THE WOMEN gather under the trees.
They bring gifts, food, and chairs.
They are gypsies and queens, oracles, saints,
Jezebels and jesters, healers, sages, and warriors.
And when the circle is complete, the magic begins.
Shyly, with dainty movements, they take turns,
shifting aside their robes to expose
missing limbs and gaping wounds.
The others gather close and peer, heads cocked,
eyes straining, and they chant,
"That is lovely, that is good,"
and the wounds stop weeping,
and they melt into scars,
silvery and light and beautiful.
Then the women lean back and laugh,
and they stretch, sensual and fierce,
like cats in the sun.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

I Protest!

This postcard was the inspiration for this poem by Xena.












Wars and rumors of wars
I protest!
Torture and other horrors
I protest!
Corporations who think that they are peoples
Money-grubbing churches with their gilded steeples
I protest!
Discrimination against females
I protest!
Rhetoric by Palin/Bachmann she-males
I protest!
Abuse by the clergy of our children
Execution of those who used a cauldron
I protest!
In fair weather or in foul
I protest!
For all good causes, I will howl!
I protest!
I protest!
I protest!

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