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Special Poetry Issue
November 2004

volume 22, number 11

H

erland is pleased to send you

this Special Poetry Issue of the Voice, containing works by many local poets, plus cartoons by Sue Clancy of Norman. Our poets
are both recognized and published; unpublished and
unsung - but we were impressed with all of them and
hope you will be too. They are: Dorothy ,Alexander,
Chris Cristoffels, Richard Dixon, Denise Fox, Peggy
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I can't expect that life should stop
to hear the whispers of the wind...
Only that I must tune my soul
To listen in the crowd

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Johnson, Deidre Murray, DN, Peggy Malone, Judith
R, Diane Trout Harwood, LaRue Starr, Lynnsey Weber and Coleen Woody. Their poetry speaks of love,
angst, social justice, standing naked in the desert
night, love lost and refound, hotdogs, strawberries,
chocolate, death, guilt, stained glass, the sky-side of
clouds, and honkytonk memories - everything, in
short, that poetry should bring to us.
Sue is a well-known artist whose cartoons are published bi-weekly in The Oklahoma Gazette, we are
delighted to publish these. If you have been to Herland, you will have seen Sue's murals decorating our
brick garage/storage building.

Herland is proud to present
"The Sober Truth", an art exhibit of the works of
Deborah Dukes. Saturday, November 13, 2004, 3 6 pm. Deborah earned her Fine Arts degree in
1988 from the Maryland Institute College of Art in
Baltimore, Maryland, worked as a graphic artist for
many years thereafter; she was not interested in
"art for art's sake" until she discovered black & white
photography many years later. From there she
started dabbling in collage work and mixed media

and found
real joy in abstract
art. Deborah
says, "Throughout
my life I have battled alcoholism and
in 1998 I took my
last drink. I am free
of the physical action of picking up
the bottle but
sometimes still battle
Dukes: Dead Man's Hand
with the demons that plagued me during my 17 years
of addiction. What I cannot express in words, I can
try to express on canvas. There is pain & joy, fear &
Courage, despair & hope. This is who I am and what
I believe. This is the "Sober Truth"
There will be a reception at Herland beginning
at 3pm on Saturday, November 13, 2004, to unveil
these impressive works. They will be available for
purchase, with a generous percentage of the proceeds
going to Herland. We hope you will stop by. The
reception will be followed by:

$~ Poetry Night at Herland,
' Saturday, November 13, 2004,
:; : 8 pm - following the Reception
for "The Sober Truth". The
L I evening of poetry reading will
1
,~, be anchored by dynamic slam
poet Lynnsey Weber from Norman. You may remember
Lynnsey from Herland's anniversary concert last year when
she opened for Tret Fure, and
totally wowed the audience. In
addition to Lynnsey, all of our
November Voice poets are invited to attend and read
their poetry, as well as a few others who missed the
deadline for submission.
Both events are free and open to the public.

:·. l

www.herlandsisters.org
herland sister resources, 2312 nw 39th, oklahoma city, ok 73112
(405) 521-9696
email: herlandsisters@cox.net
bookstore hours: saturdays 1-5 pm

PARADIGM SHIFT
by Dorothy Alexander
August night in a summer
before youth became a stranger,
partying and, on a dare, drinking beer
in a gay bar in Amarillo where cowboys
on stools cruised with exaggerated
campy wrist flips and mincing
patter that passed for cool
in those faraway 60's.
When last call echoed through
the blue smoked air, someone
mouthed images of a midnight drive
through Palo Duro Canyon.

Cartoon by Sue Clancy

Upon Thinking of Ruth
by M. Coleen Woody
I would like to write a line
that would make a difference
to someone, somewhere - if
only for a moment.
A line that would touch
an open wound - and cause it to heal,
That would touch a frightened soul and make her brave.
A line that would touch a heart
and bring it back to me.
I would like to write that line ...
But I wonder now if I would
write it to you.

Maya
by MEC
I see we have yoked and bound
ourselves together
in a mad, plodding race
across the yellow desert sands
of the infinite universe of love,
hot seeds in the eye of lime.
I know the vast expanse of Maya's plain,
the way to be traversed,
the black holes.
I feel the scope of what we shall do
when we are one energy flowing,
our fragile bodies bursting purple light,
split skins freeing us to our godness.

Lisping our way to the parking lot
a buxom dyke named Phyllis
fell in beside me and pointed
to her slick red Chevy convertible
all lines and planes, chrome-studded
and open to the dry cool air
of a high plains night.
I slid into the leather seat beside her,
waited for the breeze to stir my hair,
while I replayed the worst moments
of my last three marriages.

-Visionary Over Experimental/Dream
AbsencebyDN
When we are together, I whisper words
and Expressions of enjoyment.
When you are not with me, I whisper more than
I'm afraid of telling you.
These words of emotion that I wish to whisper
when we are one are
I want you, I need you, I love you.
These words come to mind every time
I think about you in the hallway,
When I hear your name,
When I taste you, and
When I feel your touch.
I want you, I need you, I love you.

This Month's website of the month is:
http://www.creative-women.com/cwtoc.htm!,

---------------------- .............................. .
All Aboard!!!!

Herland is Herland is helping to organize a train trip
to Ft. Worth the first weekend in December - the 4th and
5th. Amtrak tickets for trip are $46 roundtrip, and the
train leaves OKC about 8:30 a.m. There is parking available at the station, though not an excess of it, so carpooling is recommended to the station. We will arrive in
Ft. Worth about 12:30 pm, and can choose from any
number of hotels downtown that are within walking distance. There are several world-class art museums and
lots of good places to eat in the downtown area also.
We will leave Ft. Worth around 5 pm on Sunday, and
arrive back in OKC about 10 pm.
We will be choosing a hotel soon, and will put the announcement on our e-list at Herland@yahoo.com . Also,
you can call us at 405-521-9696 and leave a message or
better, email us at herlandsisters@cox.net. You are
responsible for making your own hotel and train reservations. If you would like to share a room, your best bet is
to check out thee-list for others who are interested. We
currently have a "show of interest" of about eight peapie, and the more the merrier.

Native American Women
OKC Two-Spirit Society is having meetings for lesbian and
bi-sexual women of Native American descent. Please call
the OKC Two-Spirit Hotline number at (405) 317-7283 for
information.

The Voice is published monthly by Herland Sister Resources, Inc.
2312 NW 39th, Oklahoma City, OK 73112. The Voice is offered as an
open forum for community discourse. Articles reflect the opinions of
the author and not necessarily those of Hertand Sister Resources.
Unsolicited articles and letters to the editor are welcomed and must
be signed by the writer with full name and address . Upon request,
letters or articles may be printed under a pseudonym or anonymously.
Subscriptions to The Voice are free upon request although a donation
is requested to meet publication and distribution costs.
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Don't Forget to Support the Voice!
Your contribution is important! Just $12 a year will
help us pay for the $300+ it costs every month to print
and mail the newsletter.
[ ] Enclosed is a contribution for $ _ _ __
[ ] Please add me to the mailing list for The Voice.
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Name - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Street _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __
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Ill

