each a small pail
menacing trees crowd
the bread strewn path
a bend reveals a confection-laden cabin
the hungry children eat without permission
an old woman burdened with greetings
and gifts appears
eat, eat, come inside, eat more
she says, handing each a porcelain dish
inside, a cage, a lock, an oven
30 Poems in 30 Days - Eighteen: Tinkerbell's Advice
This poem is from a writing exercise I did way back in '02 in which we were to access and write from the shadow side of your personality. I remember I was in a dark bent of mind and was certain Kali or Medusa would appear, but no. Tinkerbell came flittling in. She appeared as a tiny magical fairy dusting the sky silver with her magical wand. She wore a gown of white feathers. In my version of Tinkerbell, she sleeps in a wooden shoe that is balanced on a precariously pointed mountain, but she doesn't worry. The shoe rocks her to sleep. She told me it was time to "lighten up!"
Tinkerbell's Advice
Danna
Put a brisket in the fire
let it spin in upmost dire
oh, you thought this poem would rhyme
now you know the words are mine
you are so attached to sorrow
you don't think of crims and torrow
yes, I know I've made it up
listen to the tripe you sup
you can't weep the days away
you must choose the way to fly
no one knows your deepest wish
no, not even you to keep
all is sky and cloud and wish
take the leap
it's only air
Tinkerbell's Advice
Danna
Put a brisket in the fire
let it spin in upmost dire
oh, you thought this poem would rhyme
now you know the words are mine
you are so attached to sorrow
you don't think of crims and torrow
yes, I know I've made it up
listen to the tripe you sup
you can't weep the days away
you must choose the way to fly
no one knows your deepest wish
no, not even you to keep
all is sky and cloud and wish
take the leap
it's only air
30 Poems in 30 Days - Seventeen: Ghost Birds
Ghost Birds
Danna
i.
spirits live among us
secreting in cupboards
and closets
behind half open doors
they waft through air
like spent skin
gusts of exhaled breath
sighs of sorrow and regret
so it is,
so it is and always.
ii.
winged spirit
released from the flesh
of this body
grow into forgiveness
in the skin of another body
iii.
gone like a cipher
a small glittering
behind the retina
a pulsing
then silence
vast and empty
like the womb
vi.
a broken vessel
shards crumbled to dust
v.
cigarette ash colored sky
seraphs circle close
quick footsteps behind
and all around
a voice from the closet whispering
Danna
i.
spirits live among us
secreting in cupboards
and closets
behind half open doors
they waft through air
like spent skin
gusts of exhaled breath
sighs of sorrow and regret
so it is,
so it is and always.
ii.
winged spirit
released from the flesh
of this body
grow into forgiveness
in the skin of another body
iii.
gone like a cipher
a small glittering
behind the retina
a pulsing
then silence
vast and empty
like the womb
vi.
a broken vessel
shards crumbled to dust
v.
cigarette ash colored sky
seraphs circle close
quick footsteps behind
and all around
a voice from the closet whispering
30 Poems in 30 Days - Sixteen: Secret Crow
I'm cheating a little by posting sixteen - eighteen early. I won't be near a computer the next three days, and I don't want to break my streak, so I'm posting these poems early. I will confess that I wrote them earlier, in some cases, years. But, I will be writing longhand while I'm away from my computers.
Secret Crow
Danna
One crow
at sunrise
circling like regret
or memory weaving
in and out of itself
reconfiguring
and disremembering
sluicing the silence of clouds
Nine crows
at midmorning
shadows flitting
wings dark secrets hovering
on the periphery
throaty caws croaking
we know, we know, we know
A solitary crow
at midafternoon
diving and pitching
black wings transformed white
a winged spirit homeward bound
Secret Crow
Danna
One crow
at sunrise
circling like regret
or memory weaving
in and out of itself
reconfiguring
and disremembering
sluicing the silence of clouds
Nine crows
at midmorning
shadows flitting
wings dark secrets hovering
on the periphery
throaty caws croaking
we know, we know, we know
A solitary crow
at midafternoon
diving and pitching
black wings transformed white
a winged spirit homeward bound
30 Poems in 30 Days - Fifteen: Shekel of Tyre
Shekel of TyreI had to post the image of a shekel. Old coins, graven images, are so cool!
