Monthly Archives: April 2015

We Stand United

Only in January did I stand on a street corner with other people shouting, “HANDS UP! DON’T SHOOT!” and here in April, I sit crying and saddened. Please don’t let hate win. LOVE must win. Love thy neighbor, No exceptions.

Mare Martell's avatarMare Martell

We Stand (this link will take you to SoundCloud) is a song written by Laura Davis. I wrote the lyrics for it while she did all the hard stuff with the music and performing.

When we came up with the idea, we’d just attended the protest for #blacklivesmatter It was truly inspirational and empowering.

Love Thy Neighbor No Exceptions

She approached me after I wrote a poem and asked if I’d be interested in collaborating. Sure, I thought, why not. I asked what she wanted the lyrics to include and she was adamant about them declaring unity in the name of love. Done deals. And so, with pen in hand, I stared out the window, drank a LOT of coffee, and 15 minutes later, I had the first two verses set up. She pushed and verse three with the chorus came flooding through. I didn’t hear back from her for…

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The Public Execution of Walter Scott

April 4th, 2015 North Charleston, South Carolina
Weather forecast called for weather in the mid to upper 70’s,
But a new low front was ushered in under guise of hate

I checked the forecast but it said nothing of despair.
It said nothing of the wrenching guts or the tearing of the hair.
It didn’t think to warn, on the balmy day in spring,
Just how much that father would be sacrificing
Because he bought a brand new car, a Mercedes, shiny clean
But like a beacon to the racist rants it attended glaring screams
A cell phone captured video of the systematic lies
Told by Walter Scott’s murderer that watched that human die.
No remorse, no regret, just a planted Taser laid near blood
Deny what crime your hands committed, deny the hateful flood
But truth is not as fickle as the weather we predict
The rules are far less flexible, in fact, they’re rather fixed.
When will you foolish humans learn, LOVE ALWAYS WINS, not hate.
April 4th, in Memphis on a balcony, 1968

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo: This Poem Is A Myth

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

Philemon and Baucis

“Welcome, dear companion! You’ve come to hear the tale?

Of the truly loving mortals that stand before this temple trail?

What? You’ve never heard of Baucis and Philemon?

Climb that branch of Oak there and I will climb the Linden.

Yes, ‘tis true they are of one trunk, get comfy hear this story

For tonight I tell the tale of a humble immortal glory.”

Upon Olympus Zeus sat bored twiddling his beard,

“Hermes, my quickened friend, let’s explore some weird.”

Hermes was always eager to dip his toes in mortal world

Grabbed Zeus’ hand before his mind changed to Phrygia swirled.

“We can’t go door to door, looking like we do.”

So they dug some dirt and conjured clothes making beggars of the two.

Hundreds of doors they knocked upon with no the final refrain

Zeus was boiling with fury, Hermes with disdain.

“Do they not realize,” Said the patron God of travel.

“That when they turn away a stranger, their luck will soon unravel?”

“Apparently not, my friend,” Zeus replied. “But let’s try one more time.

For up ahead is a dilapidated hut that’s way past its prime.”

“If you say so Zeus, but you’re bound to be disappointed.

That’s certainly no place, where wealth has e’er anointed.”

Before the hand of the beggar ever came to rest on the door,

It opened up warm and widely, to a dirt, but well swept floor.

“Come in! Come in! Come join us while we feast.

It’s rare when we are visited by such company as thee.”

Baucis began feverishly to put the food together.

While Philemon worked diligently to make the visitor’s comfort better.

The old woman boiled a pot of hot water and raided meager provisions

The old couple worked the room feverishly under watchful supervision.

She prepared olives, bread and bacon, radishes and eggs

While the old man took a broken dish to fix the table leg.

They spread out the table with everything they cut loose.

They even chased until breathless both, their family pet goose!

They filled the plates with generous portions. They filled the cups with wine.

And among the love and laughter, the four people heartily dined.

With a burp and a push, the Gods revealed their true being

The old couple nodded with love at each other then to the Gods now seeing.

“What is it we can do for you, name anything you wish.”

Philemon nodded to Baucis, his eyes filled with tenderness.

“This humble cottage has always been our home, though our pockets are slenderest,

We’ve never known a moment of sorrow, never had to borrow.

We’d like to live here, if you care not, to serve you our living days

But we ask that neither one of us live alone when one passes away.”

Baucis smiled up at her husband with tears in her sweet blue eyes.