November

Monday. November 8: OGLPC Monthly Meeting at
the Center, 2135 NW 39th, 7 pm.
Saturday, November 13: Herland Hike at Martin
Nature Park, 5000 W. Memorial, 10 am.
Saturday, November 13: Herland Supper Club
will meet at 6:00 pm on Saturday, November 13th
at the Belle Isle Brewery. If you wish to carpool,
meet at Herland at 5:45 pm. Then it's back to
Herland for Poetry Night at 8 pm. See front page
of the Voice for full story.
Saturday. November 13: The Sober Truth Art Exhibitat Herland-3 pm to 6 pm
Saturday. November 13: Poetry Night at Herland-8
pm
Saturday. November 20: Herland Video Night 7 pm
- Film to be announced at event.
Saturday. November 20: Peace Festival 2004, 10
am to 4 pm at Civic Center Hall of Mirrors. This
event celebrates groups working for PEACE, justice
with compassion, human rights, civil rights, economic justice, environmental sustainability, rights
of nature, animal rights, sufficiency for all-a better, more livable world. This is a socially conscious holiday shopping opportunity.
Sunday, November 21: Herland Board Meeting, 4
pm, everyone welcome.
Thursday November 25: Herland Thanksgiving Potluck- 4:30. Meat and bread will be provided.
Please bring a vegetable or desert. Also, please
bring a new item of women's clothing or shoes for
the YWCA Sexual Assault Program. Women who
have been sexually assaulted usually must leave
their cloths and shoes at the hospital for evidential
examination and therefore are in need of clothing
to leave the hospital. Or bring a new non-violent
toy for children from birth to 13 years of age for
: the Y's battered women's program.
• Saturday, November 27: Herland Scrabble Night•• 6 pm

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•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Masterpieces
ByJ R

I used to long to touch the Pieta-the flowing solidity of such smoothness
would surely teach my touch
all that could be learned of
the feel of beauty~
That was before my tongue explored
the lifewarm curves and crevices
of your hidden masterpiece.

-Untitledby DN

To be able to see you is enough;
Yet when I do, I want more.
To touch you is all I want
But then I'd want to touch you
more.
To hold you should suffice;
Yet I'll soon realize,
I will never let go.
-HerTouchby DN

Her touch surrounds my thigh
Embraces iny back
Holds on ....to my
Abdomen ....to my
Words ....to my
Life. Never hinders their meaning.
OLD LOVERS
by Dorothy Alexander

I arise before dawn,
take my morning bath.
Afterward,
I go to her bedside,
lean over, let my breasts
touch her face lightly.
She half wakes and slowly
takes my nipples, one at a time
into her mouth. Gently.
Then, closes her eyes,
slips back into sleep.
I straighten, put on clothes
and begin another day.

Vernal Equinox- Big Bend,
Texas

by MEC
I stand naked on the hillside
in the desert night.
The full moon rises in front of me.
It bathes my soul with
its radiance and power.
A black smear of clouds rises behind
me;
it bathes my skin with
moisture and coolness.
The desert lies all around me;
it opens itself to
the sustaining rain.
Ravens shake dew from
white yucca blooms.
I shake death from my being
and open myself to new life.
POEM FOR NOVEMBER
by Dorothy Alexander

The doorway pulls in the smells
of summer's goodbye, dried leaves
.
'
geranium pungency, air smoky
with the prodigal's homecoming.
Soon we'll hear the wind whining
through clapboards, we'll sleep
in high-necked granny gowns,
I will wrap my arms around you
and we'll curl into a curve as perfect
as the rim of an orange moon
climbing the harvest sky.

Cartoons by Sue Clancy

We11 wake in air so pure that
our breath will heal the wounds
opened by loss of summer sun
and our youth. We11 make an oasi!
of potted ivy, aloe, Christmas
cactus, and steam rising
from coffee in chipped mugs.
From "Confessions"
by JR

I was lost
and you knew how
to find me;
But...
I thought I could
Do It Myself.
Bearing the weight
of empty years on my back,
on my soul, I return to you
for direction;
From "Confessions"
by JR

Battering
the walls
down between us
leaves us standing
naked in the rubble. Shards
of shattered history
pierce soft souls
so every step we take
toward the empowerment
of love leaves its mark
in blood.

Untitled
by Deidra Murray
It's easy enough to start digging into the earth
find a small shovel, your muddy boots
and stamp down, then shove and scoop
the dirt underneath your nails,
you don't like the feel of the rough garden gloves
or when the sun is eating your back alive
with its consistent heat of a tongue
its wild sun stories
you prefer the cool fat moon
It's time to duck under water, slip off your shoes
and start swimming. your arms, your legs
the whole world is wet.
at this moment you are far from this morning
when all you knew was the hiss of the hose
as it lapped against the pretty sweet tree
and all your toes were screaming
about how glad they were to be alive

Sunburned
by Deidra Murray
We were kissed by the sun, our only passport our thumbs
dancing in our blue suede shoes on the side of the road I '
two young girls looking for the pirates booty
baby, even the moon followed us home.
Running from our families, renting cheap hotel rooms
and sweeping the floor for pennies.
sleeping in someone's kitchen as long as there were
mushrooms
or little pills given out at concerts.
janis was already belting out the blues,
morrison was opening doors but falling off the stage
and dylan was warning us about the fifties
while the 6o's were taking over the room
making fun of anyone comfortable with the status quo.
we were chasing rainbows and playing air guitar,
the star of whatever scene we found ourselves in.
some of the musicians we had just heard on the
covers of magazines
spoiled by luck but living our dreams.
There's more than 2 sides to this story,
the way your dad kicked the dog and suddenly lefthow you found bitterness almost sweet
and the way nobody told the truth anymore,
not our politicians, the priest or the actors
but what they were singing and what they suggested
as we danced under the sway of false premises
and how it was the first time for everything
under the sun

HARVEST MOON
by Richard Dixon
Gilded, glowing, almost bright
enough to squint at, the man
in it looking cheerful, cherubic.
This one comes in late-August,
so technically .....
but just walk outside right now
and then tell me it doesn't have
the reaping of crops written
all over it; tell me you don't hear
the snuffling of horses, creaking
of wagon wheels; tell me you
don't smell the pungency of picked
pumpkins, the sweetness
of just-mown alfalfa, the dry brittle
of newly-shucked corn, and tell me
you don't feel a certain crispness in the air,
and your mind doesn't pick up
the faint strains of a Saturday night - barn dance, down in the valley.

Shattered Woman
by Denise Fox
I allow you to bribe me
with money and smothering love,
as payment for ignoring
the father's cruelty.
Never will you be heaven bound and free I
for the heart of a martyr is forever chained
to bad men who need mommies.
Who will you become in the next life an abused child or abuser?
In this fantasy world, your desire
follows me like a crow,
unknown to everyone, even you.
What will you do Mother, when
your customers demand a refund,
for this entrapped butterfly
has died upon having its beautiful
wings stroked.

From "Confessions"
by JR

I've never known my life
to be so dark in sorrow
That your smile was not a promise of
the brightness of tomorrow.

Lortab Love

Untitled

by JR

by LaRue Starr

When I close my eyes, the rush
of life surging by catches me
slings me into the current and,
like the last soft piece of an Ivory bar
headed for drain-death, I spin
toward darkness.
"Goin' down, Ma'am?"
No way Jose. She loves me, and
there's no way to go but Up.
It's just that
I sometimes take
the alternative route.

Haiku
by JR

Our hearts seek to be
both imprisoned in love and
eternally free
This love has no why
but to pad the sharp edges
twixt now and goodbye.
I see in your eyes
a glow that peels the blackness
from the day-Sunrise!
Knowing you has taught
that the sky-side of a cloud
cradles hope, sun shot.
This little moment
has no name but "Now"-a
facet of Forever.
Writing in your hand
Makes any piece of paper
Aphrodisiac.
The flash of your smile
makes rainbows of my tears and
Super-Glues my heart.

