I Refuse to Live in a Poemless Universe

As I've mentioned here before, I used to be a:

Yet these days, I  spend more time decorating my steps

and making little pins like this that say:

than I do writing poetry.

Maybe it's because most of the poetry I read and write make me want to drive off a bridge.  And when you have kids, that's not really an option.  

Anyway, the other day I ran into an Old Poet Pal.  Old as in long-time.  'Cause this guy is definitely not old in spirit: 

After hearing an earful of my current issues--no job, no marriage  (email me if you've got offers for either),





he sent me a poem for my birthday.  

It's a poem that doesn't make me want to drive off a bridge.  In fact, it's a poem that inspires me to actually wear a seatbelt. 

Thank you, Arnie. It's just what the Midlife Crisis ordered.

 I would like to dedicate this poem to another Poet Pal of mine--P.A.U.L. whose birthday was April 5th.  Happy Birthday Old Friend and Cheers!

More than a wish

I more than wish you a happy birthday
I envision you happy on this day of days
Not with a dependent happiness
Depending on what’s going on around you
Or even in you
Not a happiness with mood swings
You are a swinger who swings
With joy and dancing
Not a conditional happiness
That has strings attached but
Like the strings tied to helium balloons
You let them go to fly free
Of any thing to be sad about
It is not what you are about
Or what you deserve
You deserve a happiness that is determined
To be happy no matter what
A happiness that refuses to be pushed around
By circumstance or heartbreaks
A happiness that makes the most of what it has
Thereby making way to have more
Because you know you deserve it
A happiness that kicks the ass of sadness
Gets your mind straight
You have more to be glad about then sad about
This happiness is courageous
In its pursuit of itself
This happiness is not shy
It walks right up to that beautiful man or woman
To tell them they are beautiful
Because you know
They need to hear it as much as you do
This happiness is not limited
To any self-imposed limitation
It is a celebration of itself
Within the larger celebration of all
Receive your joy by gift wrapping it
And giving it to others
Get what you wish for
Not by blowing out candles but by lighting them
Being a light for all who can see
And for all who can not
But most of all for yourself
Knowing you can’t be any good to anybody
Until you are first good to you
So go ahead have and eat yourself
A large slice of the cake of life and enjoy
This happiness does not mean you to be
In a constant state of glee
It does not deny grief or sorrow
Nor does it ignore blessings
Affirming life as a whole to be good
This is no sentimental happiness
This is the real thing and you are real
Happy birthday 

by Arnie Koester

posted at Humor-Blogs

We Are Women

This is my 2nd debut blog posting.

My real debut was sort of a blog of bloopers. And because I’d like to show all you out there in the blogosphere that I really can write, I’m redoing it.

Problem is, I’m so hungover, ur…I mean…worn out from the first debut (and the first blog debacle--the blog I had to abandon) that I’m recycling a poem. I’m sure recycling is against the Bloggers’ Manifesto, but I’m in no mood, so just let them come for me.

Anyway,

some year ago my friends Carolyn and Kris and I wrote this poem as the opening of a readers’ theatre. With the revision of one word, it is still relevant today.

But first, audience participation:

IMAGINE sitting in a writers’ group at a lesbian…ur rather, women’s bookstore and because your children aren’t making enough demands on your time, coming up with the idea of a readers’ theatre.

IMAGINE changing the venue to a place that sells wine, and with your buddies working months on the script (the arguments, the tears, the M&Ms, the hangovers) and then writing a grant proposal for STEW--Stories of Tired Emotional Whiners—I mean, Women.



IMAGINE you and your friend (both in your artsyest clothing) presenting the proposal to the arts council and having a female member say she was offended by the term ‘whiners,’ calling it “borderline politically incorrect.”

IMAGINE shouting the word ‘bitch’ but instead, going out for a drink with your fellow whiner (college bar, of course) and deciding to change the title to: STEW--Stories of Tired Emotional Whiners—I mean, Women. A Borderline Politically Incorrect Readers’ Theatre.

It goes without saying you must imagine the whiners---hot, sexy women, sober for once, ur….delivering the lines with power and authority and of course, perfect timing. Picture the hotsexywhiners alternating some lines and joining in on the chorus for others. For the last verse, picture their fingers in the sign of the girl scout oath (even though all of them are far from girl scouts).

If that doesn’t work: pour yourself a drink. Poetry always works better under the influence.

We Are Women

We are mother
daughter
wife
friend
lover

We are nurse
chef
secretary
seamstress
mistress



We are bitch

We are stock broker, ego stroker
Woolite soaker, midnight toker

We are bread baker, xanax taker,
butt shaker, orgasm faker



We are homemaker
home wrecker
homeless
hopeless
lawless
We are braless

We are historical, hysterical, pms-tical

We lack testicles (but not balls)

We are keepers of tradition, the faith,
The books, matched pairs
(and underwear)



We are keeper of fish, puppies, turtles, kitty
Cats (and large rats)


We are Women.





We must stick together



Through all types of weather



We must fight the blues and go in twos.



On my honor, I will try, to go to the john,
accompanied by one or more women, to repair
makeup, fluff hair, and talk about… Hillary Clinton.



One more thing:

IMAGINE that this poem was written so long ago (think oval office, cigar) that an earlier draft said ‘Bill Clinton.’

IMAGINE that ten years later a whiner, I mean, woman is running for president of the United States of America. That’s something to drink to (in a college bar, of course).

Happy Women’s History Month, everyone!!!

And a special shout out to the women in my life who’ve put up with me, and the women bloggers who’ve inspired me Tracy (Tiny Mantras) Jill (Writes Like She Talks), and Wendy (Creative Ink).

p.s. does anyone know to get the strikethrough key formatting to work on these blogs?