Toni William's commodity poetry exercise at The Guardian served as inspiration for poem fifteen. The assignment is to chose something, anything that can be bought or sold.
I searched around on google trying to land on a subject that would be of interest and finally narrowed the search to ancient coins, specifically, the shekel. The shekel of Tyre was common and it is the coin that Judas would have received to betray Christ.
I've collected coins since I was a kid. About twenty years ago I found an advertisement in a coin magazine, 30 lbs for 30 Dollars! I ordered the bag of coins and there were coins from all over the world, a few of historic value.
Shekel of Tyre
Danna
looking at a dead man's mouth,
what is the use of god
or money unspent?
give me hunger,
greed to be alive
give me silver,
the betrayer's coin,
holy and invoilable,
coin enough for a slave
or a life
30 Poems in 30 Days - Thirteen: Famous Last Words
The idea for this prose poem is pairing fictional and creative nonfiction vignettes with famous last words.
Famous Last Words
Danna
My fortieth birthday I decided to leave my husband. I have made that same decision every year since. Lying to yourself is a kind of dying. Am I dying or is this my birthday? Lady Nancy Astor. As a child, I stood in the crook of an oak tree and imagined it was a ship, and I the serious and grim captain steering it to far off lands. Oh, you young people act like old men. You have no fun. Josephine Baker. I was twenty-four and living in a squalid apartments with my first husband, when I realized I would never be a great artist. I gathered all my self-portraits and threw them in the dumpster. Later that day, after returning from work, I found them lined up on the parking terrace. Our resident dumpster diver sat beside them. He gave me a thumbs up. I went in the apartment, returned with a knife and shredded them, threw them back into the dumpster, got in my car and drove away. I was lucky a policeman didn't pull me over for speeding. I would have had a hard time explaining the butcher knife. I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have. Leonardo da Vinci. My first husband used to tell me in great detail the ways in which he could kill me. He made an attempt. Turns out he was all talk. I have not told half of what I saw. Marco Polo. It's surprising just how frail and temporal this life is and how quickly the body cools when the spirit takes flight. Codeine . . . bourbon. Tallulah Bankhead. I'm no good at endings. I don't know how to leave. I don't know how to say goodbye. I've thought of leaving a note, perhaps calling from a pay phone, but there aren't any pay phones left in town. Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something. Pancho Villa. My first husband used to cry out in his sleep like a wounded animal. Strange thing is, so does my second husband. Perhaps the reason I married both men was that I was attracted to their pain. Josephine...Napoleon Bonaparte, French Emperor. Living is easy once you realize that all you need is something to feel enthusiastic about. I feel here that this time they have succeeded. Leon Trotsky, Russian revolutionary. I'm a Pisces, the last sign of the zodiac. According to astrology, this is my last incarnation on earth. I really thought for my last life I'd be wiser, less fraught. I thought it would be less of a struggle. I hope the exit is joyful and hope never to return. Frida Kahlo, artist . The seventh month of my marriage to my second husband, I drank a bottle of wine every single night. I was too stubborn to go to a therapist and admit I needed prozac, or a divorce. I got tired of drinking alone. Now I just eat. I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis. Humphrey Bogart, actor. An enemy is the only mirror you'll ever need. Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies. Voltaire, writer I got the news that my mother was dying, that she'd probably be dead before I made it to the hospital, I put a Maria Callas CD in the car's CD player and sang along to O mio babbino caro which in Italian is "Oh my dear papa". It was the only prayer I knew to ask. Damn it . . . Don't you dare ask God to help me. Joan Crawford, actress. I grew up being taught that only the true believers will inherit the highest kingdom of god, and then become gods themselves, and populate thier own planets. You just can't make this stuff up. Woe is me. Me thinks I'm turning into a god. Vespasian, Roman Emperor. Most mornings I pull into the parking lot where I work and wonder how I got there. I don't remember anything of the drive at all. Marriage is like that. You say "I do" and wake up ten years later asking yourself "how did