The Hole of It
by JR
Sitting in the dentist's chair
with a gumful of Novocain
and a heart full of you
I guess that as a patient I'm
a pretty good lover
because when I think of cavities
I think of days empty
of your presence
and how you filled the spaces
of my life
with gold and silver.

Suddenly
I miss you
and it hits me like an ocean wave
almost knocking me off my feet.
I brace myself
for its next onslaught,
but it sneaks up
and catches me off guard
as my body feels the feeling
of you tucked up next to me in sleep.
Tears sting my eyes
and I push away the thoughts,
knowing all the while they'll come back
to haunt me
taunt me.
Such wonderful memories
create such terrible longing
and would I have it any other way?
Isn't the depth of our love
equivalent to the breadth of our despair
and the length of the leash?
So I welcome the rush of the waters
against the shoreline of my soul
Knowing in the aching
lies the beauty of our love.

Tunnels
by JR

I know the nonsense
of waves upon snow,
laughter in fear, sorrow
and wisdom that multiply
in the dark. These long
tunnels have taught me
to recognize the sun
through its reflection
and not to assume that darkne
signifies night. Imagined
thresholds never hold
my vagabond demons at bay
for even sages cannot set
boundaries on a loss of faith
and even angels, even
the angels, even
compassionate angels
have no because
to meet the why
of a violated child.

Old Man
Untitled
by LaRue Starr

A shadow falls across my heart
And leaves me in dusk,
A feeling I can't shake.
The reality of losing you.
I know what we still have.
It's what we don't that I long for.
All the unrealized potentials,
The dreams yet to come true.
My future once wrapped in you
Is now a giant question mark.
Who - where - doing what
Is all unknown.
A shadow falls across my heart
And hides the light of our love.
What once radiated so freely, so
fiercely
Now hides, afraid and waits.
Only time will tell
If the shadow will pass
And allow our love
To shine once more.

Who Smells
of Pee
by Denise
Fox
I start to cry.
The gross disfigured man
only wanted a box
to move his belongings
on a luggage carrier
through town.
Do you want a luna bar
or a new pair of shoes
or a new CD?
I form the words
but they stagnate in my
mind.
He flaps away
wearing stupid red socks,
while I, like a ghost,
let him.

Life, One Breath Long

That spring and summer we lived on hot dogs
by Peggy Johnson

by Pego Malone

Is Life so short,
One breath
Long?
Strawberry, dripping chocolate,
Goddess taste,
From kissed lips.
Love's arrow pain
For one gone,
Two gone.
Summer on the porch,
Gentle time.
The wren trills.
Squeaking yelps,
Staccato phrases,
Dog left outside, alone.
Sound of Drum's hush,
Voices falling, slowing, ___,
Memorial Song. Haw!
Her smiling look, how are you,
Caring pause to listen.
Treasure chest of jewels.
Rainbow flag is set.
Begins waving.
Women are here!
Women's giggles,
Boil out of scrabble board,
Cackling fun brewing.
Secret one, secret two, secret three, secret
four,
Tell one, tell two, tell three, no more.
A last secret.
Bread cast on the waters,
Lovers approach,
Wavering: visible, invisible.
Death, one breath long,
As hard to remember as
Life, one breath long.

That spring and summer we lived on hot dogs
And the occasional hamburger
And we felt guilty everytime we put that meat in our mouths
in our system
And the vegetables scared us too
with their pesticides, insecticides,
Fertilized with toxic waste
While war raged in Iraq and Afghanistan and Israel and Palestine and. Africa
and on the southside
And we felt guilty guilty guilty
And lazy lazy lazy
While we stayed up too late
calling just staying alive
Work
And we worked worked worked
too hard too long
Appropriately guilty
as if as if
The guilt would assuage our crime
would detoxify the chemicals
would neutralize the over abundance of unnatural ingredients in our
food
would take the calories out of the fat, the oil we crave.
The guilt would unblock our arteries
would save us from getting old
Or at least being old
We could die in our sleep
instead of alive until our bodies decay around us
Eaten away by microorganisms called "too long, too long, you've used this
thing up and you're still breathing"
As if the guilt would make us thin, make us buff
Our minds and brains beyond their ability to comprehend so they go they go
they go
Crazy like a labyrinth, a maze with no ending, no beginning
Just tumbling down, falling forever into
Peace, serenity
That's what we crave
Peace through guilt
Peace through war
Love through hatred
Resentment breeds freedom in the complex guilty world
Where all we're really looking for
Is a pure, ripe tomato
And an ear of corn with just one or two worms
And a bushel of butterbeans to shell with our family
While mosquitoes buzz
And the children do their chores
Preparing them for their guilt free freedom
While the hot dogs cook on the grill
And the charcoal emits its pollutants
Past and through the hole in the sky
Out there
Where we presume life like us lives
Unfettered by our failings
Where we can be reborn
There
Not here
It's too late here

honest lies
by Lynnsey Weber
I live across the street
from our apartment
staring through the broken pain
of the broken window of our love
while shards of memory cut tears into my eyes.
and all the rooms are vacated
leaving only ghosts of images
to haunt my gaze.
I live across the street
from your apartment
that was never mine
just like everything else.
where only you existed
us visited on weekends
and I
was a distant neighbor.
but really
its okay
I never loved you like I wanted to
anyway ...
I live across the street
from the floor where we had one bad make up fuck
or maybe it was the fuck before the fight.
and the bed where we made good love
that left like a whore by the morning light.
and the porch that knew my tears
better than you ever would
flowing from the fright
of your episodes of absence.
I live across the street
from our silent battlefield
of our quiet worded war
where ·you shot me with honest lies
lost in your own battle with truth
but really
its okay
I didn't love you
like I wanted to
anyway.
I live across the street
from where you held me softer
than I had ever known
and opened me deeper
than I had ever shown
and pushed me farther
than I thought I could go
and where you promised me the same
more than once

and pulled me back to safety
after pushing me over the edge
and promised to make a change
more than once. .
I live across the street
from where your push and pull
strung me out
and ripped me open
and laid me down
in front of your doorstep
on top of those daisies I'd picked for you
that died without water
but its really okay
I didn't love you like I wanted to
anyway
I live across the street
from a blur of confusion
with clarity lost amongst the ·
boxes of pain
where the honest lies in some deep closet
that only you have the key to
and maybe you've already shown it
or maybe you've shown us both
just honest lies
but now I'm choking
on the truth
that I never really loved you
just like I wanted to ..
I loved you more.

The Day Grandma Checked Out
by Denise Fox
little grandma, baby grandma
where did you go?
let me doctor your soul
with monkey blood
I remember the moment you left at lunch you asked for the check
and ran out in the rain
damn your poor mass of mangled brain
You laugh easily
but tell me, aren't there
tears underneath the mask?
love eluded you and finally !
you have your man
What dark comedy of the gods though,
for the one you've pined for
is now in your grasp
but instead of sharing your bed,
he cuts your meat and wipes your mouth.

