Does a Woman need a Man? updated w/ Does one Need a Man?

We were taught growing up

a woman does not need a man

to want one maybe but need….

needing a man was a sign of weakness 

a life riddled of dependency and control.

We were taught from a young age

watching our mothers and aunts

with the right tools women can do it all

they can fix the broken toilet, provide for

the family and kiss the children goodnight.

As adults, we learned from the loyalty

of Eagles and the closeness of Wolves

it is natural for us to need a companion

not someone to take care of us or fill a

fantasy but to love us and touch us…

Cinderella was not our favorite story.

I did two versions to this piece. Since, I posted the first I have come to wonder why I posted it other than letting pressure get to me. I like the second much better which I wrote first.

Does one Need a Man?          

I remember thinking it is weak to need a man.

To want one yes but need…

Oh it horrified me, numbed me with images of

housewives and brainless, obedient women

ridiculed with dependency and control.

An existence of imprisonment

a nightmare to us, the daughters

of strong independent women

we grew up being taught

a women does not need a man

with the right tools women can do it all!

they can fix the broken toilet, provide for

the family, and raise the children

there is need to settle.

Then I learned of human need

from the loyalty of Eagles

and the companionship of wolves

need was not necessarily bad

it mattered why you needed

I realized I needed a companion,

best friend, a lover. Not to take care

of me but to love me and touch me…

you can probably imagine

Cinderella was not my favorite story.

5/11

  

O - Oracle of the Feminine

Our time has come to stand tall

united in a revolution of change

a collective of feminine voices

saying, No More!

It is time we take back our bodies

create a resolution to change

the expected and learn to accept

everyone is born their own way

beautiful in their own skin.

It is time to stop participating

in the games of a perfect image

starving for anothers body

an average that does not exist.

It is time to love and cherish
yourself, believe you were born 
beautiful in your own way  

for your daughter is watching.

It is time for you to remember 
where you came from 
to say thank you to your mother,

your grandmothers and aunts,

all the women that wore

the body you were born to wear.

             

                                    © River 4/11

care for a reading by video

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 42 by One Stop Poetry~ clck and come join the fun    

behind closed doors & Reality a Fucked Up Justice

 

These two poems are written for the survivors of sexual assault. They are written to address the violent crimes committed every second somewhere in the world. 

behind closed doors

little girls afraid of closed doors
uncles and dads,
brothers and family friends


young women living nightmares
pregnant by fathers
date raped and socially shunned


women cornered in daily fears
of husbands and dark streets
strangers and offers of a beer


legions of women and girls
victims of global crimes
violated in body and soul


some are left as empty shells
others run deep with denial
few for the most part are healed


scarred mothers make quiet promises
to baby girls and even boys
it ends with me-it won’t happen to you


they hope- they pray- they stay
forever vigilant
hushed behind closed doors.
1/11 River

Reality a Fucked Up Justice

On every corner around the globe, masses of women and children are survivors of horrendous acts. Violated in body and soul. 

These crimes, of the worst atrocity, are committed most commonly by family and friends. Strangers are next. 

    

surviving the crime is half their battle

the other half is a fucked up reality

We live in a man’s world where very few laws if any exist to protect woman and children, making it hard to fight for what is right.

Most often, a crime is blamed on the victim. Excuses are made for the perpetrators, ignoring their crimes, and closing the door leaving survivors bleeding once more.

finding their voice is risking what’s left

fighting for justice should be the next step

                                                                                                 River 1/11

version 2 is available with inquiry- goes deeper into the core root of sexual assault.

~

Societies hide the appalling numbers of woman and children behind closed doors. Stripping their voices out of fear or never calculating their numbers. These affect the statistics causing the number of victims to be known underestimated around the globe.

For statistics go to:

Worldwide Statistics

a reading of the poems

The Power of Song

Sing, let your voice

fly free and strong

joining together in

the power of song

Drum, heartbeats rise

echoing old ways

mothers listen

the spirits praise

Women and song

that is our way

drumming together

grandmothers say

They teach us the ways

to sing with our voice

drum with our hearts

love and rejoice

Women rise be strong

for girls listen

to the power of song.

©River Maria Urke 11/10

dedicated to Oshkii Giizhik and all women hand drummers Miigwech~ thank you

My Eccentric Mother

I remember as a girl going to Cybil’s house

So you could learn the old Astrology

After you brushed the old woman’s hair

I remember thinking her and her husband were ancient

Now I know they were wise

I remember you running with me and laughing

When everyone else’s mothers were sitting

Gabbing about each other

I remember thinking I was lucky

I remember you heading my Girl Scouts Troupe

Fighting for equality to enter the old school

Trying to give the gift of nature to the girls

I remember how proud I felt that you were my mother

I remember you cheering the loudest

At my basketball games

I remember you standing up for me

Telling that sexist Gym teacher off

I remember your face when I punked myself out

The twinkle in your eyes

Your daughter was her own unique self

The flash of fright across your face

Knowing it would mean hardships

I remember your disappointment

When I almost got in big trouble

You had me read Gibron

You understood I had to move on

I remember you trying to understand

Your adventurous daughter

Not ever relating but still giving me

The room to fly

I remember the fear in your eyes

The first time I was paralyzed

The second time when you

Told that doctor he was wrong

I remember when I realized

All you had ever done for me

The day I became a mother

You are the woman in this world

That means more to me than any other

You have always been at my side

You will always love me

I have always looked up to you

I have learned from you

How to be the eccentric woman

I am today

Mama you are my Best Friend

I Love You!

                                                           ©5/10

To Dance in Heels

Here and there blogging women are writing poems about red shoes. I happen to have wrote a book about women and their love for shoes. It is my baby that I have been trying to get published. An anthology of nonfiction short stories. I included my shoe story which is below....

~

I joke I found my feminine side at the age of thirty. I began learning how to put on make-up, and get all dolled up for an evening. In no time at all, I came to realize I loved shoes, especially the feeling of dancing in heels. Some people might have thought I drank some funky drink or motherhood had put a spell on me transforming the woman they knew suddenly overnight. A woman they last remembered as a shoeless, nonchalant dresser strolling up to them outside the coffee house wearing Nine West pumps, a pretty dress, and a splash of lipstick. I believe it was simply my time to bloom.

I had three years of enjoying the feeling of walking down the street wearing heels before my life dramatically changed physically. I reached a point with my disease and I became disabled from the progression of Multiple Sclerosis. My balance and leg strength had worsened and I had to start walking with a cane. Wearing heels occasionally turned into a pleasure of my past and a goal to be reached with patience and hard work. Once, I told my physical therapist that wearing heels is one of my personal goals. She looked at me shaking her head not agreeing with my choice at all. I keep that goal to myself now and I tell her my other goal of dancing.

Over the years, my style of dress continues to integrate a feminine twist to its funky fusion of Trendy and Bohemian style. My love for shoes has continued growing with knowledge and new pairs even with my shoe limitations. I focus my captivation on low heels, non-risk boots, and cute flats depending on how I am physically any given day. I do test my limits with height from time to time as I strive to reach my goal to dance in heels again.   

The full Moon rises to the East

She dances under the Birch
To the music of her soul
Bare feet against wet Earth
Freer then she has ever known

She dances a healing dance
To cleanse the invisible wounds
Buried through generations
Deep within the soul

She dances for all women
Young, weak, strong and old
Women across waters and land
Throughout all of time

She dances secret knowledge
Beats of movement and song
Mothers have taught to Daughters
Since the days of Avalon

She dances under the full Moon
Encircled by the magic
As they have for Centuries
And will forever more

River 7/10