Opinion

the bedouin’s art of gentleness in handling dangerous things

Originally posted on jaywalking the moon:

by the river we talk expectations,
dreams “i wish you’d read my poetry” i say “to
get// to know me”

and know it is not easy/language/
images & few things seem
upon the surface.

yet he nods&we agree
that i will read one poem to him//a week
explain/ing metaphors and put the vowels in his mouth
still warm&glistening like a fish-swarm
so he feels//me

& we’re scared a bit
of breaking rules like thin glass
scared
of touch/ing for the first time after weeks
&scared to cut
the thin threads spun by first shy conversations

i paint my toe nails raspberry
smooth edges with a soft stone, balm
with mint&myrrhe cause it all starts
somewhere

“i want be loved” i say,
“the way a bedouin
would put a scorpion care/ful in the sand”

he understands
longing in his gaze
“it’s good to wait until i’m back?”
“yes”

outside of the…

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Līgo Haibun Challenge – Picture Prompt

Originally posted on Ese' s Voice:

Another week has just begun and it is also time for a new
Līgo Haibun Challenge!

This week it’s Picture Prompt again and there are two images to inspire you.  As usual – choose one of them to write your haibun.

ligo_railroad

ligo_caroussel

Let your imagination flow and don’t forget to add your haibun to the Inlinkz collection, please! Good luck!

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Opinion

Girl Unborn – The Monologue

Originally posted on Love, Life and Whatever...:


 There are issues close to my heart and then some, closer and one out of them is – Female Foeticide. I know words are not enough, neither the measures yet. There were dialogues and deliberations….but then I present this monologue in form of a poem, where the unborn girl child pleas to her mother, who she hopes will be her saviour:

Girl Unborn – The Monologue  

image

You are precious,
So very precious to me.

I see the morning light through your precious eyes
With the nimble birds chorus sublime.
I smell the distant muddy rain,
Which drizzled all through the night.
I hear those quite lullabys you cry
Which makes my feeble heart to sigh.

Those unsweetened condiments you nibble
Is too unsavoury for me to fiddle.
And then the loving touch…
When your fingers unconsciously brush by.
I lived all the senses through you
till the creator…

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Friday Fictioneer 100W Stories – Long Goodbyes

The lights flickered when he strummed the opening bars. Even with strings missing they seemed to drain the cheaply-installed electricity, so it was perhaps a good thing two of the band missing, still on their deathbeds on a lengthy illness, caused by exposure to radiation in Tchernobyl, in April 1986.

It was his last performance, he could see that. So tonight he was going to treat himself to the blond barmaid in a long goodbye, and give her half his earnings of this past decade. He knew she had Aids, like so many under thirty in Ukraine. She looked so much like Ivana used to though, now still in bed.

 

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For Friday Fictioneers run by http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ ¤ This week’s prompt photo by Björn Rudberg

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International Womens’ Day

Sadly, World Book Day yesterday seemed to pass almost unnoticed on WordPress, and could only be found on Twitter – unbelievably, actually, considering the amount of reading and writing here…

Still, we have International Woman’s Day, to make up for it.

Happy International Womens’ Day, women everywhere.

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Carpe Diem Haiku – hunger moon

This feature is very similar with the other Special feature “Make The Haiku Complete”. So if you would read more than visit  “Carpe Diem Haiku Kai”

Here is the First Line to use in the haiku. 
hunger moon

“Hunger Moon” is the name of the full moon of January as it is mentioned in Thomas’s ‘Old Farmers Almanac’ (founded in 1792). During this month the wolves once roamed the countryside, thus suggesting the name wolf moon. In cold and temperate climates of the Northern Hemisphere, it was difficult to find food during January, thus the name hunger moon.

hunger moon
I put my pen down
and pick up my sword

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Carpe Diem’s “Little Ones” #9, American Sentence (also 17 syllables)

A poetic form developed by Allen Ginsberg in the mid-1980′s as a response to the haiku.  If haiku involved seventeen syllables down the page, he reasoned, American Sentences would be seventeen syllables across the page–an attempt to more accurately “Americanize” a form that had previously translated only roughly across the Pacific into the context of American poetry.

Like (rough) English approximations of the haiku, American Sentences work closely with concision of line and sharpness of detail.  Unlike its literary predecessor, however, it is compressed into a single line of poetry and included a reference to a month and year (or alternatively, a location) rather than a season.

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In the morning breeze over the meadows an Irish harp is plucked

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Carpe Diem ~ Haru Ta (Spring Paddy)

carpediem

patchwork of greens
sudden explosions and napalm
craters of brown

The United States unleashed a secret carpet bombing campaign on this country for nearly a decade, dropping 260 million cluster bombs – the most heavily bombed country in history, with more than 2.5 million tons of munitions during 580,000 bombing missions – equal to a planeload of bombs every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day, for 9 years  - more than all bombing by all belligerents in World War II, or 210 million more bombs than were dropped on Iraq in 1991, 1998 and 2006 combined.