Philemon smiled back at her, then they bowed to the deities.

A beautiful temple of marble and gold sprouted where they stood.

He grew leaves while she grew leaves as they turned to wood.

“Farewell my dear companion, were their blessed lasting bliss.

You sit upon the tree they became with the final lover’s kiss.”

If I die before I wake

I woke up covered in sweat with the blade of a knife I didn’t own mere inches from the face of my sleeping husband. I’d just stabbed a brown and tan hairless creature, that was trying to eat my arm, with a vicious punch. A child of about two clung to my chest as I adjusted enough to skillfully (Where did I get that skill from?) hide the blade again. I was panting with exertion, as the large brown eyes of the little child (Why do I have a child?) stared back at me with complete trust. I sat up in my bed. The child touched my cheek with a tiny fist and slid from the waking world back into the mist.

My muscles twitched from unusual exertion. My legs, gimp foot, and arms felt like I’d been running for my life. I searched my naked body for the blade I’d held in my hands, I pushed and pulled blankets searching for something that wasn’t there. I looked at the clock on my husband’s bedside stand. In accusing red glare, 4:47, alarm still set, gentle snore and roll over from my husband.

I settled my breathing as my mind tried to sort through what had awakened my physical being. My little dog snuggled closer to my left hip. My cat paraded with pride up my body to curl at my right shoulder. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in the middle of a war I knew nothing about in the waking life.

The night before this happened, in the sleeping world there were three men, one a sheriff who had given me false hope that he would rescue me, chasing me through swamps. I’d hidden low tide in a bunker. There were so many dead bodies in this bunker. Across the rising water against the opposite wall was a girl who was long dead but her blonde curls, like mine, were still mostly in tact. She wore a pretty dress like an Easter one I used to get. It was blue and had a white lace “bib” on it. She was wearing Mary Jane shoes with most of the patent leather shine gone.

If I’d been wearing shoes, they would have found me, but I drowned in the water. I was mercifully gone before they discovered my body. I woke up vomiting swamp water, barely making it to the toilet before it launched.

Why am I suddenly entrenched in a battle? What mysteries are laying behind my dreams? I need to figure out a way to keep control of the violence before it wanders into this world.

TRIGGER WARNING! How long will you stay? DV/SA

The story I’m about to share with you is intense in emotion, digs into some really dark corners that many keep locked and heavily guarded. I am not opening the door with the spotlight shining in to require pity, request comfort, nor to have anyone claim, “Bless her heart.” I am shining the light into my darkness so that, hopefully, my flashlight can reach someone who feels betrayed, solitary in their suffering, shameful, or guilt-ridden. I end this first paragraph with this:

IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. I BELIEVE YOU.

The month of April is Sexual Assault/Domestic Violence awareness month. For those of us who have survived through these violent crimes, it’s an important month to help educate others about the necessary resources to protect ones physical, mental, and emotional self, commonly without financial ability to pay due to the clandestine fleeing that can be crucial to becoming a survivor and not a victim.

I’m not going to spout statistics, or at least not a lot of them, because those are just numbers. I want to share with you my face.

meage6This is a picture of me at around age six. By the time this picture was taken, I was already quite skilled in how to be the twisted version of the good daughter. I had secrets I couldn’t tell to anyone or my mom and my brother would be killed. I already understood that I was good for one thing. I was so carefully bred to be a victim, I never associated (even up until about six weeks ago) myself with that word or with the fact that things that happened were violent crimes against my person. I just felt like I’d survived, my mom and brother were still alive, life was good.

When I’d reached age 21, I was in full blown PTSD (non-combat trauma). When I read off the symptoms back then I sincerely believed that someone had been following me around writing my every move. It was terrifying to realize that other people had gone through the same thing. It was even more petrifying to realize that it happened to me. Denial is a vicious place to live.

After intensive in-patient treatment, several years of intensive outpatient, and then several MORE years of follow up (as needed) therapy, I feel comfortable and confident in saying that I’m on the other side of PTSD with minimal triggers. It took me 40 years of hard work (30 years actively) to get through the shame, the guilt, the depression, the feelings of being unworthy that were planted from the time I was very young.

The way that I identified myself changing from a total sexual being into a loving human being took devotion, courage, strength, guidance, and determination. It was a life or death battle that left me weary, broken, bloody, and sometimes hanging on by a thread of the Fates. But, as my matriarchs taught me, whether by grace or design, to thrive is the best testament to victory over that which demanded submission.

