Oppression

I saw a course offered today at the local Community College titled "Dealing with difficult people".  I couldn't help but notice because I have long felt that truly contented people are those who aren't affected by the behavior of others.  A few of those "others" are often difficult.  They are difficult because there is some insensitive part of them that intentionally or unintentionally keeps those around them in a lower state, or is it that the people in the lower state in their humility and shaky self-esteem are too easily fooled by the puffed up illusion projected by those feigning superiority?  I admire the insubordinate who "tells it like it is"  in such a way that no action can be taken.  Their subtle comment is slightly below the insult mark and made in teasing humor, so that the arrogance of the "superior" is knocked down a notch.

I am reminded along this subject of a poem by Emily Dickinson, which makes me think that the dilemma of "psychological brow-beating" is timeless.

#288 

I'm Nobody!  Who are you?
Are you - Nobody - Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise - you know!

How dreary - to be - Somebody!
How public - like a Frog -
To tell one's name - the livelong June -
To an admiring Bog!

So, returning to the subject of "Difficult People" and their ability to oppress those around them.  I am inclined to think there is a therapy for the oppressed.  A "being on one's toes" sort of therapy, a constant vigilance and alarm system put in place so that when the moment of degradation is near an army of defense is called to arms ready to strike the perpetrator before he/she speaks or even dares to glance in an offensive manner.  I suppose it is a "snap back" therapy; and believe me, that even though I am well armed and ready, there are still those who catch me off guard and leave me in a charged muddle, agonizingly plotting my revenge!

Christmas

Bubbly bouncy guys with blood shot eyes.
Don't understand the axioms,
point their fingers at my sins.
I am an old Indian, and I don't understand;
years and years in the clay mines,
and on our bodies not one spot of red sand!

Your God is a Material God.
He swallows you on Christmas.
Your God is a Sugar God,
He nibbles at you on Easter.
Your God is a Familial God.
He teaches you lessons through your children.
Your God is a Benevolent God.
He gives them to those who have none.

1986

Acceptance of persons, events and time

I have found myself in the throes of regret and blame these last four months.  I want to return to a difficult time and remake the decision that placed me here.  My mind traces each detail of my decision and we both nod in agreement that it was the best thing to do.  Yet, I know now that I was mistaken, and somehow the possibilities of the other decision are floating away as my limited time teases me and mocks my very existence.  "Damn the recession and the baby boomers!" 

The part of me that wasn't consulted remains quiet and reminds me that the road not taken is just that, not taken.  It quotes the Tao and waits.  "When it blows, there is only wind; when it rains, there is only rain; when the clouds pass, the sun shines through."



Friant


Onion compresses, when
Clay or Comfrey are not
around wounds so deep.
Stairs climb shadows
unable to descend.
An interested friend lays
treasures at my feet.

Hoist an infant, chastise
a child, hold fast.   Your
Grit will determine at birth,
your Pitfalls bleed blame.
A new face causes eyes to
squint. Nothing is the same.


02-1-09

Misconceptions

Everyone knows that "you can't tell a book by its cover", and that "familiarity breeds contempt." But does anyone understand why, or what causes us to fall repeatedly into the "misconception trap".

I guess the worst victims are young virginal girls trusting seed sowing wolves to love and honor. However, we all to some extent want to believe that first impression when what you see is what you get. How boring, really, would it be if that jovial person you meet were to always be that two dimensional character. The unfolding of a person can also be the intrigue that leads to love and beyond.

Nevertheless, spending a life time with the Jekyll and Hyde under my skin, I am warned to look carefully and deeply before casting judgment on another.  Before entrusting my soul: study the facets and surprises of familiarity.


The Moon's Paladin


Saturn kissed the Moon last night.
I watched him through the window.
He snuck up close and held her tight.
What a daring fellow!

Saturn traveled far last night.
He is a far and distant traveler.
I wondered as he held her tight,
"Does he really love her?"

"Saturn, May I speak to you.
You many ringed romancer.
I question as you set to woo
your wondrous pale moon lover."

Saturn turns and looks at me
his enormous green eyes smiling.
"Oh Earthling, I can't help but laugh
at your presumptuous implying.

It is true I am a roguish sort,
quite alone and drifting; and
the Moon she tells a luring
story with her lovely singing.

But I am not the one of whom
she sings, although I envy his
attractive splendor. She is
instead one of my flock, for
I am the Moon's proud tender."