·- - - - - --

-

---- ·--

Love Gestures
by J. Diane Trout Harwood
Your touch stalks my mind refreshed by your gift of a sparkling stone;
Your lavender note reminds me of touring down the pasture lane to the pond.
Your present of fanciful wildflowers surprises me into dreamy longing;
Your hug attests to the poundfuls of caring that quicken my pulse.
Your lingering kiss excites in me images of illusion and delight;
Your gentle fingers saunter down my exposed arm as we gaze at the sizzling fire.
Your dance lead frames each meeting of new tastes of apricot or mango;
Your hesitant guitar song plays with my senses like a whirling paper in the wind.
Your elated ideas of nature and the moon become my frame of reference;
Your book of writings pecks at my soul like a bird on berries.
Your creativity quilts my calendar with adventure and romance;
Your gestures frolic over me like the liquor of love.

SCAFFOLD
by Richard Dixon

I'd seen more heads roll than anyone,
in a normal lifetime, needs to see.
I nearly suffocated from the stench
and sheer volume of blood covering
my floor, nearly drowned from the water
thrown afterward to wash it all away,
wincing at the feel of hard-bristled brushes;
endured hours of grating, grinding rasp
from the large blade being sharpened,
the glint blinding in sunlight;
heard it thousands of times dropping down
with startling speed, toward targets
of naked necks, the scissoring finality
of separation, the muted thud
of head coming to rest in basket;
studied the black masks of hundreds
of executioners, identifiable only
by the sound of their boots
on my nine steps;
and now, at final rest, I sit silent
and wooden-faced inside a museum
somewhere in Paris, endlessly listening
to the oohs and aahs from visitors.
It's isn't the same.

Here We Are
by LaRue Starr

"Have you ever questioned your sexuality?"
Even with those words ringing in my ears
It didn't quite dawn on me
What you were saying
What you were feeling
That you were attracted to me even then.
That you were closing up,
realizing the enormity of what could lie ahead
for each of us.
And yet here we are.
A couple.
A family.
Raising our children to be proud of diversity,
As we skirt the intolerant,
Giving them the opportunity to be better than they are.
Proud of our love,
Yet protective of those not quite ready
To see it for what it is -The fulfillment of a basic human need
to love and be loved
to nurture
to bond
to share life's experiences in the course of growing old.

From "Confessions"
by JR

I've never known my lif~
to be so dark in sorrow
that your smile was not a promise of
the brightness of tomorrow.

1in4
by Lynnsey Weber

1in4
mothers sisters daughters lovers wives ladies grrrls
babieswomen
just payin their dues to the bigotry of misogyny,
receivin' the patriarchal pap smear...
smearin their thighs, smearin their eyes
smearin their
lives.
1in4
layin down for the law of the land, the law of the man
forced down in every land upon their backs,
against their will
upon their stomach
cause the perpetrator is too pansy to face his prey.
1in4
ripped and ruined realms of beauty.
by fathers uncles neighbors teachers strangers preachers pigs monsters demons
brothers.
1in4
consciously convincing selves that its their fault,
that they were weak ...
forcing commonality on
such an uncommon
or is it?
1in4
now just a number.
their pain-their suffering,
lost time-lost lives.
my pain-my suffering,
lost time-lost mind
reduced .to a nameless
painless
statistic.
1in4
times a day, times a week, times a month-year
life.
ripped and ruined
sheets clothes cunts
hearts.
1in4
justifications
sleazy clothes, coming ens, pick up lines, just the right
time,

"she owed"
deceitful duties, forced atrocities...
she used to let it be
in cars bars alleys classrooms workrooms church
pews ...
I used to let it be
at home
he used to push it in cars
bars beds ...
her bed ..
my bed ..
with child's spread and child's toys ..
I was a toy, she was a toy
we were toys
everywhere.
1in4
No more.
No more justifies, bitter lies, muffled cries
its time to rise.
Fuck over the misogyny that fucked us
up
screw the system that screws this gender
gluttonously gouging out our hope, honor, pride
spirits.
We must succumb
No more.
1in4
Shes
Hers
them ... they ... me ... we

Us
No More.

Set The Standard
by Lynnsey Weber
Mirror Mirror
on the wall
Britneys the fairest
of them all.
And maybe shes born with it..
or maybe
its Mabelline
and just maybe
I sometimes wish
my mirror
reflected her image.
With my stretch marks instead of tan,
love handles just lovin' my shirts,
hair engulfin' my legs
and zit scars
as my make up

I sometimes don't feel beautiful
I sometimes beg for change ...
dreamin' of my own personal make over genie
maybe a little bit smaller
maybe a little bit tighter
maybe a little bit smoother
maybe a little bit
of Mabelline
and a lot less
of me

but then I wake up
and rub the shit out of my eyes
I smash the bottle
and give the genie the finger.
Cause such self loathing thoughts
just lets.them.win.
just serves the society of
men
who disgustingly define beauty
as 5'8, size 2 waist, size D silicone tits, pouty lips, 1 inch thick
make up face
perfect hair perfect smoothed out body
perfect... .fakeness.
But MY beauty is real
and cannot be mass marketed
no genie in some bottle
no artist with some touch up brush
no doctor with some scalpel
could have made this body
its an original
and we all know that copies aren't worth anything ...
and I realize
that when Miss Britney
turns 40
and her silicone starts to sag
I'll be ready
and laughing.
Cause mine ..
have sagged since I was 13
and I have grown to love them
and my stretch marks are really beauty marks
or roadmaps of where I've been
or where you should go
and my love handles give my lover something to hold
and my hairy legs
are never cold
and zits
are better make up
they don't take 20 minutes to put on
and cost absolutely nothing.

With weapons of mass deception
the billboards and mag ads
glare into our souls
past our perfect imperfections
to glorify contained created perfection
and bow down to the Almighty
necessity of attractive quality
but my perfection is unkempt
and will not be harnessed.
Everytime a women
diets for the wrong reason
vomits to please the perfect image
pops pills for dinner
and diets for a snack
Everytime
the mirror reflects
hatred and disgust
We
perpetuate
the unfair unreal unkind
standards of beauty upheld in this
man made society.
So shatter your fuckin mirror.
And shatter those fucking standards.
Create your definition of beauty
and embrace it
and embrace yourself.
I got some guns up these sleeves
and pack some power on these handles
and I'm ready to fight
and ready to win
cause recreation
is the only option
when beauty was beaten bound and gagged
tied up with logos, beaten with expensive bodies and thrown
overboard
to a sea of blind and bod thirsty sharks.
So employ a mass conception
of your own beauty definition
cause its yours
cause its ours
cause they can never sell it
never own it
and soon enough
if we fight hard enough
if we recreate hard enough
if we love hard enough
there will be no Britneys
and there will be no standards
because all
are beautiful.

Herland Sister Resources

NonProfit Org.
U.S. Postage
PAID
Oklahoma City, OK
Permit No. 861

2312 NW 39th Street
Oklahoma City, OK 73112

Return Service Requested

Compassion • lndusion • Liberation • Hope

Cathedral of Hope - Oklahoma City
Welcomes you Sundays at 6:30 p.m.
We meet at the First Unitarian Church,
600 NW 13th Street, Oklahoma City.
www.cohokc.com

Domestic Relations • Probate • Guardianship • Civil

Shannon D. Webb Mediation Services, Inc.
P.O. Box 58126 • Oklahoma City, OK 73157-8126
Shannnon D. Webb
Owner

(405) 824-8565
E-mail: mediationservicesinc@cox.net

405 232-HOPE

REBECCA R. HOLT, Ph.D.

Julia Irwin, M.D., P.C.