I ask you this question:

How long does it take before you say enough of a bad relationship? How far will you allow the violence against you to continue before you fight back? How much will have to be stripped of your personal dignity before you look around and say, “I can do better. WE can do better.”

I say, the time is now. Tomorrow may be too late to save one more girl from rape. Tomorrow may be too late to rescue one more child from starvation. Today. This is what we have. Join me, humans, in rescuing ourselves from one of the greatest tragedies and the source of our joint suffering, the lack of equality between genders in the name of LOVE, for the purpose of LOVE, with the intent of LOVE brought into action.

If we do not stand together as the majority population and demand equality, then we fail our sisters, our mothers, our grandmothers, our daughters, our children, our humanity. Men that wish equality are those we should cherish, nurture, encourage to defend, but never to rescue us. You can’t expect those who wish to keep us under their heel in the name of religious or political beliefs to release us from slavery (as the article this was inspired by) stated. That’s like allowing a wolf to watch ones sheep or a (JOKE ALERT) police officer to guard a doughnut.

Maya Angelou kept rising despite the anchors that attempted to drown her. So shall I rise whether anyone follows or everyone shies away from the truths. We must move for unity and equality, but for the right reasons, because it’s the right thing to do.

NaPoWriMo: Thirteen Weeks

Give, Receive, Love

With open heart and willing hands I give to you my gifts

I lay them on the blooming altar to do with as you wish

For when I walk in faith and trust I take such grand adventures

But they never seem to work quite right unless I allow surrender

With open mind and willing heart I will receive your blessings

I wrap them up with loving arms the joys of not repressing

For when I walk in grace and trust, I gain such grand adventures

They always flow as smooth as water, these my greatest treasures

With sacred heart and open mind I’m willing to offer love

As I give so shall I receive from all Watchtowers, below and above.

For when I shine in spirit love, I find a peaceful center

With conscious thought and mindfulness the Otherwhere I enter.

NaPoWriMo 040415: Sipsy

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

Fried Green Tomatoes At the Whistle Stop Cafe, Fannie Flagg

I knew the love that woman had was something deep woods

It was something that was taken for granted, but everyone understood.

You do not cross that line between what is wrong and what is good

Not without the skillet in hand bouncing off that head of blood.

I knew the love that woman had was something a thief would rue

It was something everyone claimed to not know, but we already knew.

When she looked into my eyes before that blow bid Frank his adieu

I grinned and nodded approval at her, because a mother’s love is true.

NaPoWriMo: Feeling So Deeply

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

IT HURTS!

I heard my Gram scream in the desolate silence

It was early January, out in the country, snow to navel

five blanket kind of freezing and she was screaming.

I jolted awake, scrambling beneath the cocoon of blankets

She screamed as if the hounds of hell were chasing her

When I reached her side, she was five years old.

I rocked her back to sleep.

IT HURTS!

I walked into my home with hope shining brightly

on legal sized paper declaring my parental rights

The phone rang, it was handed to me.

I listened as the perfection I imagined

threw me to the floor unable to support my vision

ripping a universe apart with six words

unable to support the weight of my sorrow as I screamed

IT HURTS!

I rode the elevator upwards without hope, holding knowledge.

I waited patiently for the doctors to return to the room

waited but already knew what they’d discovered.

He was dead. I was alone. There was a void of pain.

An echo of maybe and an absolute removal from now.

When I leaned down to kiss the cold skin of his once warm forehead

I was pulled away for my contamination of the saint with my sinner’s taint.

IT HURTS!

He packed the last of his things into the suitcase.

My eyes barely opened from the days of begging on my knees

My lip bloodied from our last confrontation

when he tried to burn the music out of my soul

when he tried to show me who ruled the roost.

I sat on the cold slab floor with brown tile hiding my shame

I deserted his God. I left him with the pile of discarded cardboard.

NaPoWriMo: indulgences

Drip your bloodline to mingle with mine

Heat my body, our hands in each other’s hair entwined

Let us drink the wine that spills from our cups

Onto the tables of flesh, let us sup

Tickle my fancy with the brush of your lips

Fancy my giggle along that curve in your hip

Turn your face sideways look over your shoulder

Give me that look that’s for only me; the one that smolders

Remind me again and again how religious we are

As we cry out to the God’s, sing out to the stars.