December, 1972

Dreams

There was a period in my life, kind of like now, where much of my time was spent waiting for others.  I strengthened patience and cultivated a love for aloneness.  Keeping busy swallowed much of the time; but dreams, daydreams really; devoured my attention, greedy for past memories and future fantasies.

I remember at one point watching the poplar trees in my front yard for what seemed like hours, day after day.  I felt like a prisoner locked in a tower only to be released when the little guards would wake from their naps, and I could escape to the store to buy them some milk.



Poplars in the Wind

Gentle wind claim my soul,
shimmering leaves sway to and fro.
I want to feel the touch of a dream, 
Sense its mist, sense serene.
Shimmering leaves gold and green. 
I want to touch the heart of a dream.
Strange as it seems, I just can't win.
I want to reach through and
touch the heart of a dream, 
Entwine close within.

How cleverly he plays the fool
I hear the royal subjects say.
How he makes them feel superior
with his clumsy movements stumbling play. 
Then when in a drunken stupor the idle braggarts lay;
The fool with richness overflowing quietly steals away.

I am a Ronin Samurai---
I swear to God this leotard is twenty years old,
and I have been dancing all of their lives. 
Children with nondescript eyes
are so sweet they bring tears to mine.
This servitude from some other time.

I guess I was just a little to open with you.
I accepted your invitation, then away your flew.
Well, I don't think of you much anymore --
Only when my eyes haze
as a present conversation fades.
A scowling face chastises  my distraction
while something you said rattles in my brain ,
and I fear you think, "God, she's insane."

Gentle wind claim my soul,
raging fierce now, out of control.
There are many things a man can do
that make him feel dark and mean.
But raging wind you're no fool,
and it ain't a crime to have a dream.

May, 1986

Paranoia

Paranoia....one word to describe so many feelings of insecurity and projection..hmmmm..what would I do if the door I tried were unlocked? 

Untried or unsuspected:  If we are ever to trust others, we need to first trust ourselves.

When Every Word

I hear echos the very words
I scream,and the enemies that
surround me hide in my pillow seam.
The desire for understanding falls
like the fluff of a waking dream. 

As I sift through the rubble
clutching this, rejecting that; 
I see yet another rubble where
I sat scrutinizing what was
said, and how I answered back.

August, 2002

Freedom

I was thinking of freedom today, and how it seems to be what the world as a whole and individuals everywhere are seeking.  I have thought and written about how the finest freedom is found within barriers..good barriers. 

Maya Angelou writes that the caged bird sings for it, and our own USA allows it to ring.  I, however, think it is something we will never have.  Our need to be caged is far greater than our love of freedom.  We are caged in jobs, homes, relationships, family; and by the simple fact that we have no feathers or fur, and we need to eat.  We are foremostly caged by love.  The single bond that is both elastic and solid steel.  It sends us soaring to great heights and spinning out of control to the lowest depths.  We might try to escape bravely or stealthy, but in the end it "will gettcha gettcha gettcha."


Gadding About

Footsteps echo force down the hall. Assumed
Gentleness irate, presumes its time to rear Ugly
Heads in childish tests the bonds of love.

We run naked and have no names. 
The Elves pinch us until nothing remains. 
We hide in the Toadstools under the trees. 
Lichen formed mice tickle our knees and
dissolve in the laughter of the Elves as they tease.

They tease and they vex, they jest and they laugh
atop Sponge Pillows, at Moss tables, mischievous
spats.  They sip Dewdrops, and Teardrops jabbering
a lot as eerie music surrounding  fades in and out.

Circling this concert Tangled Fungus and Mold
drawing from heat transform and unfold
Fear, Sniveling Tears, Who done it? 
You did it!  He told! 
In Algae Robes invading, winding below
and above not releasing or holding....
the illusive bonds of love.

May, 2003

Fathers Day

I am not a fan of "Hallmark" holidays, but Mothers and Fathers have my appreciation. It isn't only the biological parent that should receive an ovation, but any responsible adult who takes on the role and extends a hand to a young person. Perhaps the name of both days should be changed to "Caregiver Day" - much more appropriate.


Father's Day


Strong arms lift you from
turbulent waves, water lapping
at your knees misbehaves.
Cracker Jacks and Red Hots,
Gimme Some and Thank You Nots.

Send you off in a black sleek car,
quick sip of water from a jelly jar.
In the back seat, a pretty blond smile.
Treaded underneath, fragrant Chamomile.

June, 1995