I get here?" My God. What's happened? Diana (Spencer), Princess of Wales. One of my earliest dreams is of being on a grand stage and Queen Elizabeth II standing and bowing to me from her royal box. My imaginary friend was destined to be a queen in her native African homeland, until she was abducted and taken to the court of Imonhotep III. I dreamed I was a Frisian queen from the tenth century when I was pregnant with my daughter, but it didn't turn out for her so well either. I think I believed I was a queen well into my thirties. You could chalk it up to delusions of granduer, but I think it's because I have a soul of a queen and the life of a peasant. All my possessions for a moment of time. Elizabeth I, Queen of England. Language can possess you. Does nobody understand? James Joyce. My father taught me to curse like the sailor he once was. I used to swear under my breath until I was in my early thirties. Now I fling expletives with pleasure, but only around people I really like. Most people I know have never heard me swear,and have a totally wrong idea of who I really am. You sons of bitches. Give my love to Mother. Francis "Two Gun" Crowley. The world is mine. The wind blows for me. The sky rains for me. The sun rises and sets for me. The soil is for me. All of the world is for me. I can never repay the debt for all I've been granted. Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius. Will you remember to pay the debt? Socrates. The last of the day's white light lingers and then is gone so suddenly, it appears there never was any reality other than the enveloping blackness. Get these fucking nuns away from me. Norman Douglas . In the end all of us cling to our superstitions. Death gives each of us an ending of our creation. All is lost! Monks, Monks, Monks! So, now all is gone - Empire, Body, and Soul!. Henry VIII. I like to believe I'm a reflective person. Truth be told, I run blindly to my own destruction. Every therapist I've ever seen has told me this very thing. What is the answer? [no response] In that case, what is the question? Gertrude Stein . hole... river... oak... deadly.... children... desert... Moose . . . Indian . . . Henry David Thoreau. When my daughter was very young, we'd take a crust of bread and sit out on the porch and wait for the evening's waning light, and the arrival of bats. We'd rip pieces from the crust and throw them skywards and watch the bat's deft flight as they swooped in an caught them in thier horrible feet. Put out the light. Theodore Roosevelt, US President. It is the silence which speaks the loudest. Go on, get out - last words are for fools who haven't said enough. Karl Marx, revolutionary.
Famous Last Words
Danna
My fortieth birthday I decided to leave my husband. I have made that same decision every year since. Lying to yourself is a kind of dying. Am I dying or is this my birthday? Lady Nancy Astor. As a child, I stood in the crook of an oak tree and imagined it was a ship, and I the serious and grim captain steering it to far off lands. Oh, you young people act like old men. You have no fun. Josephine Baker. I was twenty-four and living in a squalid apartments with my first husband, when I realized I would never be a great artist. I gathered all my self-portraits and threw them in the dumpster. Later that day, after returning from work, I found them lined up on the parking terrace. Our resident dumpster diver sat beside them. He gave me a thumbs up. I went in the apartment, returned with a knife and shredded them, threw them back into the dumpster, got in my car and drove away. I was lucky a policeman didn't pull me over for speeding. I would have had a hard time explaining the butcher knife. I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have. Leonardo da Vinci. My first husband used to tell me in great detail the ways in which he could kill me. He made an attempt. Turns out he was all talk. I have not told half of what I saw. Marco Polo. It's surprising just how frail and temporal this life is and how quickly the body cools when the spirit takes flight. Codeine . . . bourbon. Tallulah Bankhead. I'm no good at endings. I don't know how to leave. I don't know how to say goodbye. I've thought of leaving a note, perhaps calling from a pay phone, but there aren't any pay phones left in town. Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something. Pancho Villa. My first husband used to cry out in his sleep like a wounded animal. Strange thing is, so does my second husband. Perhaps the reason I married both men was that I was attracted to their pain. Josephine...Napoleon Bonaparte, French Emperor. Living is easy once you realize that all you need is something to feel enthusiastic about. I feel here that this time they have succeeded. Leon Trotsky, Russian revolutionary. I'm a Pisces, the last sign of the zodiac. According to astrology, this is my last incarnation on earth. I really thought for my last life I'd be wiser, less fraught. I thought it would be less of a struggle. I hope the exit is joyful and hope never to return. Frida Kahlo, artist . The seventh month of my marriage to my second husband, I drank a bottle of wine every single night. I was too stubborn to go to a therapist and admit I needed prozac, or a divorce. I got tired of drinking alone. Now I just eat. I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis. Humphrey Bogart, actor. An enemy is the only mirror you'll ever need. Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies. Voltaire, writer I got the news that my mother was dying, that she'd probably be dead before I made it to the hospital, I put a Maria Callas CD in the car's CD player and sang along to O mio babbino caro which in Italian is "Oh my dear papa". It was the only prayer I knew to ask. Damn it . . . Don't you dare ask God to help me. Joan Crawford, actress. I grew up being taught that only the true believers will inherit the highest kingdom of god, and then become gods themselves, and populate thier own planets. You just can't make this stuff up. Woe is me. Me thinks I'm turning into a god. Vespasian, Roman Emperor. Most mornings I pull into the parking lot where I work and wonder how I got there. I don't remember anything of the drive at all. Marriage is like that. You say "I do" and wake up ten years later asking yourself "how did I get here?" My God. What's happened? Diana (Spencer), Princess of Wales. One of my earliest dreams is of being on a grand stage and Queen Elizabeth II standing and bowing to me from her royal box. My imaginary friend was destined to be a queen in her native African homeland, until she was abducted and taken to the court of Imonhotep III. I dreamed I was a Frisian queen from the tenth century when I was pregnant with my daughter, but it didn't turn out for her so well either. I think I believed I was a queen well into my thirties. You could chalk it up to delusions of granduer, but I think it's because I have a soul of a queen and the life of a peasant. All my possessions for a moment of time. Elizabeth I, Queen of England. Language can possess you. Does nobody understand? James Joyce. My father taught me to curse like the sailor he once was. I used to swear under my breath until I was in my early thirties. Now I fling expletives with pleasure, but only around people I really like. Most people I know have never heard me swear,and have a totally wrong idea of who I really am. You sons of bitches. Give my love to Mother. Francis "Two Gun" Crowley. The world is mine. The wind blows for me. The sky rains for me. The sun rises and sets for me. The soil is for me. All of the world is for me. I can never repay the debt for all I've been granted. Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius. Will you remember to pay the debt? Socrates. The last of the day's white light lingers and then is gone so suddenly, it appears there never was any reality other than the enveloping blackness. Get these fucking nuns away from me. Norman Douglas . In the end all of us cling to our superstitions. Death gives each of us an ending of our creation. All is lost! Monks, Monks, Monks! So, now all is gone - Empire, Body, and Soul!. Henry VIII. I like to believe I'm a reflective person. Truth be told, I run blindly to my own destruction. Every therapist I've ever seen has told me this very thing. What is the answer? [no response] In that case, what is the question? Gertrude Stein . hole... river... oak... deadly.... children... desert... Moose . . . Indian . . . Henry David Thoreau. When my daughter was very young, we'd take a crust of bread and sit out on the porch and wait for the evening's waning light, and the arrival of bats. We'd rip pieces from the crust and throw them skywards and watch the bat's deft flight as they swooped in an caught them in thier horrible feet. Put out the light. Theodore Roosevelt, US President. It is the silence which speaks the loudest. Go on, get out - last words are for fools who haven't said enough. Karl Marx, revolutionary.
30 Poems in 30 Days - Eleven: The Museum of Dreams
I looked to my journals for inspiration for today's poem. (Did you notice I got an early start writing, rather than waiting until close to midnight? One reason is that I'm tired, but the main is that The Tudors premiere is tonight. I'm 'enery the 8th I am, 'enery the 8th I am, I am! 2nd verse, same as the 1st!)
