Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Voice

Daniella Zalcman’s project “Signs of Your Identity” explores
the legacy of Canada’s Indian Residential Schools
 Image by Daniella Zalcman. Canada, 2015

🙋

“When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time.” 

― Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

“. . . she was afraid of hearing her own voice come out of her heart and be covered with blood. . . . ” 

― Hélène Cixous, The Book of Promethea

"Powerlessness and silence go together.” 

― Margaret Atwood, Second Words

“. . . . only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. 

And that is not speaking.” 

― Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider

"Cop in the Head"

Graphic by Morgan Andrews

Philadelphia Theatre of the Oppressed

Midweek Motif ~ Voice

In this motif, voice is not a literary technique, but the willingness to speak from a specific point of view despite fear of consequences.  That is today's theme: the bravery or bravado of insisting on having a voice.

According to Voltaire, "“Writing is the painting of the voice.”  I love the ambiguity of this definition when applied to today's motif:  Does "the voice" paint?  Does writing paint "the voice"?  

Your Challenge:  In your new poem, paint a voice and make us hear it.  

.......

― excerpt from Woman and Nature: 

The Roaring Inside Her

by Susan Griffin

“He says that woman speaks with nature. That she hears voices from under the earth. That wind blows in her ears and trees whisper to her. That the dead sing through her mouth and the cries of infants are clear to her. But for him this dialogue is over. He says he is not part of this world, that he was set on this world as a stranger. He sets himself apart from woman and nature.

And so it is Goldilocks who goes to the home of the three bears, Little Red Riding Hood who converses with the wolf, Dorothy who befriends a lion, Snow White who talks to the birds, Cinderella with mice as her allies, the Mermaid who is half fish, Thumbelina courted by a mole. (And when we hear in the Navajo chant of the mountain that a grown man sits and smokes with bears and follows directions given to him by squirrels, we are surprised. We had thought only little girls spoke with animals.)

We are the bird's eggs. Bird's eggs, flowers, butterflies, rabbits, cows, sheep; we are caterpillars; we are leaves of ivy and sprigs of wallflower. We are women. We rise from the wave. We are gazelle and doe, elephant and whale, lilies and roses and peach, we are air, we are flame, we are oyster and pearl, we are girls. We are woman and nature. And he says he cannot hear us speak.

But we hear.” 

The Horrid Voice of Science

BY VACHEL LINDSAY

"There's machinery in the butterfly; 

There's a mainspring to the bee; 

There's hydraulics to a daisy, 

And contraptions to a tree. 

"If we could see the birdie 

That makes the chirping sound 

With x-ray, scientific eyes, 

We could see the wheels go round." 

And I hope all men 

Who think like this 

Will soon lie 

Underground.

Poem For A Lady Whose Voice I Like

    BY NIKKI GIOVANNI

so he said: you ain’t got no talent   

    if you didn’t have a face   

    you wouldn’t be nobody

and she said: god created heaven and earth   

    and all that’s Black within them

so he said: you ain’t really no hot shit   

    they tell me plenty sisters   

    take care better business than you

and she said: on the third day he made chitterlings   

    and all good things to eat   

    and said: “that’s good”

so he said: if the white folks hadn’t been under   

    yo skirt and been giving you the big play

    you’d a had to come on uptown like everybody else

and she replied: then he took a big Black greasy rib

    from adam and said we will call this woeman and her   

    name will be sapphire and she will divide into four parts   

    that simone may sing a song

and he said: you pretty full of yourself ain’t chu

so she replied: show me someone not full of herself   

    and i’ll show you a hungry person

🙅

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—

    (Next week Sumana’s Motif will be ~ Carpe Diem / Seize the Day)

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Respect

SANITATION STRIKE 1968 

 National Civil Rights Museum Memphis, Tennessee, USA

☯

"Self-respect without the respect of others is like a jewel which 
will not stand the daylight."
~Alfred Nobel 

"Let every man be respected as an individual and no man idolized."

~Albert Einstein

“In societies where men are truly confident of their own worth, 

women are not merely tolerated but valued."  

~Aung San Suu Kyi

“Appreciation is a wonderful thing. 

It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.” 