Of 75 million bombs that failed to detonate, less than 1 percent have been cleared, and 25,000 people have been killed or injured by these bombs in the 35 years following the end of the bombing campaign. Today, an average of 300 people are injured or killed every year by these weapons, about half of them children, and most of the rest working men.

The economy is almost entirely agricultural (rice, in particular) yet one-third of the land remains littered with unexploded bombs.

Between 1996 and 2012, the U.S. contributed on average $2.6M per year to a general United Nations unexploded bomb clean-up program; the U.S. spent $17M per day for nine years bombing the country.

The U.S. spent as much in three days bombing of the country ($51M) as it spent for clean up over 16 years ($51M).

The country is Laos.

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विकर कुर्सी में

And then it happened. She was gone. A micro hurricane of swirling dust and stinging eyes as the bus bounced and rattled to a near-stop then suddenly sped up again and hurtled away.

“Who were you?” I thought, only minutes after she’d left. “What do you do, in your foreign land?”

She had stayed the night, back pack and all, but I’d sat in the wicker chair as she rested her tired eyes.

Leaving, she had taken the mango and given me a peck on my cheek, her eyes gleaming with freshness and fun.

.

polishing shoes again
dreaming of another friendship
no matter how short-lived

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Magpie Tales – The Letter

once

there was a world
where a simple hello

meant a pen
ink

the right paper
the right scratching…

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One Drop

How far we have come. How far we have gone. Yet our life force still lies within the simple rain drop and in the fall it makes from the nourishing sky. It is when walking in nature that one notices, feels and sees the colourful effects of the life force in droplets.

Yet there are many who won’t walk out of the front door without umbrella, and hide from the rain. What a pity. I have seen farmers look up and smile into the rain, and seen bedouins of the desert take deep breaths and enjoy the new, fresh scent of cooling raindrops.

one drop of rain
at the end of a pine needle
on the tall pine tree

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Ode To Traffic Wardens

I used to hate
traffic wardens
when I was a slave to society
but now I see them
for who they are
our holy warriors
slaying dragon cars
appearing just on time
to lay down a beautiful fine
their little sword a pen
but oh don’t be mistaken
its a mighty weapon
and their shield the simple note pad
which such style they wield

Yes! Oh yes!

…oh thee of tight uniforms ankles bare
our proud holy warriors
marching in your ranks
to my eye you bring a tear
the dobermans of an Orwellian animal farm
and part of our war against terroni
on behalf of nations and corporations
yes hail the heroes who set us free!
they are veritably our kindred kind
how I’d love to put my arms around your neck
advance fair until a car be found
or hope for a delivery truck
to which an orgasmic ticket written
feels better than a …Original Sin

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Friday Fictioneers – Last Known Words of HMG Gurrumul, Lead Explorer of the Queen Bentafrou Antartic Expedition, date and year unverifiable

…Ladies and gentlemen who may read, I fear these may be my last known words, not for want of trying, but because one does want posterity to keep a kind eye cast and not a presumptuous giggle, and it is clear my colleagues and I are rapidly succumbing to the effects of unverifiable collective delirium.

I enclose the film for you to process if found, to see if indeed we have ‘lost it’ as they say. But we have walked by a mirage of a river and fauna in the Antarctic sun for hours and are too weak to continue. Surely the photo will show snow, no more-

Friday Fictioneers found here –  http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ Thank you, Rochelle

Photograph by kind courtesy - http://erinlearywrites.com/

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Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, Dance with the trees

I never once walked in my forest with a feeling of wasting time. I never walked my daily forest walk and did not learn something, never went into the forest without coming out with more.

A forest supplies more than meditative energy. There are answers there, even before you ask the questions. If I go with my neighbour from across the hill, our conversation is always different among the trees. She walks barefoot on the pine needles most days of the year, until the snow comes, and ever since she started doing so, her health improved.

I try not to miss one day. We try not to. When we do, we feel it. 

the answer
is when the wind blows
dance with the trees

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People gravitate away from conflict which usually leaves the platform for the minority of bigots to dominate. We see that in our politics. We see that at our churches. We see that in our corporations. If more people got the courage to step up to the plate, not only on racial issues but socioeconomic issues, society would be much more tolerant, inclusive, and fair. Everyone must go out on a limb and step up to the plate.

Egberto Willies (via thesmithian)

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Nadezhda is Freed!

A true heroine of our age. Nadezhda Tolokonnikova is released.  continued here

 

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