Skip to main content

A Trust of Women

This is for all of the women, the women that long for us to be, that grip the fabric and bite down hard to bring us forth screaming. For the women, inheritors of misery, worlds of love and beauty and joy and loss, who suffer from choices we make in their name. For the women, the center, tattered edge, the sky and the deep, the rock and the bird, creatures of habit, seekers of peace and prophets, the women who watch other women grow tired of tales told by men with their weight upon breasts, mouths like razor-blades, fists like train wrecks. Yes. I want her to levitate, soar above men so he can feel her varied beauty reaching down to seal his unbridled destruction forevermore.

Women who see laws wielded, the dead sea thrust inside them, vacant fathers, distant, hulked, sterile, envious brothers, self-righteous and much too proud. The women, with a beauty and boldness, (men, with their hideous eyes, cannot mirror them feeding on drunken valor and rage) are most ready. This is for she who extends her arms for men to come to them as he blasts the chords of cruel war and rips the sunrise from her arms... screaming.


© 2010 by mark prime


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem
........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...
Post a Comment
read the poem

Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
12 comments
read the poem