~Voltaire

source

Midweek Motif ~ Respect

In a time when disrespect is rampant, noticing respect is vital.  We can still be surprised by the millions of ways people (and nations) show respect for each other.  Let's spread respect today. Let's show it and praise it and trouble it and mend it.

Your challenge:  Compose a new poem about a positive instance of respect.  

miss rosie

Lucille Clifton, 1936 - 2010

when i watch you 
wrapped up like garbage 
sitting, surrounded by the smell 
of too old potato peels 
or
when i watch you 
in your old man’s shoes 
with the little toe cut out 
sitting, waiting for your mind 
like next week’s grocery 
i say
when i watch you
you wet brown bag of a woman 
who used to be the best looking gal in georgia
used to be called the Georgia Rose
i stand up
through your destruction
i stand up

Mama Said ...

BY MARY MOORE EASTER

                             (there’ll be days like this.) — The Shirelles

These folks ’bout to respect me into the grave.

At eighty Mama said, (mama said)

           “People think you change when you’re old

             but you still got a girl inside.” 

And men could see her, too 

         — that pink silk dress —

soothe that hotel bellboy

         “Boy, I’m old enough 

          to be your mama.”

He coy 

          “well, you ain’t.”

But seventy is prime time 

for me to own what “elder” brings.

I reap myself with the respect they sow.

They don’t know I got the road 

wide open in me.

Source: Poetry (April 2013)

The Silent Ones 

by Robert William Service

I'm just an ordinary chap

Who comes home to his tea,

And mostly I don't care a rap

What people think of me;

I do my job and take my pay,

And love of peace expound;

But as I go my patient way,

--Don't push me round.

Though I respect authority

And order never flout,

When Law and Justice disagree

You can include me out.

The Welfare State I tolerate

If it is kept in bound,

But if you wish to rouse my hate

--Just push me round.

And that's the way with lots of us:

We want to feel we're free;

So labour governments we cuss

And mock at monarchy.

Yea, we are men of secret mirth,

And fury seldom sound;

But if you value peace on earth

--Don't push us round.

excerpt from My Indian In-laws

by Belinda Subraman

I remember India:
palm trees, monkey families,
fresh lime juice in the streets,
the sensual inundation
of sights and smells
and excess in everything.

I was exotic and believable there.

I was walking through dirt
in my sari, 
to temples of the deities
following the lead
of my Indian in-laws.

I was scooping up fire with my hands,
glancing at idols that held no meaning for me,
being marked by the ash.

They smiled at the Western woman,
acting religious, knowing
it was my way of showing respect.

. . . . 

(Read the rest HERE.)

☯





Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and 



visit others in the spirit of the community—






Next week Sumana's Midweek Motif will be "Memories."

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Appreciation

“Appreciation is a wonderful thing: It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.”—Voltaire

Source

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”—Lewis Carroll

“We human beings are tuned such that we crave great melody and great lyrics. And if somebody writes a great song, it’s timeless that we as humans are going to feel something for that and there’s going to be a real appreciation.”—Art Garfunkel

“My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus."—Stephen Hawking

            Midweek Motif ~ Appreciation

 Appreciation is a motivational word and we all know how a little ‘Thank You’ or a bouquet of flowers might kindle light in a mind of dark despair. Quite magical, especially for the receiver.

Isn’t it an ‘Art’ in itself?

So…craft this Art in your words today.

The Week of Diana

By Maya Angelou

The dark lantern of world sadness has cast its shadow upon the land.
We stumble into our misery on leaden feet.
Our minds seek to comprehend the unknowable and our hearts seek to
Measure a tomorrow without the Sunshine Princess.
Her hands which had held bright tiaras and jewelled crowns,
Also stroked the faces of pain along
Angola's dusty roads.
She was born to the privilege of plenty
Yet, she communed with the needy without a show of pompous piety.
Glowing in Bosnia, radiant at glittering balls,
We came to love her and claim her for her grace and accessibility.
Luminous always.
We smiled to see her enter and grinned at her happiness.
Now the world we made is forever changed…
Made smaller, meaner, less colorful.
Yet, because she did live,
Because she ventured life and confronted change,
She has left us a legacy.
We also may dare…
To care for some other than ourselves and those who look like us.
And maybe we can take a lesson from her
And try to live our lives
With passion, compassion, humor and grace.
Goodbye Sunshine Princess. 

