Pierre Tambale / Tombstone

Pit Pat
le pluie sur la pierre tambale
Mes yeux
fixes sur les fleurs
Elles sont mortes
Comme la personne sur le qu'elle elle reposent
Mes yeux
yeux qui ne peuvent pas retenir les larmes
Sur le
blance pierre tambale qui cache une personne
Plus que moi.

J'ai allume
une cigarrette et je l'ai fume quand
J'etait assise sur
la belle pierre tambale blanche.
Et j'ai lui parle
Avec elle, sans aucun sujet
Apres ca
Je suis rentree chez moi, la cigarette morte sur les fleurs.

-------------------------------------

Pit pat
the rain on the tombstone
My eyes
fixed upon the flowers
They are dead
like the person they lay upon
My eyes
eyes that can not hold tears, fixed
On the
white tomb stone that hides a person
Who is more then me

I light
A cigarette and I smoke while
I sit
upon that beautiful white tomb stone
And I talk
To her, without a single subject
But then...
I walk home silently, my cigarette dead among the flowers

-Meh

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Rape Poem

There is no difference between being raped
and being pushed down a flight of cement steps
except the wounds also bleed inside

This is no difference between being raped
and being run over by a truck
except afterwards men ask you if you've enjoyed it

This is no difference between being raped
and being bit on the ankle by a rattle snake
except that people ask if your skirt was short
and why you were out alone anyway

This is no difference between being raped
and going head first through a windsheild
except that afterwards you are afraid
not of cars
but of half the human race

The rapist is your boyfriend's brother
He sits besides you in the movies eatting popcorn
Rape fattens on the fantasies of the nromal male
like a maggot in garbage

Fear of rape is a cold wind blowing
all of the time on a woman's hunched back
Never to stroll alone on a sand road through pine woods
never to climb a trail across a bald
with that aluminum in the mouth
when I see a man climbing towards me

Never to open the door to a knock
Without that razor just grazing the throat
The fear of the dark side of hedges
the back seat of the car, the empty house
rattling keys like a snakes warning
The fear of the smiling man
in whose pocket is a knife
The fear of the serious man
in whose fist is locked hatred

All it takes to cast a rapist is seeing your body
as jackhammar, as blowtorch, as adding-machine-gun
All it takes is hating that body
your own, your self, your muscle that softens to flab

All it takes is to push what you hate
What you fear onto the soft alien flesh
To bucket out invincible as a tank
armored with threads without senses
to possess and punish, in one act
to rip up pleasure
to murder those who dare
live in the leafy flesh open to love.

-Marge Piercy




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Suicide

didn't acknowledge receipt
didn't wave goodbye
didn't flutter the air with kisses
a mound of tinsel gifts unwrapped
air mail letters unopened
bedclothes rumpled
no thank you

always elsewhere

though it was raining elsewhere
though strange-speaking persons peopled the streets
the minarets might have been dangerous
the drinking water suspect
though we at h ome slaved and baked
and wept and dialed the phone
and hung tinsel ornaments
did he marvel
did he thank

was he grateful did he know
was he considerate
was he human
was he there

Always elsewhere!
didn't thank
didn't kiss
toothbrush stiffened
cat scratching at the screen
car battery dead

was that human?

went where?

-Joyce Carol Oates




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Certain Choices

My friend, who was a heroin addict
is dead and buried beneath the trash
and broken bottles in a prison field

He died, of course, because of the way
he lived. It wasn't a very good way
but it kept him alive. When it couldn't
keep him alive any long, it killed him
Thoroughly and with great suffering

After he made certain choices
there were no others availible. That's
the way it is with certain choices,
and we are faced with them so young.

I have few friends and none of them
are replacable. That's the way it is
with freidns. We make certian choices.

-Richard Shelton


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