Clinical Psychology
(405) 321-2148

Psychiatrist

Box 5119
Norman, OK 73070

Individuals - Couples
Family Therapy, Retreats

DOROTHY E. HEIM
Attorney at Law
(405) 691-4949
dheim033@yahoo.com
Call me with your legal questions:
estate planning
personal injury
contract issues
small business

Doctor's Park
500 E. Robinson, Suite 600
Nonnan, OK 73071
(405) 321-3719

Young
And Older Adults

Sandy Ingraham, J.D., M.S.W.
~
Attorney-at-Law
~
Ingraham & Associates, PLLC
Estat:- Planning, Wills, Trusts, Probate, Adoption, Contracts
Route 2, Box 369-B
McLoud, OK 74851

Tel. (405) 964-2072
lngraham@mcloudteleco.com



th
Special Poetry Issue
November 2004

volume 22, number 11

H

erland is pleased to send you

this Special Poetry Issue of the Voice, containing works by many local poets, plus cartoons by Sue Clancy of Norman. Our poets
are both recognized and published; unpublished and
unsung - but we were impressed with all of them and
hope you will be too. They are: Dorothy ,Alexander,
Chris Cristoffels, Richard Dixon, Denise Fox, Peggy
!J:::::tA'S.'.:'--¥,...,.-:...,.........r=t=::mmiU~T~

~~

~

I
~

I
1

I~

............... l!

~e

I

I can't expect that life should stop
to hear the whispers of the wind...
Only that I must tune my soul
To listen in the crowd

~m

i
~

~

I

~~

;i~~~=>>;'v,,.............=n,====™==~ li

Johnson, Deidre Murray, DN, Peggy Malone, Judith
R, Diane Trout Harwood, LaRue Starr, Lynnsey Weber and Coleen Woody. Their poetry speaks of love,
angst, social justice, standing naked in the desert
night, love lost and refound, hotdogs, strawberries,
chocolate, death, guilt, stained glass, the sky-side of
clouds, and honkytonk memories - everything, in
short, that poetry should bring to us.
Sue is a well-known artist whose cartoons are published bi-weekly in The Oklahoma Gazette, we are
delighted to publish these. If you have been to Herland, you will have seen Sue's murals decorating our
brick garage/storage building.

Herland is proud to present
"The Sober Truth", an art exhibit of the works of
Deborah Dukes. Saturday, November 13, 2004, 3 6 pm. Deborah earned her Fine Arts degree in
1988 from the Maryland Institute College of Art in
Baltimore, Maryland, worked as a graphic artist for
many years thereafter; she was not interested in
"art for art's sake" until she discovered black & white
photography many years later. From there she
started dabbling in collage work and mixed media

and found
real joy in abstract
art. Deborah
says, "Throughout
my life I have battled alcoholism and
in 1998 I took my
last drink. I am free
of the physical action of picking up
the bottle but
sometimes still battle
Dukes: Dead Man's Hand
with the demons that plagued me during my 17 years
of addiction. What I cannot express in words, I can
try to express on canvas. There is pain & joy, fear &
Courage, despair & hope. This is who I am and what
I believe. This is the "Sober Truth"
There will be a reception at Herland beginning
at 3pm on Saturday, November 13, 2004, to unveil
these impressive works. They will be available for
purchase, with a generous percentage of the proceeds
going to Herland. We hope you will stop by. The
reception will be followed by:

$~ Poetry Night at Herland,
' Saturday, November 13, 2004,
:; : 8 pm - following the Reception
for "The Sober Truth". The
L I evening of poetry reading will
1
,~, be anchored by dynamic slam
poet Lynnsey Weber from Norman. You may remember
Lynnsey from Herland's anniversary concert last year when
she opened for Tret Fure, and
totally wowed the audience. In
addition to Lynnsey, all of our
November Voice poets are invited to attend and read
their poetry, as well as a few others who missed the
deadline for submission.
Both events are free and open to the public.

:·. l

www.herlandsisters.org
herland sister resources, 2312 nw 39th, oklahoma city, ok 73112
(405) 521-9696
email: herlandsisters@cox.net
bookstore hours: saturdays 1-5 pm

PARADIGM SHIFT
by Dorothy Alexander
August night in a summer
before youth became a stranger,
partying and, on a dare, drinking beer
in a gay bar in Amarillo where cowboys
on stools cruised with exaggerated
campy wrist flips and mincing
patter that passed for cool
in those faraway 60's.
When last call echoed through
the blue smoked air, someone
mouthed images of a midnight drive
through Palo Duro Canyon.

Cartoon by Sue Clancy

Upon Thinking of Ruth
by M. Coleen Woody
I would like to write a line
that would make a difference
to someone, somewhere - if
only for a moment.
A line that would touch
an open wound - and cause it to heal,
That would touch a frightened soul and make her brave.
A line that would touch a heart
and bring it back to me.
I would like to write that line ...
But I wonder now if I would
write it to you.

Maya
by MEC
I see we have yoked and bound
ourselves together
in a mad, plodding race
across the yellow desert sands
of the infinite universe of love,
hot seeds in the eye of lime.
I know the vast expanse of Maya's plain,
the way to be traversed,
the black holes.
I feel the scope of what we shall do
when we are one energy flowing,
our fragile bodies bursting purple light,
split skins freeing us to our godness.

Lisping our way to the parking lot
a buxom dyke named Phyllis
fell in beside me and pointed
to her slick red Chevy convertible
all lines and planes, chrome-studded
and open to the dry cool air
of a high plains night.
I slid into the leather seat beside her,
waited for the breeze to stir my hair,
while I replayed the worst moments
of my last three marriages.

-Visionary Over Experimental/Dream
AbsencebyDN
When we are together, I whisper words
and Expressions of enjoyment.
When you are not with me, I whisper more than
I'm afraid of telling you.
These words of emotion that I wish to whisper
when we are one are
I want you, I need you, I love you.
These words come to mind every time
I think about you in the hallway,
When I hear your name,
When I taste you, and
When I feel your touch.
I want you, I need you, I love you.

This Month's website of the month is:
http://www.creative-women.com/cwtoc.htm!,

---------------------- .............................. .
All Aboard!!!!

Herland is Herland is helping to organize a train trip
to Ft. Worth the first weekend in December - the 4th and
5th. Amtrak tickets for trip are $46 roundtrip, and the
train leaves OKC about 8:30 a.m. There is parking available at the station, though not an excess of it, so carpooling is recommended to the station. We will arrive in
Ft. Worth about 12:30 pm, and can choose from any
number of hotels downtown that are within walking distance. There are several world-class art museums and
lots of good places to eat in the downtown area also.
We will leave Ft. Worth around 5 pm on Sunday, and
arrive back in OKC about 10 pm.
We will be choosing a hotel soon, and will put the announcement on our e-list at Herland@yahoo.com . Also,
you can call us at 405-521-9696 and leave a message or
better, email us at herlandsisters@cox.net. You are
responsible for making your own hotel and train reservations. If you would like to share a room, your best bet is
to check out thee-list for others who are interested. We
currently have a "show of interest" of about eight peapie, and the more the merrier.

Native American Women
OKC Two-Spirit Society is having meetings for lesbian and
bi-sexual women of Native American descent. Please call
the OKC Two-Spirit Hotline number at (405) 317-7283 for
information.