Uncertain Lease – Develops Lustre

By Emily Dickinson

Uncertain lease—develops lustre
On Time
Uncertain Grasp, appreciation
Of Sum—

The shorter Fate—is oftener the chiefest
Because
Inheritors upon a tenure
Prize—

Modern Love XLI: How Many A Thing

By Ogdan Nash

How many a thing which we cast to the ground,

When others pick it up becomes a gem!

We grasp at all the wealth it is to them;

And by reflected light its worth is found.
 

Yet for us still 'tis nothing! and that zeal

Of false appreciation quickly fades.
 

This truth is little known to human shades,

How rare from their own instinct 'tis to feel!

They waste the soul with spurious desire,

That is not the ripe flame upon the bough.
 

We two have taken up a lifeless vow

To rob a living passion: dust for fire!

Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells

Approaching midnight.
 We have struck despair

Into two hearts.
 O, look we like a pair

Who for fresh nuptials joyfully yield all else?

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community

             Next week Susan's Midweek Motif will be ~ Equinox, Equator

          

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Climate

“Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else.  
And that makes me quite nervous.” 
― Oscar Wilde

“Men argue. Nature acts.” ― Voltaire

“One of the biggest differences between humans and trees 

is simply that humans burn trees.” 
― M. Jackson, While Glaciers Slept: 

"Fortunately, the world’s governments are now fully convinced of the scientific evidence of climate change and the need to take urgent action. . . . "   (From WMO, where a number of countries have contributed videos of weather reports from the year 2050.)

***

“Much of the oxygen we breathe comes from plants that died long ago. We can give thanks to these ancestors of our present-pay foliage, but we can't give back to them. We can, however, give forward. . . . When tackling issues such as climate change, the stance of gratitude is a refreshing alternative to guilt or fear as a source of motivation.” 
― Joanna Macy & Chris Johnstone

***

Midweek Motif ~ Climate

• World Meteorological Day is held annually on 23 March.
• The World Meteorological Organization (WMO) is the UN system's authoritative voice on the state and behavior of the Earth's atmosphere, its interaction with the oceans, the climate it produces and the resulting distribution of water resources



Member states of the World Meteorological Organization.

• Technically, climate is a set of weather statistics gathered over many years, a summary of tendencies in a region condensed from many spheres: atmosphere, hydrosphere, cryosphere, lithosphere, and biosphere. 
• The science is too complex for me to understand.  It would take poets or novelists to explain it to me, just as they have been explaining the human and political climate to me for years―and the climate is changing.

Your challenge:  In a new poem, use climate or climate change as a thematic element.  As an added challenge―if you wish to accept it―use a specific situation to clarify a political or natural climate change in the past, present or future.

***

February

BY MARGARET ATWOOD

Winter. Time to eat fat

and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,   

a black fur sausage with yellow

Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries   

to get onto my head. It’s his

way of telling whether or not I’m dead.

If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am   

He’ll think of something. He settles

on my chest, breathing his breath

of burped-up meat and musty sofas,

purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,   

not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,   

declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,   

which are what will finish us off

. . . . 

(Read the rest HERE at The Poetry Foundaton)
Copyright © 1995 by Margaret Atwood. Source: Morning in the Burned House (1995)

Pura Vida

BY JOHN UPDIKE

(¡Pura vida! —Costa Rican phrase for "O.K." or "Great!")

Such heat! It brings the brain back to its basic blank.

Small, recurrent events become the daily news—

the white-nosed coati treading the cecropia's

bending thin branches like sidewalks in the sky,

the scarlet-rumped tanager flitting like a spark

in the tinder of dank green, the nodding palm leaves

perforated like Jacquard cards in a code of wormholes,

the black hawk skimming nothingness over and over.

What does the world's wide brimming mean, with hunger

the unstated secret, dying the proximate reality?

. . . . 

(Read the rest Here at The Poetry Foundation.)

UN Climate Summit Poem "Dear Matafele Peinem"

by Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner

***

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community.

                               (Next week Susan's Midweek will be ~ Ninety / The Nineties)