I've recorded my nightly dreams in journals for years. I like the idea of a museum for dreams. Wouldn't it be fabulous to go to a museum and see Einstein, Elizabeth I, Cleopatra's dreams? I think I'll have to create a dream museum, virtual, of course. But for now, I'll offer a poem that captures a few of my night visions from recent years.
A dream museum reminds me of Nick Bantock's incredible The Museum at Purgatory book. I first learned of Bantock by colliding head on with his Griffin & Sabine series! and I've kept up with all things Bantock, since. I even won a illustrated mousepad when I entered his website contest. Lucky me!
The Museum of Dreams
Danna
I.
a pervasive layer of salt covers our bodies
as if to say, learn about yourself
the pelicans rest on the water's lip,
none of the birds start, or dislodge
themselves and take to flight with our arrival,
we walk past them, further down the shoreline
strewn with detritus and driftwood
don't say anything, he says into the wind
II.
a man walks through shallow lake water
suddenly veering sharply into an alcove
to see if water moccasin
have come down from the mountains,
as reported
he sees a dying
fish twisting in the shallows
III.
even with all her exaggerated flaws
she has become a shadow figure,
a sun-faded paper silhouette
she whispers to the darkness in her room,
diminishing flesh, is itself an exalted thing
IV.
a woman forages through drawers and closets,
she is in a strange house looking through
other people's possessions, searching
for how it all began, until
a glimpse of herself in the mirror
arrests her attention,
she asks her reflection,
when is my mother coming back?
V.
while the man isn't looking
his wife gives birth to a mole
it is hairless and blind,
he sees what she has done
and decides to love it anyway
VI.
we're in a foreign country,
it is dark and we are lost
we find a tunnel, filled with light,
it is a birth canal
for the living and the dead
we follow it down, down, and down,
and soon discover
in the land of the dead,
spirits are hungry for blood
VII.
a woman swimming against strong current
in a small ocean, turquoise
water tucked in a sacred space
I am not your servant and you are not my master
is the only thought she is capable of thinking
I've recorded my nightly dreams in journals for years. I like the idea of a museum for dreams. Wouldn't it be fabulous to go to a museum and see Einstein, Elizabeth I, Cleopatra's dreams? I think I'll have to create a dream museum, virtual, of course. But for now, I'll offer a poem that captures a few of my night visions from recent years.
A dream museum reminds me of Nick Bantock's incredible The Museum at Purgatory book. I first learned of Bantock by colliding head on with his Griffin & Sabine series! and I've kept up with all things Bantock, since. I even won a illustrated mousepad when I entered his website contest. Lucky me!
The Museum of Dreams
Danna
I.
a pervasive layer of salt covers our bodies
as if to say, learn about yourself
the pelicans rest on the water's lip,
none of the birds start, or dislodge
themselves and take to flight with our arrival,
we walk past them, further down the shoreline
strewn with detritus and driftwood
don't say anything, he says into the wind
II.
a man walks through shallow lake water
suddenly veering sharply into an alcove
to see if water moccasin
have come down from the mountains,
as reported
he sees a dying
fish twisting in the shallows
III.
even with all her exaggerated flaws
she has become a shadow figure,
a sun-faded paper silhouette
she whispers to the darkness in her room,
diminishing flesh, is itself an exalted thing
IV.
a woman forages through drawers and closets,
she is in a strange house looking through
other people's possessions, searching
for how it all began, until
a glimpse of herself in the mirror
arrests her attention,
she asks her reflection,
when is my mother coming back?
V.
while the man isn't looking
his wife gives birth to a mole
it is hairless and blind,
he sees what she has done
and decides to love it anyway
VI.
we're in a foreign country,
it is dark and we are lost
we find a tunnel, filled with light,
it is a birth canal
for the living and the dead
we follow it down, down, and down,
and soon discover
in the land of the dead,
spirits are hungry for blood
VII.
a woman swimming against strong current
in a small ocean, turquoise
water tucked in a sacred space
I am not your servant and you are not my master
is the only thought she is capable of thinking
30 Poems in 30 Days - Ten: Postcard from the Great Salt Lake
Postcards are the inspiration for tonight's poem.
