©Misogyny’s Not Dead; I think Feminism Is Fading; And Still, Life Goes On

His thinking is no different than so many men,

Believing if I express my own opinion

It can only be wrong, that his is correct

Because he’s convinced his opinion is fact,

And, dear me, mine is delusion.

He dares to think he is in charge...

Of moi, as well as the facts.

Silly man! Does he not realize

It has been universally acknowledged that

If a person mistakes his opinion for fact

He might be under the delusion he is G-d?

An opinion is that; an opinion and

If it is an opinion, can it be wrong?

Poor dear man; I parried his blow

Letting him know he must have been

Insufficiently exposed to the fact

There are people who’ve had

Other experiences and, more

Importantly, there are more men

who love women than who dislike us.

 Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

(Painting: Biblis by William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1884)

My Mouth Is Dry But Yours Never Runs Out of Glass-Shared Words

My poem has nothing to do with Game of Thrones or with Cersei Lannister other than, as an afterthought, her character seemed to meld nicely with the words/thought.

You stood there with your sorrow in a suitcase;

Another idle threat, we knew you wouldn’t run away.

Streamers flared when you claimed your third king;

Trumpets waned when he marched off that same day.

Strained and purple veins splayed across your face,

As though some child laid a crayon to paper-thin skin,

And grotesque words stuck to your Vaseline lips in disgrace

When he clipped your wings to Bach’s minor keys.

©My Mouth Is Dry But Yours Never Runs Out of Glass-Shared Words

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Thursday's Guest Poet: Julia Ward

THURSDAY’S POET

Why I Like Julia Ward’s “Blueberry Pie”.

The following could be an entire poem about blueberry pie and it would be wonderful; or, it could be about blueberry pie and something/ someone else and it would be fantastic!

Blueberry Pie

I try to ignore
a triangle of blueberry pie
sitting there with cream...
I try to ignore
the fact you have not spoken
for an hour,

but in the end,
I will eat the pie...
I must have something to comfort me,
but there you go,
and there you go...
You're not even listening.

2/23/2016 © by Julia Ward

Julia is English, but she lives in Alsace, in France, near the border of two countries, Germany and Switzerland.

“Three Knocks” is another example of her poetry:

Three Knocks

three knocks on my door
two are barely heard at all
a shoe - your footfall?

I really admire how she is able to create such interesting imagery in so few words -- that’s the work of a true poet. Need another example? How about “Susan’s Neck”?

SUSAN'S NECK

Susan's neck was like a swan’s -
the first you noticed...
white and tapering,
with a white necklace.

Sometimes you found yourself
looking at her neck
instead of eyes or mouth.
It was strangely done!

You soon lost the drift
of what she said,
for her neck had a life of its own,
shifting, not trusting you or anyone.

2/24/2016 © by Julia Ward


If you are a member of All Poetry, you can see all of the contests / trophies she has won at the following link:

http://allpoetry.com/contest/winners/Julia%20Ward

IF you enjoyed these and you want to read more poems by Julia Ward, please check out her blogsite at:

http://juliaward.blogspot.com/

I would like to share the works and a short author’s biography each month; if you’re interested, please go to my Facebook page and leave me a private message with how I can contact you. 

https://www.facebook.com/mimi.wolske

© Sucking in Liquid Thoughts While Rocking on Creaking Wood Floors

With the immediacy of a small child, she elbowed her sister and whispered, “I know what you two did. Don’t give me that look as though I’ve been reading too much Jules Vern and don’t try to convince me you two were building a time machine.”

She scrutinized her sister, and, with a devilish twinkle in her eyes, continued. 

“Is it just my imagination, dear sister, or is your hair a bit whiter than it used to be? Who’d have thought it possible?”

After her sister left in anger, the old lady sat thinking of her husband while...

Sucking in Liquid Thoughts While Rocking on Creaking Wood Floors

My mind's in a Tuesday stupor and I can't seem to unlace my thoughts—

It's like looking at the sun, then a piece of paper, and seeing only sunspots;

or like radio silence but not caring because your frequency wasn't right for me;

but mostly, it is like you were the breath of sarcasm and I was whimsicality.

But you stopped communicating and I still jumped through hoops to tune you in.

I don't cry anymore because it was on my floor you slipped and shed your onionskin...

I've scrubbed the tiles a million times (a slight exaggeration on my part),

And all I can tell you is this; the kitchen still carries the smell of you, you old fart.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

© I’m Sorry You Walked Away

When You Lose Love:

MYTH: The pain of losing love will go away faster if you ignore it.

Fact: Trying to ignore your pain or keep it from surfacing will only make it worse in the long run. For real healing, it is necessary to face your sadness (or grief) and actively deal with it.

MYTH: It’s important to be “be strong” in the face of loss.

Fact: Feeling sad, frightened, or lonely is a normal reaction to loss. Crying doesn’t mean you are weak. Letting your true feelings show can help you.

MYTH: If you don’t cry, it means you aren’t sorry about the loss.

Fact: Crying is a normal response to sadness, but it’s not the only one. Those who don’t cry may feel the pain just as deeply as others. They may simply have other ways of showing it.

It’s nearly two in the morning.

Come take advantage of me.

I’m on my third cup of coffee

After chugging a bottle of wine.

I already threw the empty at

The email I was writing to you

To show you I was drunk... and vulnerable.

Don’t you want it?

You used to want it.

You used to want me.

I’m sorry it took me too long to realize it.

I’m sorry I will never send that email.

I’m sorry I’m willing to degrade myself

Just to get you

To come back,

To touch me,

To tease me,

To stay here — with me.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

(the photo is not mine. It is the property of the owner)