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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

 

I will fight injustice with justice, she says.

and,  I bring you a choice.

But what if she said,  you will obey me?

 

That pride is a pit

and Khaleesi is no peach.

Brute. Burden Beast

She is Bullied, Brazen and Bare.

 

She has scrabbled with man, horse and spirit.

 

What is fire-born can be fire-ridden,

for, one hand has five fingers

One digit could lead the others astray

 

This hand is reaching up

as she is of the air.

 

She says, I will see each of their faces

When she says each, she means all.

What if,  in the moment that she leans in close

to the lens, there is a smear of sap

What then of womanhood?

 

A mother of dragons

is still a mother.

Her stare is blue:

a fire, not catching.  

a stunted sun

a contorted kiss

a vein left turned

 

this hand gives allegiance

and this hand,  the heart.

and this heart  beats

 

with the roar of a wingspan

so big it could cover us all

in darkness.

 

© Umansky 2014

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There’s no reason

to ever go to Bangor.

Stephen King is coming to Broadway!

 

© Umansky 2013

 

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Chess

Women have restrictions.  Boundaries. It’s nothing new.  We startle. We unnerve the opposite sex. We put our own kind on edge. We can anticipate your every move –especially in chess.

Don’t be flashy. Put away the Dior, Zsa Zsa.

                                                                                    (Tut-tut. You should know better, girls.)

Women make their own moves now. We roll the dice. We move the pieces. We finish first.  We take care of ourselves. We say when. We say how, but there are rules:

Watch those thumbs. You can’t unbutton anymore than the top and second buttons in a dress shirt. (You wouldn’t want that ample cleavage turning on your opponent’s knight and asking your rook for an after-dinner drink at Chez Lancelot.)

No one really smells like roses.  Watch the body odor, and the perfume.  We don’t want the pheromones taking charge. Chess is a game of strategy and precision.

Lastly, don’t be gauche.  Pretend you’re back in Tolstoy’s day – you wouldn’t want to be distracted on your move. Be coordinated in mind and outfit.  Your jewelry must be in line with your garb.               (You wouldn’t want the judges giving you the boot, right?)

Be ordinary. Put the bling away. The game’s been played since 600 AD.  Times might change, but the game is always the same.

© Umansky 2012

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what you meant

WHAT YOU MEANT

This marriage is dead,

Cannot be plagiarized

The backside is rose rubbed.

What feels right are patterned reminders.

Say, you didn’t mean, butcher.

Say, you didn’t mean, cleave.

Say, you wanted to leave me a bit to hang onto.

(c) Umansky 2010

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what we learn about love

what we learn about love

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self:: history

Self :: History

I don’t want

this third pull

Do as the duckling

Lop-tailed and  clacking

Put it small

but, full.

I am sure;  I am sure; Sure, I am

learning occurrences differently.

I am enlightened.

Throw a lighted-one here.

Oh, these spaces

With their certain hurts and harms.

I am done being  ___________

Done being _____________

Kill the sweet.

No marveling.

Steal your life.

Require cutting.

Juxtapose:          self-healing w/descent

If this were olden times;

If this were olden,

I’d still supply it all.

©Umansky 2010

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Made Things

made things

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