Postcard from the Great Salt Lake
Danna
The sky is an impossible
blue. If you were here,
you'd shield your eyes
and refuse to look.
The lake has a thick crust
of brine this time of year
that shimmers like
diamonds under harsh light.
The winter air is merciless.
It reminds me of you.
Postcard from the Great Salt Lake
Danna
The sky is an impossible
blue. If you were here,
you'd shield your eyes
and refuse to look.
The lake has a thick crust
of brine this time of year
that shimmers like
diamonds under harsh light.
The winter air is merciless.
It reminds me of you.
30 Poems in 30 Days - Nine: 107 Names for Woman
Let's get something clear, okay? Unless stated otherwise, all the exercise prompts will be from The Guardian. Tonight's is Jen Hadfield's list poem exercise.
When I wrote my list, I was in a very literal frame of mind. 108 names for woman was the original title of the list poem, but I omitted one word. I'll give you three guesses which one. GQ had a great article on "it" a few years back, and I agree with the writer, that reducing a person to this one word, really is the refuge of cowards.
It does appear that the word is losing its taboo status now that it is leveled at men as well as women.
If you still have no idea what word I'm talking about, head to your local library and check out a copy of Atonement by Ian McEwan.
107 names for woman
Danna
amazon, chick, shorty, bunny, dentata, mlf, chica,
sheila, angel, meshugeneh, box, diva, poon, babe,
minga, broad, twinkie, kvinde, mother, chiquita,
ma'am, vamp, klip, rumy, bird, kobieta, flange,
puma, donna, bimbo, hoss, trim, mahala, queen,
zena, lumberjack, mamma, boiler, ripper, aurat,
yak, booty, shiksa, lady, shrew, wahine, bombshell,
strumpet, mujer, lass, senora, animal, hottie, crone,
frau, wench, cherry, flapper, tomato, beauty, hussy,
female, lady, mistress, madame, vija, dame, doll,
whore, mom, fox, bitch, pigeon, cronk, belle, skirt,
hoochie, cougar, goddess, broad, dame, tart, butch,
madam, pussy, rat, doll, twist, dish, gal, betty, frail,
bag, ditz, femme, imra, mulher, fish, witch, nainen,
beaver, mummy, bint, dame, hag, gynaika, womb,
madonna.
When I wrote my list, I was in a very literal frame of mind. 108 names for woman was the original title of the list poem, but I omitted one word. I'll give you three guesses which one. GQ had a great article on "it" a few years back, and I agree with the writer, that reducing a person to this one word, really is the refuge of cowards.
It does appear that the word is losing its taboo status now that it is leveled at men as well as women.
If you still have no idea what word I'm talking about, head to your local library and check out a copy of Atonement by Ian McEwan.
107 names for woman
Danna
amazon, chick, shorty, bunny, dentata, mlf, chica,
sheila, angel, meshugeneh, box, diva, poon, babe,
minga, broad, twinkie, kvinde, mother, chiquita,
ma'am, vamp, klip, rumy, bird, kobieta, flange,
puma, donna, bimbo, hoss, trim, mahala, queen,
zena, lumberjack, mamma, boiler, ripper, aurat,
yak, booty, shiksa, lady, shrew, wahine, bombshell,
strumpet, mujer, lass, senora, animal, hottie, crone,
frau, wench, cherry, flapper, tomato, beauty, hussy,
female, lady, mistress, madame, vija, dame, doll,
whore, mom, fox, bitch, pigeon, cronk, belle, skirt,
hoochie, cougar, goddess, broad, dame, tart, butch,
madam, pussy, rat, doll, twist, dish, gal, betty, frail,
bag, ditz, femme, imra, mulher, fish, witch, nainen,
beaver, mummy, bint, dame, hag, gynaika, womb,
madonna.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)