The Voice is published monthly by Herland Sister Resources, Inc.
2312 NW 39th, Oklahoma City, OK 73112. The Voice is offered as an
open forum for community discourse. Articles reflect the opinions of
the author and not necessarily those of Hertand Sister Resources.
Unsolicited articles and letters to the editor are welcomed and must
be signed by the writer with full name and address . Upon request,
letters or articles may be printed under a pseudonym or anonymously.
Subscriptions to The Voice are free upon request although a donation
is requested to meet publication and distribution costs.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Don't Forget to Support the Voice!
Your contribution is important! Just $12 a year will
help us pay for the $300+ it costs every month to print
and mail the newsletter.
[ ] Enclosed is a contribution for $ _ _ __
[ ] Please add me to the mailing list for The Voice.
[ ] Please change my address (new address below).
Name - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Street _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __
City _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ State _ _ Zip _ __

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Ill

November

Monday. November 8: OGLPC Monthly Meeting at
the Center, 2135 NW 39th, 7 pm.
Saturday, November 13: Herland Hike at Martin
Nature Park, 5000 W. Memorial, 10 am.
Saturday, November 13: Herland Supper Club
will meet at 6:00 pm on Saturday, November 13th
at the Belle Isle Brewery. If you wish to carpool,
meet at Herland at 5:45 pm. Then it's back to
Herland for Poetry Night at 8 pm. See front page
of the Voice for full story.
Saturday. November 13: The Sober Truth Art Exhibitat Herland-3 pm to 6 pm
Saturday. November 13: Poetry Night at Herland-8
pm
Saturday. November 20: Herland Video Night 7 pm
- Film to be announced at event.
Saturday. November 20: Peace Festival 2004, 10
am to 4 pm at Civic Center Hall of Mirrors. This
event celebrates groups working for PEACE, justice
with compassion, human rights, civil rights, economic justice, environmental sustainability, rights
of nature, animal rights, sufficiency for all-a better, more livable world. This is a socially conscious holiday shopping opportunity.
Sunday, November 21: Herland Board Meeting, 4
pm, everyone welcome.
Thursday November 25: Herland Thanksgiving Potluck- 4:30. Meat and bread will be provided.
Please bring a vegetable or desert. Also, please
bring a new item of women's clothing or shoes for
the YWCA Sexual Assault Program. Women who
have been sexually assaulted usually must leave
their cloths and shoes at the hospital for evidential
examination and therefore are in need of clothing
to leave the hospital. Or bring a new non-violent
toy for children from birth to 13 years of age for
: the Y's battered women's program.
• Saturday, November 27: Herland Scrabble Night•• 6 pm

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•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Masterpieces
ByJ R

I used to long to touch the Pieta-the flowing solidity of such smoothness
would surely teach my touch
all that could be learned of
the feel of beauty~
That was before my tongue explored
the lifewarm curves and crevices
of your hidden masterpiece.

-Untitledby DN

To be able to see you is enough;
Yet when I do, I want more.
To touch you is all I want
But then I'd want to touch you
more.
To hold you should suffice;
Yet I'll soon realize,
I will never let go.
-HerTouchby DN

Her touch surrounds my thigh
Embraces iny back
Holds on ....to my
Abdomen ....to my
Words ....to my
Life. Never hinders their meaning.
OLD LOVERS
by Dorothy Alexander

I arise before dawn,
take my morning bath.
Afterward,
I go to her bedside,
lean over, let my breasts
touch her face lightly.
She half wakes and slowly
takes my nipples, one at a time
into her mouth. Gently.
Then, closes her eyes,
slips back into sleep.
I straighten, put on clothes
and begin another day.

Vernal Equinox- Big Bend,
Texas

by MEC
I stand naked on the hillside
in the desert night.
The full moon rises in front of me.
It bathes my soul with
its radiance and power.
A black smear of clouds rises behind
me;
it bathes my skin with
moisture and coolness.
The desert lies all around me;
it opens itself to
the sustaining rain.
Ravens shake dew from
white yucca blooms.
I shake death from my being
and open myself to new life.
POEM FOR NOVEMBER
by Dorothy Alexander

The doorway pulls in the smells
of summer's goodbye, dried leaves
.
'
geranium pungency, air smoky
with the prodigal's homecoming.
Soon we'll hear the wind whining
through clapboards, we'll sleep
in high-necked granny gowns,
I will wrap my arms around you
and we'll curl into a curve as perfect
as the rim of an orange moon
climbing the harvest sky.

Cartoons by Sue Clancy

We11 wake in air so pure that
our breath will heal the wounds
opened by loss of summer sun
and our youth. We11 make an oasi!
of potted ivy, aloe, Christmas
cactus, and steam rising
from coffee in chipped mugs.
From "Confessions"
by JR

I was lost
and you knew how
to find me;
But...
I thought I could
Do It Myself.
Bearing the weight
of empty years on my back,
on my soul, I return to you
for direction;
From "Confessions"
by JR

Battering
the walls
down between us
leaves us standing
naked in the rubble. Shards
of shattered history
pierce soft souls
so every step we take
toward the empowerment
of love leaves its mark
in blood.

Untitled
by Deidra Murray
It's easy enough to start digging into the earth
find a small shovel, your muddy boots
and stamp down, then shove and scoop
the dirt underneath your nails,
you don't like the feel of the rough garden gloves
or when the sun is eating your back alive
with its consistent heat of a tongue
its wild sun stories
you prefer the cool fat moon
It's time to duck under water, slip off your shoes
and start swimming. your arms, your legs
the whole world is wet.
at this moment you are far from this morning
when all you knew was the hiss of the hose
as it lapped against the pretty sweet tree
and all your toes were screaming
about how glad they were to be alive

Sunburned
by Deidra Murray
We were kissed by the sun, our only passport our thumbs
dancing in our blue suede shoes on the side of the road I '
two young girls looking for the pirates booty
baby, even the moon followed us home.
Running from our families, renting cheap hotel rooms
and sweeping the floor for pennies.
sleeping in someone's kitchen as long as there were
mushrooms
or little pills given out at concerts.
janis was already belting out the blues,
morrison was opening doors but falling off the stage
and dylan was warning us about the fifties
while the 6o's were taking over the room
making fun of anyone comfortable with the status quo.
we were chasing rainbows and playing air guitar,
the star of whatever scene we found ourselves in.
some of the musicians we had just heard on the
covers of magazines
spoiled by luck but living our dreams.
There's more than 2 sides to this story,
the way your dad kicked the dog and suddenly lefthow you found bitterness almost sweet
and the way nobody told the truth anymore,
not our politicians, the priest or the actors
but what they were singing and what they suggested
as we danced under the sway of false premises
and how it was the first time for everything
under the sun

HARVEST MOON
by Richard Dixon
Gilded, glowing, almost bright
enough to squint at, the man
in it looking cheerful, cherubic.
This one comes in late-August,
so technically .....
but just walk outside right now
and then tell me it doesn't have
the reaping of crops written
all over it; tell me you don't hear
the snuffling of horses, creaking
of wagon wheels; tell me you
don't smell the pungency of picked
pumpkins, the sweetness
of just-mown alfalfa, the dry brittle
of newly-shucked corn, and tell me
you don't feel a certain crispness in the air,
and your mind doesn't pick up
the faint strains of a Saturday night - barn dance, down in the valley.

Shattered Woman
by Denise Fox
I allow you to bribe me
with money and smothering love,
as payment for ignoring
the father's cruelty.
Never will you be heaven bound and free I
for the heart of a martyr is forever chained
to bad men who need mommies.
Who will you become in the next life an abused child or abuser?
In this fantasy world, your desire
follows me like a crow,
unknown to everyone, even you.
What will you do Mother, when
your customers demand a refund,
for this entrapped butterfly
has died upon having its beautiful
wings stroked.

