“Since then I’ve always thought that under rape in the dictionary it should tell the truth. It is not just forcible intercourse; rape means to inhabit and destroy everything.” Alice Sebold – ‘Lucky’
His-story is a global disease that feeds on privacy.
Coercion conspires to secrecy
in collective denial of internal dis-ease.
I have relived the horror and the agony over and over.
You have to be brave to be a woman.
It was not because I could not face another night of hell
at the mercy of a mind that plays back its old scenes, again and again
even resorting to the subterfuge of tortuous dreams,
that continued long after, to torment my every waking moment.
starless
the depth of night
in the pond
It was not because of a brief news item
about a schoolgirl who was raped,
whose parents decided not to press charges. Pity her,
for she will always suffer the pain and the blame
and carry the burden like a “good girl” should,
deserving love, and forever living in hope
that she will find it.
She will become depressed.
This will be ascribed to hormones, stress,
or to her unfortunate genes.
(She is just like her mother).
steady
through the storm
paper boat
It was not because of the resignation
of the Head of the Catholic Church
who “resigned” (was fired)
not because he had protected pedophile priests
not because he was found out
not because he was discredited as a man of God
not because he had to face a law court
but because he was no longer respectable.
People would see the “moral bankruptcy” of the Church.
And what turmoil would ensue for the state,
political ideologies, public opinion,
and the all-important mental state
of the good, law-abiding, church-going
people of the West who permit their governments
to bomb, kill and rape women and girls in the East.
collateral
blood-red shadows
in the rose
None of this could explain why in the dark of the night,
Rob Roy gave such sweet respite from my cares.
It was perversely comforting
to be drawn into a different world, in another time
a his-story of indescribable violence, murder, pillaging, and burning;
the oppression of the powerless by merciless land barons.
The McGregors were a happy, loving family surviving against the odds,
amid the devastation wreaked by the sadistic Marquis of Montrose.
One day Mrs. McGregor profoundly remarked:
“The truth is a lie waiting to be discovered.”
These wise words gave her husband Rob the impetus to muster for a fight,
kill the enemy, realign the local power structures, and survive,
family, and romance intact—well, almost—
for Mrs. McGregor, out of fear and shame,
had kept secret the thuggish rape by Montrose—
a lie waiting to be discovered
and tidied away—
so that truth, honor, and justice could prevail.
the bitter-sweet scent of bruised windfalls
Rob Roy is an honest, honourable, courageous and caring hero.
His-story binds us together, like strata in rock.
Take care you don’t lose your mind digging deep down,
deeper and deeper.
The horror and the agony repeats, over and over
while the abusers of power and trust
continue to teach “society”
about family values.
her-story the moon is female
FemkuMag issue 10, March 2019
https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/f4c0ea_56aed2c213fd42faa84e8fbfb70681b7.pdf?utm_source=%23FemkuMag&utm_campaign=dc969d4d97-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2019_03_29_03_46&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_26c80737b4-dc969d4d97-25463281
rape stats
https://www.nsvrc.org/sites/default/files/publications_nsvrc_factsheet_media-packet_statistics-about-sexual-violence_0.pdf
Sharpening The Green Pencil Haiku Contest 2019
sea breeze…
I breathe in
your accent
Commentary by Jim Kacian:
Everything about this poem is charming: who does not welcome a sea breeze? And what is so winsome as a foreign accent (at least when we deem it so)? And what astute reader does not appreciate that slight slip from “breeze” to “breathe” that is at the heart of this poem? So many elements have been piled up to beguile us.
But the poem is not about charm, but foreignness: what can it mean to “breathe in” an accent? We might convince ourselves we know what the poet intends, but in fact it’s impossible to be certain. Doesn’t the poem, then, enact itself? This seamless and streamlined packet of words slips by us before we hardly have time to think. We rely upon its charm — trust it, even — to steer us through that which cannot be fully comprehended, to bring us face to face with what we might not be willing to face if we were to think it through. Breathe in an accent? Charming… and then what? So much implicit in a little dalliance beside the sea…
First Prize
Eighth Edition of The Haiku Contest
Sharpening The Green Pencil 2019
https://sharpeningthegreenpencil.blogspot.com/?fbclid=IwAR0-tYcEUjR1UQJP-RzKSqoUTmYIcVZTJ6jqqy72CL7AJWy1Yw4qpiJbWUQ