Once burned…

“Fake people have an image to maintain. Real people just don’t care.”                        –     Author unknown

“We never lose friends. We simply learn who the real ones are.”  – Author unknown

 

“False friendship, like the ivy, decays and ruins the walls it embraces; but true friendship gives new life and animation to the object it supports.”  – Richard Burton

*

Once burned…

 

You flash a grin

My way

I feel my spine

Relax

Slipping farther

From caution I

Slide under your spell

Memory dishes up

In your favor

I feel confidence

Abandon me

As you close in

That split second

Your head turns

Calculating your options

Gratefully my senses return

Your attentions return

In a flash

–

Yet a veil has fallen

Your strengths fade to frailties

Sliding irretrievably from

Possibility

The seas are rich

I am patient

And deep

Your shallow waters

Cannot sustain me

*

Bisous,

Léa

Red’s own story

“And whenever I’m in a situation where I’m wearing the same as 600 other people and doing the same thing as 600 other people, looking back, I always found ways to make myself different, whether it be having a red lining inside of my jacket, having red shoes, it hasn’t changed.”
– Jeremy Irons

“When in doubt wear RED.”
– Bill Blass

 

Red’s Own Story

 

She is the thick

Slick enamel

That covers my nails

A pointer when tracing

Concentric circles

On bare flesh

She is the sports car

Darting along the highway

Hugging the curves

Turning an eye

She is the ripe

Succulent strawberry

Her flesh firm

Yet yielding

Tantalizing dipped in dark chocolate

Suits her best

She is the

American beauty

Long stemmed, heady fragrance

Her tight buds unfurl

Exposing her inner delicacy

We forget the thorns

She is the creamy dark war paint

On my lips

A signature

When and where

I choose to leave my mark

She is fire

On the move

Churning inside

Rising up

Beckoning me on

She is

Passion

 

Bisous,

Léa

I BELIEVE, ANITA, CHRISTINE, DEBORAH and too many more…

“We must send a message across the world that there is no disgrace in being a survivor of sexual violence – the shame is on the aggressor.”  – Angelina Jolie

 

Survivor “I still wake up with your name stuck in my throat, sometimes where it caught between your hands when you squeezed, I still wake up in fear, most nights, your eyes follow me from every shadow, every loud noise crowding the edges of my memory. I still wake up.”  – Amber Koneval

 

 

Florence – by any other name

 

A double-edged irony

Dredged up shards from childhood.

A hurricane bearing grandma’s name

Following it, via internet

Feeling every blow, just as I did then

Even infancy wasn’t spared

Ask those in her path

 

Gone, neighborhoods,

Businesses, homes,

Evidence of life,

Gone like childhood

A survivor clings to shadows

Knowing the perpetrator

Knowing he, now dead

 

Grandmothers are supposed

To love their grandchildren

Not to offer them up to a friend

Send her in a dress, then

Leave as he arrives

All above board, a deacon

Of the church, above reproach

 

Earliest memories, not yet three

Rituals continued until age five

must arrive in dresses

Lay on a white papered altar

Bitter liquid gagging and choking me

Bathed after, sans evidence

Large, rough hands

So many years ago, yet crystal clear

 

 

Me too brings it back

But with resistance to perpetrators

Christine brings it back

But with the chutzpah to

Name the perpetrator, for herself

For all of us, even those still mute

 

Grandma Florence, I shall

Never forget, how you used me

To keep that friend coming back

No drugs, no alcohol, no consent

Nor, mother dearest, how you conspired

No words

Then beat me for being evil

Decades later, I shall never forget

 

You were all violent storms

That plowed through infancy

Leaving scars, deep furrows

 that will never go away

I grew stronger, put miles, then countries

Between disasters, despite this

I was one of the lucky ones

I’ve worked with many

And watched some perish

 

But unlike Anita, Christine, Deborah

And the others that will come

I didn’t have to do it on television

Ladies, you are heroes

I doff my chapeau

 

At first, the storm approached

In fumbling verse

On pages in my script

Armed with keys to the assaults

Words from my lips, another matter

Finding a career path, finding others

Holding the light, leading the way

They find the path, or they don’t

Often tripped by the righteous indignation

Of abusers and their supporters.

Ignorance and misogyny could soon

Be the law of the land

                            –

How long will America fuel this war on Women, are they incapable of justice? The usual M.O. sweeping their crimes under the carpet and hiding behind a woman’s skirt as they do it. Senate Judiciary Committee will hide, hide from their dirty hands, and the repercussions. 

 

 

 With gratitude for those who have made a stand and in solidarity,

 

Me too, Léa

Scattering

“In one of those stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night. And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend…I shall not leave you.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

“Aim for the moon. If you miss, you may hit a star.”
– W. Clement Stone

“Here is my secret. It’s quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Scattering

Every new

Moon

I curl up

In my

Curvaceous

Crescent

Encircled

By each

Starry night

Celestial dreams

Await me

There is no man

Here

I control

The ebb

And flow

Of the

Seas

I watch

Over your

Attempts

To comprehend

Me

To encapsulate

Into ode

Or song

It is difficult

When you

Haven’t

The language

Of the

Universe

Bemused

My laughter

Scatters

Stardust

Bisous,

Léa

Thank you Barb! I won’t tell a soul… just a few blogging friends.