From "Confessions"
by JR

I've never known my life
to be so dark in sorrow
That your smile was not a promise of
the brightness of tomorrow.

Lortab Love

Untitled

by JR

by LaRue Starr

When I close my eyes, the rush
of life surging by catches me
slings me into the current and,
like the last soft piece of an Ivory bar
headed for drain-death, I spin
toward darkness.
"Goin' down, Ma'am?"
No way Jose. She loves me, and
there's no way to go but Up.
It's just that
I sometimes take
the alternative route.

Haiku
by JR

Our hearts seek to be
both imprisoned in love and
eternally free
This love has no why
but to pad the sharp edges
twixt now and goodbye.
I see in your eyes
a glow that peels the blackness
from the day-Sunrise!
Knowing you has taught
that the sky-side of a cloud
cradles hope, sun shot.
This little moment
has no name but "Now"-a
facet of Forever.
Writing in your hand
Makes any piece of paper
Aphrodisiac.
The flash of your smile
makes rainbows of my tears and
Super-Glues my heart.

The Hole of It
by JR
Sitting in the dentist's chair
with a gumful of Novocain
and a heart full of you
I guess that as a patient I'm
a pretty good lover
because when I think of cavities
I think of days empty
of your presence
and how you filled the spaces
of my life
with gold and silver.

Suddenly
I miss you
and it hits me like an ocean wave
almost knocking me off my feet.
I brace myself
for its next onslaught,
but it sneaks up
and catches me off guard
as my body feels the feeling
of you tucked up next to me in sleep.
Tears sting my eyes
and I push away the thoughts,
knowing all the while they'll come back
to haunt me
taunt me.
Such wonderful memories
create such terrible longing
and would I have it any other way?
Isn't the depth of our love
equivalent to the breadth of our despair
and the length of the leash?
So I welcome the rush of the waters
against the shoreline of my soul
Knowing in the aching
lies the beauty of our love.

Tunnels
by JR

I know the nonsense
of waves upon snow,
laughter in fear, sorrow
and wisdom that multiply
in the dark. These long
tunnels have taught me
to recognize the sun
through its reflection
and not to assume that darkne
signifies night. Imagined
thresholds never hold
my vagabond demons at bay
for even sages cannot set
boundaries on a loss of faith
and even angels, even
the angels, even
compassionate angels
have no because
to meet the why
of a violated child.

Old Man
Untitled
by LaRue Starr

A shadow falls across my heart
And leaves me in dusk,
A feeling I can't shake.
The reality of losing you.
I know what we still have.
It's what we don't that I long for.
All the unrealized potentials,
The dreams yet to come true.
My future once wrapped in you
Is now a giant question mark.
Who - where - doing what
Is all unknown.
A shadow falls across my heart
And hides the light of our love.
What once radiated so freely, so
fiercely
Now hides, afraid and waits.
Only time will tell
If the shadow will pass
And allow our love
To shine once more.

Who Smells
of Pee
by Denise
Fox
I start to cry.
The gross disfigured man
only wanted a box
to move his belongings
on a luggage carrier
through town.
Do you want a luna bar
or a new pair of shoes
or a new CD?
I form the words
but they stagnate in my
mind.
He flaps away
wearing stupid red socks,
while I, like a ghost,
let him.

Life, One Breath Long

That spring and summer we lived on hot dogs
by Peggy Johnson

by Pego Malone

Is Life so short,
One breath
Long?
Strawberry, dripping chocolate,
Goddess taste,
From kissed lips.
Love's arrow pain
For one gone,
Two gone.
Summer on the porch,
Gentle time.
The wren trills.
Squeaking yelps,
Staccato phrases,
Dog left outside, alone.
Sound of Drum's hush,
Voices falling, slowing, ___,
Memorial Song. Haw!
Her smiling look, how are you,
Caring pause to listen.
Treasure chest of jewels.
Rainbow flag is set.
Begins waving.
Women are here!
Women's giggles,
Boil out of scrabble board,
Cackling fun brewing.
Secret one, secret two, secret three, secret
four,
Tell one, tell two, tell three, no more.
A last secret.
Bread cast on the waters,
Lovers approach,
Wavering: visible, invisible.
Death, one breath long,
As hard to remember as
Life, one breath long.

That spring and summer we lived on hot dogs
And the occasional hamburger
And we felt guilty everytime we put that meat in our mouths
in our system
And the vegetables scared us too
with their pesticides, insecticides,
Fertilized with toxic waste
While war raged in Iraq and Afghanistan and Israel and Palestine and. Africa
and on the southside
And we felt guilty guilty guilty
And lazy lazy lazy
While we stayed up too late
calling just staying alive
Work
And we worked worked worked
too hard too long
Appropriately guilty
as if as if
The guilt would assuage our crime
would detoxify the chemicals
would neutralize the over abundance of unnatural ingredients in our
food
would take the calories out of the fat, the oil we crave.
The guilt would unblock our arteries
would save us from getting old
Or at least being old
We could die in our sleep
instead of alive until our bodies decay around us
Eaten away by microorganisms called "too long, too long, you've used this
thing up and you're still breathing"
As if the guilt would make us thin, make us buff
Our minds and brains beyond their ability to comprehend so they go they go
they go
Crazy like a labyrinth, a maze with no ending, no beginning
Just tumbling down, falling forever into
Peace, serenity
That's what we crave
Peace through guilt
Peace through war
Love through hatred
Resentment breeds freedom in the complex guilty world
Where all we're really looking for
Is a pure, ripe tomato
And an ear of corn with just one or two worms
And a bushel of butterbeans to shell with our family
While mosquitoes buzz
And the children do their chores
Preparing them for their guilt free freedom
While the hot dogs cook on the grill
And the charcoal emits its pollutants
Past and through the hole in the sky
Out there
Where we presume life like us lives
Unfettered by our failings
Where we can be reborn
There
Not here
It's too late here

honest lies
by Lynnsey Weber
I live across the street
from our apartment
staring through the broken pain
of the broken window of our love
while shards of memory cut tears into my eyes.
and all the rooms are vacated
leaving only ghosts of images
to haunt my gaze.
I live across the street
from your apartment
that was never mine
just like everything else.
where only you existed
us visited on weekends
and I
was a distant neighbor.
but really
its okay
I never loved you like I wanted to
anyway ...
I live across the street
from the floor where we had one bad make up fuck
or maybe it was the fuck before the fight.
and the bed where we made good love
that left like a whore by the morning light.
and the porch that knew my tears
better than you ever would
flowing from the fright
of your episodes of absence.
I live across the street
from our silent battlefield
of our quiet worded war
where ·you shot me with honest lies
lost in your own battle with truth
but really
its okay
I didn't love you
like I wanted to
anyway.
I live across the street
from where you held me softer
than I had ever known
and opened me deeper
than I had ever shown
and pushed me farther
than I thought I could go
and where you promised me the same
more than once

and pulled me back to safety
after pushing me over the edge
and promised to make a change
more than once. .
I live across the street
from where your push and pull
strung me out
and ripped me open
and laid me down
in front of your doorstep
on top of those daisies I'd picked for you
that died without water
but its really okay
I didn't love you like I wanted to
anyway
I live across the street
from a blur of confusion
with clarity lost amongst the ·
boxes of pain
where the honest lies in some deep closet
that only you have the key to
and maybe you've already shown it
or maybe you've shown us both
just honest lies
but now I'm choking
on the truth
that I never really loved you
just like I wanted to ..
I loved you more.

