LEANAN SIDHE

Barbie Doll
  
 
  This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.

Anonymous submission.

Marge Piercy
 

I've got no strings
To hold me down
To make me fret, or make me frown
I had strings
But now I'm free
There are no strings on me
Hi-ho the me-ri-o
That's the only way to go
I want the world to know
Nothing ever worries me
Hi-ho the me-ri-o
I'm as happy as can be
I want the world to know
Nothing ever worries me
I've got no strings
So I have fun
I'm not tied up to anyone
They've got strings
But you can see
There are no strings on me

lyrics "I've got no strings" Pinocchio

I lay still, soft and pliable

Sleeping, lazy-flat, unformed

With just enough cold to maintain

an oblong dense expanse of white

 

Until happening along, he came

Playful, gloved, and blue scarf-wound

Windbroke in his down-filled vest,

Already denim soaked knee-deep in me.

 

He puffed his wind-pink cheeks up full,

And stooped to scoop and scooped up well,

Patted firm, packed, and scooped up again

Until there was some beginning form.

 

It puzzled me - that he would stay

So long working wet and tired -

Patient, molding, coaxing, so completely sure

That I would come, at last, to something.

 

He sculpted out my snow-blind eyes,

Placed my nose where it belonged,

Parted my lips with purposed thumbs,

And rounded out my chin within his palm.

 

 

 

I have been Carnivorous

 

And sucked the bloody bones,  

and smoke-dried the fatted halves,

and licked from my lusty fingertips

The meat-sum of my unfortunate mates.

 

I have tasted their sweet.

I have tasted their savory.

I have tasted their even bitters.

I have drunk ten-times-ten to

Their good health (all tongue-in-cheek-like)

 

And smiled, a sated glutton

Reclining on their skins.     

The old man in his old shoes, old hat, old scowl

sat slowly with a rough harrumph - a sigh

escaping from his very, very old bones as they

settled themselves rather unwillingly into a younger

man's position.

The bench was forgiving of the weight, weft, and warp

of trousers that had seen too much of decay and not

enough of  detergents -floral scented- or gentle hands folding 

back into them the kind concern and smooth caress of a

wife long dead.

He looked up.

There they sat...the couple in the sunshine on the bench

(farthest from the shade, but closest to the fountain)

with fingers entwined, hair breeze-blown and entangled...

no eyes for others...no thoughts beyond their own radius

of radiance.

He regarded them.

He pursed his cracked lips and closed his wrinkled

eyelids and coaxed his old bones to obey once again...

He creaked his way upright

(almost, at least),

and shuffled slowly away.

 

 

 

 

 

There once was a girl....

I knew her a bit.

She had untied shoelaces 

every day 

and a flyaway look to her

pigtails..untamed.

She chewed her fingernails

nubby-round-rough

and drove the boys wild climbing

trees in skirts.

She hardly ever fell very hard, but she

did fall often....

out of trees, off  bikes riding too fast

or for a brooding grin 

here and there...

She sometimes ended up with her teeth

loosened a bit,

or blood in her mouth.

Afterward, though,

she always brushed off, smiled,

winked, winced, spat, shrugged, cried,

giggled....

and rolled with it.

The Portrait of the Healer Idealist (iNFp)

RATIONAL IDEALIST ARTISAN GUARDIAN

Healer Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in striving for their ends, and informative and introverted in their interpersonal relations. Healer present a seemingly tranquil, and noticiably pleasant face to the world, and though to all appearances they might seem reserved, and even shy, on the inside they are anything but reserved, having a capacity for caring not always found in other types. They care deeply-indeed, passionately-about a few special persons or a favorite cause, and their fervent aim is to bring peace and integrity to their loved ones and the world.

Healers have a profound sense of idealism derived from a strong personal morality, and they conceive of the world as an ethical, honorable place. Indeed, to understand Healers, we must understand their idealism as almost boundless and selfless, inspiring them to make extraordinary sacrifices for someone or something they believe in. The Healer is the Prince or Princess of fairytale, the King's Champion or Defender of the Faith, like Sir Galahad or Joan of Arc. Healers are found in only 1 percent of the general population, although, at times, their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity.

 Healers seek unity in their lives, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect, perhaps because they are likely to have a sense of inner division threaded through their lives, which comes from their often unhappy childhood. Healers live a fantasy-filled childhood, which, unfortunately, is discouraged or even punished by many parents. In a practical-minded family, required by their parents to be sociable and industrious in concrete ways, and also given down-to-earth siblings who conform to these parental expectations, Healers come to see themselves as ugly ducklings. Other types usually shrug off parental expectations that do not fit them, but not the Healers. Wishing to please their parents and siblings, but not knowing quite how to do it, they try to hide their differences, believing they are bad to be so fanciful, so unlike their more solid brothers and sisters. They wonder, some of them for the rest of their lives, whether they are OK. They are quite OK, just different from the rest of their family-swans reared in a family of ducks. Even so, to realize and really believe this is not easy for them. Deeply committed to the positive and the good, yet taught to believe there is evil in them, Healers can come to develop a certain fascination with the problem of good and evil, sacred and profane. Healers are drawn toward purity, but can become engrossed with the profane, continuously on the lookout for the wickedness that lurks within them. Then, when Healers believe thay have yielded to an impure temptation, they may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. Others seldom detect this inner turmoil, however, for the struggle between good and evil is within the Healer, who does not feel compelled to make the issue public.