Fair open discussion or gender stereotyping? He has a PhD from Harvard in Systems Biology, and quotes generalities from Wikipedia. He says he understands that overall differences between men and women may not apply to differences between individual men and women, and yet he urges Google to make sweeping policy changes based on those group […]

via WTF? #Googlemanifesto — Barb Taub

Mirror, mirror…

 

“Mirror is my best friend, because when I cry, it never laughs.”  – Sir Charles Chaplin 

“Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing.”               – Camille Pissarro

“If only our eyes saw souls instead of bodies how very different our ideals of beauty would be.”                   – author unknown

“People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.”
-Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

                 *

Mirror, Mirror

I embark on a journey

To find out just who is this person

Buried inside my eyelids

The one who lurks in front of the bathroom mirror

As I blow-dry my hair each morning

She mimics my movements

While I brush my teeth and short reddish hair

Thank you Clariol

Or is she mocking me?

We share a wardrobe

It is debatable whom the clothes fit better

I prefer to think the mirror is the one

Telling the tall tales

A mirror should never be believed

If it were kinder

Perhaps I wouldn’t avoid its glare

*

Bisous,

Léa

Not guilty

Originally posted March 2012

“No diet will remove all the fat from your body because the brain is entirely fat. Without a brain, you might look good, but all you could do is run for public office.”
—George Bernard Shaw

“Never eat more than you can lift.”
—Miss Piggy

*

Not guilty

Today I ordered rhubarb pie

With my iced coffee

As its tartness exploded

Into my mouth sending lazy taste buds

Waves of pleasure

I noted that this pie

Was not accompanied

By the usual helping

Of guilt

Guilt for indulging

In this orgy of calories

Guilt that I will not be very hungry

When my son takes me out for dinner

In four hours – guilt

That the needle -on the bathroom scale

May have to climb a little higher

As my fingers traced

A path of flakey golden crumbs

And sticky red juice

I realized that this time

There was no attempt

To justify the decision

To indulge, to rationalize

Because it’s my birthday I’m entitled

No bargaining of what I

Would forgo?

To atone

I simply enjoyed every last bite

And if I weren’t’ so full

I would get another piece -perhaps

Or – make that to go

*

Bisous,

Léa

bond-less day

“Parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.” – Jim Morrison

*

bond-less day

no, they say

you never miss

what you never had

yet I kept searching

for that bond

turning each stone

attachment of infancy

maternal bonding

it is celebrated

every year

and every year

I busy myself

to focus on

what I have that

is mine

despite familial rejection

the years of abuse

the violence

children she never

wanted – a choice

that was not mine

if you had that

magical bond

assuming we all did

i’m happy for you

but don’t assume

this is universal

i’ve worked with others

who lived in dread

of the pretense

who asked ourselves

over and over

why wasn’t I

acceptable

being who I

was, childish

attempts to change

your mind, your heart

changing who i was

trying to be good enough

finally accepting

without a conscience

there is nothing

you have to give

never to look into

my eyes

we were both

victims – who chose

different paths

no terms of endearment

no kisses, no gentle touch

i’ve learned to glue

pieces together

scarring is deep

but now i am free

i’ve built a life

where acceptance

is my cocoon

emerging i 

take wing and fly

*

bisous,

léa

WE ALONE: by ALICE WALKER

Alice Walker is an American Poet/Author. Born to slaves in Georgia she now resides in Northern California. She has said that  “My poems – even the happy ones – emerge from an accumulation of sadness, when she stands again in the sunlight.” After reading the poem below and others in the book, I read an article on Genetically Modified Foods. Between the two I moved on to create yesterday’s post. I do hope you enjoy her work and you can find much comfort and courage in her words. She has been recipient of an American Book Award, the Pulitzer Prize for her book THE COLOR PURPLE  which was later adapted into a film and a musical. For those unfamiliar with her work, I have posted one of her poems.

 

“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.”  –  Alice Walker

“We have to wake up. We have to refuse to be a clone.”  –  Alice Walker

“This is a wonderful planet, and it is being completely destroyed by people who have too much money and too much power and no empathy.”  –  Alice Walker

*
WE ALONE

We alone can devalue gold
by not caring
if it rises
in the marketplace.
Wherever there is gold
there is a chain, you know,
and if your chain
is gold
so much the worse
for you.

Feathers, shells
and sea-shaped stones
are all as rare.

This could be our revolution:
To love what is plentiful
as much as
what’s scarce.

–  ALICE WALKER: HORSES MAKE A LANDSCAPE LOOK MORE BEAUTIFUL

*

Bisous,

Léa

Wanted: lost poem

Today I will not open with a quote or quotes. Today I offer the results of a challenge by my friend Kath Unsworth over at Minuscule Moments. Kath is a very talented artist and after reading my last post here, challenged me to look in my handbag and give it the same treatment as I gave my desk. Thank you Kath. Please stop by and visit her at: http://kathunsworth.com

 

WANTED: lost poem

 

A friend tells me there is a poem

Inside my handbag

Intrigued by the thought

I reach inside to see if it

Can be found among the

Debris of this life

Simulated black leather wallet

Uncloseable, spilling forth

Its cache of business cards

Theirs, my own,

Yet there is no poem

Receipt slips from the bank,

Carte de sejour, le permis de conduire,

The last five euros of the month

Tucked out of sight,

Medical insurance card and my ATM card

Still no poem in view

Digging deeper, the book of the day, I never

Leave home without something to read

Small notebook or journal (or two) and several pens

Black (of course), blue and my favorite purple

All necessary tools for creative outbursts

One never knows when writing is essential

But still no visible trace of verse

Reading glasses and a spare, checkbook,

Tucked in the zippered pocket

Bonbons from the café and tape measure

One never knows what you will find

At the vide greniers

Despite my earnest search, I remain

Empty handed, no prose and no verse

*

Bisous,

Léa