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Some women consider my “submisson” choices brave. Why? Read this:

LUmansky's avatar

I recently had some poems accepted into a major literary publication.  This journal is one I’ve wanted to be published in ever since I was a college student. Ever since I discovered the journal, really. And yes,  I scoffed at it. It seemed very high brow and a bit stuffy, but every so often I’d see a poem I really admired and think to myself, why not?

Why not?  It’s a natural enough question. People ask it all the time. What I want to know is why do I ask it, and others don’t? What makes me different?  Is that I’m used to the rejection? Is that I really have that much self-confidence?  I don’t think so.   I think I just feel that if I’ll never know unless I try.

What has surprised me, is not the fact that my friends are happy for me, and know how hard I…

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Poems About Womanhood

My recent post on Luna Luna focuses on two poems about womanhood. One by Rachel McKibbens and one by yours truly. Enjoy.

LUmansky's avatar

Being a woman in the 21st century is sometimes a conundrum but as writers, we can help one another. As an English teacher, I’m surprised by the amount of teenage girls who declare themselves: Feminists. It makes me proud, not only to be their teacher, but to also be a Feminist myself. When I grew up, in the 80’s and 90’s, I don’t think I saw being a Feminist as something “cool.” I think I was afraid of it. Afraid of saying it aloud. It was a secret that I carried inside me, along with my heroines. The more I read about strong women, the more I turned a light on for them inside my heart at night when I went to sleep. Soon, there were floating votives everywhere…

Here are two poems with a feminist edge: one is by Rachel McKibbens and one is a poem of my…

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Look what's displayed at the poets house showcase

Look what’s displayed at the poets house showcase

The Times

 

When Don puts on the Revolver LP it is like I’m back in my childhood bedroom asserting that it is not the 1990’s. When the Beatles terrorize his penthouse apartment, I wish I could sit on his lap and sing to him.  Don says, “Having a dream is admirable.”

He can drink all he wants, as long as when “And Your Bird Can Sing” comes on he promises to dance. Whiskey could do the trick. Those Drapers are pretty predictable. Drapers do whatever they want. Even if Don is an “ideas man,” he knows better than to say no to a woman.

Don says, “I was raised in the 30’s. My dream was indoor plumbing."

Megan says, “Don, You’re everything I dreamed you’d be and more!”

 

            Let’s not talk about my dreams…

 

*

 

 

I thought I’d hate Don, like everyone else, but I don’t.  I long for him the way kids long for the turning of the Ice Cream Man.  I hear that elevator door DING and I rise on up.

 

Sure, he’s troubled like the rest of them, but beneath that designer suit is a good, strong man. He’s a warrior.   He treats Joan like she came out of that goddamn Trojan Horse with the soldiers, all woman, all beauty and all power-hungry as hell.  She’s everything a man is and more. Don can’t plead with Joan; she’s a woman who’s ready to kill her darlings.

 

I know advertising is based on moments, but so is life.  Don has changed this moment for me.                                                         

 

*

 

When Don falls asleep on Peggy’s lap, you can feel the continents shift. He almost tells her she’s beautiful, but doesn’t, which is good, because she doesn’t need that from him.  When her number’s called, she gets gone.

 

When she gives her notice, he takes her hand like she is royalty. He is tender and sensual. It is almost erotic in the way he lingers there in the twilight of her moment. She is rejecting him and he won’t let go of her hand.  She feels his lips, not on her face, but on the top of her hand; her fingers; and her nails.

 

He is proud of her; she’s her own glory now. She’s got the guns and the ammo, but inside, I bet he’s thinking: I’ve created a monster.

 

Peggy resists all the clichés and wraps herself in strength.  She takes Don on in a way that children learn how to fight back tears.

 

This is tough-love at its finest.

 

It’s a man’s world, but not for all of us.  

 


© Umansky 2013

 

My cat is bigger than you.

You may as well call yourself a cat.

I don’t like your beady eyes and your yap-yap yapping.

And why do you always look like you’re shaking?

You look like you need a valium.

For the love of god,  get a grip!

 

© Umansky 2013

 

The Great Beyond

 

1/

For valuable data, see:  emotions.

 

This is all effective and affective.

It is inching closer, like a train approaching a station.

 

It could indicate arrogance or annoyance.

                                                           

Even the friend of many, the Xbox. ( though, who cares, I never had one)

will soon be controlled by more than hands.  It will mature to a place that is beyond verbal.

 

 

2/

Anyone can calculate your body movements and the force of your punch, but now, It gets difficult with personal matters. How do I calculate heartbeat? I want to help shape the future offerings.  I want a machine to calculate love. Take out the guessing. I want the heart to long and project desire like a hologram, even when it is asleep.

 

 

3/

We are entering a time when all is emotionally-aware.   

 

                                                                        [even my phone is smart.]

 

It is revealing and in the revelation is the scrutiny.

 

What if I just mask my emotions – could we be manipulated? I don’t have time for games. The opposite sex is so good at them. Machines will, too.  Who also wants to deal with Artificial Intelligence?

 

I could tailor my life according to my body. I could tailor my body to carefully built machines.

“I could” is neither here nor there; It’s just a starting point, like “I want to, but…”

 

© Umansky 2013

 

 

There’s no reason

to ever go to Bangor.

Stephen King is coming to Broadway!

 

© Umansky 2013

 

 

You make me want to be smarter.

You make Steven Segal look like Vin Diesel

“Demolition Man” was almost as bad as “Judge Dredd”

but not as bad as “Rambo” or “The Expendables.”

 

I laughed when SNL’s “Dog Show” featured

a poodle named Rocky Balboa.

I love that my high school students don’t remember:

“Stop or My Mom Will Shoot.”

                                                (Poor Estelle)

Why glorify your life with “blood and guts?”

Somehow making movies with “tits and ass”seems

more respectable. Why couldn’t you be a  good, talented

Italian actor like that Al Pacino or Paul Giamatti.

                        (I bet that Paul makes his mother proud.

                                    Did you see Barney’s Version?)

Sylvester, I will forever cringe when I hear the name “Adrienne.”

© Umansky 2013