Becoming golden.

Hatred drowned in spices.

Greed dried on sunbaked rocks.

Delusions, the shadows between fabric folds.

Living the saffron life.

 

 

 

 

 

Collected May dew and washed my face in it.

Confessed my love.

Danced and will continue to dance until I fall down happy tonight.

My blood is running hot.

The girl is beautiful, she is beautiful.

One light fingertip on my wrist

taking my measure without effort;

watching my eyes.

 

I betray my-own-self.

I bite my lip, he bites my lip.

 

One light fingertip on my chest

pushing me down without effort;

watching my eyes.

 

He reveals nothing.

I breathe out, he breathes in.

 

One light fingertip on my lips

shushing me once without effort;

closing my eyes.

 

My eyes are closed.

 

 

The Hawk

In Native American cultures the hawk represents a messenger.  It often appears in our life when we need to pay attention to the subtle messages found in our surroundings and from those we come in contact with. As with all messages received it is important to recognize its underlying truth.  Because there are so many varieties of hawk its messages vary and can affect all levels of our psyche.

One thing that all hawks have in common is the skill to move between the seen and unseen realms gracefully connecting both worlds together.  Their acute vision compliments this ability and their discriminating nature keeps them out of harms way.  The broader vision of the hawk allows them to see what the future holds.  In man this symbolizes prophetic insight.  If this medicine is underdeveloped a tendency towards over analyzing everything is common.  In so doing, clear vision is lost.  Those who hold this totem should remember to keep their analytical mind under control and not allow it to run wild.

The hawk has many foraging techniques.  The most typical in their pursuit of prey is swiftly following the animal's efforts to escape.  Once the hawk has secured the prey with its powerful talons, the bird dismembers it with its sharply pointed, strong beak.  In man, this suggests that we can run but we cannot hide from our destiny.  Sooner of later it will catch up with us.

The destiny of all humankind is to awaken from their spiritual amnesia and realign with the original intention of their soul.  When the hawk flies into our life we will be asked to evaluate who we have become and rip out the threads of our self created illusions.  This enables our inner truth to surface.

Hawk signifies union with Great Spirit.  A bird of the heavens the hawk orchestrates the changes necessary for our spiritual growth.  Having this totem can be bitter sweet.  If we accept its presence in our life we will be asked to surrender anything that doesn't honor the integrity of all life.  Be it an idea, a feeling or an action.  Although hard work is involved the rewards the hawk offers us are great.

Brown bag puppet

thrown over a hand for amusement

all impromptu lips and

glued-google-eye smiles.

She replies with a crinkle

She replies with a wrinkle..

He tosses her back to the table

Yarn hair splayed.

Can't smooth her back out.

She's been used.

I was waiting by the water;

where were you?

My toes grew icy and numb;

pulled them out.

I stood and offered up my face;

Sun kept company.

I wandered around passing time;

kicked the stones.

I hugged my shoulders tight;

made a decision.

My toes had warmed again;

plunged them in.

I am waiting by the water;

where are you?

Backed into a corner

She starts to hiss

fur stands on end

back arches

claws strike the

cement with a spark.

Death dancing black cat

goes down swiping

but draws her 

opponent's blood

before she falls.

Fuck it, you know what...I am screaming in my head constantly.  This is goddamn MADNESS.

No more sticky sweet

 (I know you understand

even though you don't let on)

and no more compliments.

If you are going to rage..then rage,

stomp, kick, scream, retreat, howl,

berate, belittle, misunderstand,

frown, glare, growl, and strike and

pummel and beat and destroy, close off,

close down, become blank completely.

It will not change a thing

from where I stand.

Not one blessed thing.

two figures stood

opposite eachother

on a mound once used

for prayer.

The first stride was taken

by the male - just a step

toward the female.  Decidedly,

he planted his foot firm

then introduced himself as

this world's Patron Saint of Hate;

stood stock still and waited.

The female took the next

step, smiling and hesitant.

She regarded him coolly

for a moment then replied

"I am this world's Grace."

 

The wind blew

soft and low, stirred

the grass and made the

branches sing.

The two figures, still

opposite eachother, listened...

Then they danced in time

to the branches' song

and moved, well-paced,

in small circles and low waves,

tracing the shape of the mound 

in their movement, standing

always opposite, moving

always sunwise, moving

always windwise, moving

always together.

Where is my journal?  I feel so lost without there on the side..near my thumbnails.

My wrists and fingers to the bone

against the jagged rocks I climb

My knees and toes completely raw

against the jagged rocks I climb.

Nearer the sun and so far

There he waits serene against the sky.

 

"Come to me." is what I hear.

"Come to me." and so I climb.

 

I am tired, I am thirsty, I am bloody bare

I am streaked, I am weary.  I am stopped completely.

More than an arm's length away

but his arms are longer still.

He places a palm  atop my head

and spreads his thorny fingertips.

 

"You come no further." are his words..

"Why did you come at all?" 

I can't sleep.  The pillowcase is too sharp and it is not dark enough in any of my rooms.    Sometimes I just want someone else to do my thinking for me for a while.  I am so very tired.