The Day Grandma Checked Out
by Denise Fox
little grandma, baby grandma
where did you go?
let me doctor your soul
with monkey blood
I remember the moment you left at lunch you asked for the check
and ran out in the rain
damn your poor mass of mangled brain
You laugh easily
but tell me, aren't there
tears underneath the mask?
love eluded you and finally !
you have your man
What dark comedy of the gods though,
for the one you've pined for
is now in your grasp
but instead of sharing your bed,
he cuts your meat and wipes your mouth.

·- - - - - --

-

---- ·--

Love Gestures
by J. Diane Trout Harwood
Your touch stalks my mind refreshed by your gift of a sparkling stone;
Your lavender note reminds me of touring down the pasture lane to the pond.
Your present of fanciful wildflowers surprises me into dreamy longing;
Your hug attests to the poundfuls of caring that quicken my pulse.
Your lingering kiss excites in me images of illusion and delight;
Your gentle fingers saunter down my exposed arm as we gaze at the sizzling fire.
Your dance lead frames each meeting of new tastes of apricot or mango;
Your hesitant guitar song plays with my senses like a whirling paper in the wind.
Your elated ideas of nature and the moon become my frame of reference;
Your book of writings pecks at my soul like a bird on berries.
Your creativity quilts my calendar with adventure and romance;
Your gestures frolic over me like the liquor of love.

SCAFFOLD
by Richard Dixon

I'd seen more heads roll than anyone,
in a normal lifetime, needs to see.
I nearly suffocated from the stench
and sheer volume of blood covering
my floor, nearly drowned from the water
thrown afterward to wash it all away,
wincing at the feel of hard-bristled brushes;
endured hours of grating, grinding rasp
from the large blade being sharpened,
the glint blinding in sunlight;
heard it thousands of times dropping down
with startling speed, toward targets
of naked necks, the scissoring finality
of separation, the muted thud
of head coming to rest in basket;
studied the black masks of hundreds
of executioners, identifiable only
by the sound of their boots
on my nine steps;
and now, at final rest, I sit silent
and wooden-faced inside a museum
somewhere in Paris, endlessly listening
to the oohs and aahs from visitors.
It's isn't the same.

Here We Are
by LaRue Starr

"Have you ever questioned your sexuality?"
Even with those words ringing in my ears
It didn't quite dawn on me
What you were saying
What you were feeling
That you were attracted to me even then.
That you were closing up,
realizing the enormity of what could lie ahead
for each of us.
And yet here we are.
A couple.
A family.
Raising our children to be proud of diversity,
As we skirt the intolerant,
Giving them the opportunity to be better than they are.
Proud of our love,
Yet protective of those not quite ready
To see it for what it is -The fulfillment of a basic human need
to love and be loved
to nurture
to bond
to share life's experiences in the course of growing old.

From "Confessions"
by JR

I've never known my lif~
to be so dark in sorrow
that your smile was not a promise of
the brightness of tomorrow.

1in4
by Lynnsey Weber

1in4
mothers sisters daughters lovers wives ladies grrrls
babieswomen
just payin their dues to the bigotry of misogyny,
receivin' the patriarchal pap smear...
smearin their thighs, smearin their eyes
smearin their
lives.
1in4
layin down for the law of the land, the law of the man
forced down in every land upon their backs,
against their will
upon their stomach
cause the perpetrator is too pansy to face his prey.
1in4
ripped and ruined realms of beauty.
by fathers uncles neighbors teachers strangers preachers pigs monsters demons
brothers.
1in4
consciously convincing selves that its their fault,
that they were weak ...
forcing commonality on
such an uncommon
or is it?
1in4
now just a number.
their pain-their suffering,
lost time-lost lives.
my pain-my suffering,
lost time-lost mind
reduced .to a nameless
painless
statistic.
1in4
times a day, times a week, times a month-year
life.
ripped and ruined
sheets clothes cunts
hearts.
1in4
justifications
sleazy clothes, coming ens, pick up lines, just the right
time,

"she owed"
deceitful duties, forced atrocities...
she used to let it be
in cars bars alleys classrooms workrooms church
pews ...
I used to let it be
at home
he used to push it in cars
bars beds ...
her bed ..
my bed ..
with child's spread and child's toys ..
I was a toy, she was a toy
we were toys
everywhere.
1in4
No more.
No more justifies, bitter lies, muffled cries
its time to rise.
Fuck over the misogyny that fucked us
up
screw the system that screws this gender
gluttonously gouging out our hope, honor, pride
spirits.
We must succumb
No more.
1in4
Shes
Hers
them ... they ... me ... we

Us
No More.

Set The Standard
by Lynnsey Weber
Mirror Mirror
on the wall
Britneys the fairest
of them all.
And maybe shes born with it..
or maybe
its Mabelline
and just maybe
I sometimes wish
my mirror
reflected her image.
With my stretch marks instead of tan,
love handles just lovin' my shirts,
hair engulfin' my legs
and zit scars
as my make up

I sometimes don't feel beautiful
I sometimes beg for change ...
dreamin' of my own personal make over genie
maybe a little bit smaller
maybe a little bit tighter
maybe a little bit smoother
maybe a little bit
of Mabelline
and a lot less
of me

but then I wake up
and rub the shit out of my eyes
I smash the bottle
and give the genie the finger.
Cause such self loathing thoughts
just lets.them.win.
just serves the society of
men
who disgustingly define beauty
as 5'8, size 2 waist, size D silicone tits, pouty lips, 1 inch thick
make up face
perfect hair perfect smoothed out body
perfect... .fakeness.
But MY beauty is real
and cannot be mass marketed
no genie in some bottle
no artist with some touch up brush
no doctor with some scalpel
could have made this body
its an original
and we all know that copies aren't worth anything ...
and I realize
that when Miss Britney
turns 40
and her silicone starts to sag
I'll be ready
and laughing.
Cause mine ..
have sagged since I was 13
and I have grown to love them
and my stretch marks are really beauty marks
or roadmaps of where I've been
or where you should go
and my love handles give my lover something to hold
and my hairy legs
are never cold
and zits
are better make up
they don't take 20 minutes to put on
and cost absolutely nothing.

With weapons of mass deception
the billboards and mag ads
glare into our souls
past our perfect imperfections
to glorify contained created perfection
and bow down to the Almighty
necessity of attractive quality
but my perfection is unkempt
and will not be harnessed.
Everytime a women
diets for the wrong reason
vomits to please the perfect image
pops pills for dinner
and diets for a snack
Everytime
the mirror reflects
hatred and disgust
We
perpetuate
the unfair unreal unkind
standards of beauty upheld in this
man made society.
So shatter your fuckin mirror.
And shatter those fucking standards.
Create your definition of beauty
and embrace it
and embrace yourself.
I got some guns up these sleeves
and pack some power on these handles
and I'm ready to fight
and ready to win
cause recreation
is the only option
when beauty was beaten bound and gagged
tied up with logos, beaten with expensive bodies and thrown
overboard
to a sea of blind and bod thirsty sharks.
So employ a mass conception
of your own beauty definition
cause its yours
cause its ours
cause they can never sell it
never own it
and soon enough
if we fight hard enough
if we recreate hard enough
if we love hard enough
there will be no Britneys
and there will be no standards
because all
are beautiful.

Herland Sister Resources

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~
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