The Mirror

 
The Mirror
 
The little girl who skipped in pigtails turned
to a maiden, blooming then in beauty, grace –
and then to a woman, married – soon with child –
and so to a mother – with a mother’s work
as well as that which earned the needed wage…
She worked her shifts, as women long have done…
 
Her face and body changed, as did her mind –
as worries grew – and satisfactions small
were countered by frustrations – small and large...
And gazing in the mirror now, she sees
that little girl, that maiden, then the wife –
the mother too – and wonders what comes next.
  
2014 October 25th, Sat.
2nd floor, McDonald’s restaurant
86th Street & 20th Avenue
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
 

Two Na**d Women

        
Two Na**d Women

Doodle-007-Discord

I saw a lady, walking nude –
A dame of Nordic stock.
And people stared as she went by.
They giggled, gaped in shock.

But she was shod – in fu**-me shoes,
With leather straps 'round calves.
And as she passed, I saw tattoos
Between her buttock-halves.

But though I squinted then to see
What the markings meant,
She strode away – and out of sight –
Unclothed – but fed, content...
  
******
   
I later saw a woman, who
Had not a shred of clothing.
She sat, despairing, in the street,
Subjected, there, to loathing.

She'd neither shoes nor sandals and
Her face and frame were gaunt.
Her eyes were filled with anguish – eyes
That will, my nightmares, haunt.

And as I walked, embarrassed, by,
And offered her no hand,
I saw, upon her wrist, some marks
I could not understand...
  
******
   
The first I saw was pink of skin,
The second, she was brown.
The first was smiling to herself,
The second made me frown.

I wondered what the tracings meant
That graced the first's behind.
It mattered not – that cryptic sign
On her I'd left behind.

And in another dream, I saw
The two, reversing roles.
I wondered what that signified
And whether parts were wholes... 

Doodle-002a-Concord

    
2014 July 20th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York    
    

All About Sex

    
All About Sex

Flirtations, romances and flowers and hearts,
The nuances, flavors, of amorous arts –
If all of these bore you, then let me remind you,
They really are all about sex.

Now I've got your attention, be you woman or man,
As anything sexual, said flippantly, can,
For where Venus is present, in the past or the present
Or future, she beckons – it's sex.

And the sexes may differ, but in this, they're the same –
They spring to attention at the touch of that flame,
Be they young or much older, be they timid or bolder –
At the touch of the flame that is sex.

But the arts of arousal, for the sexes, diverge,
As they each have their senses that urge.
For the men, it is vision, despite the derision
Of women – who're also for sex.

But they much prefer hearing, through feminine ears,
The words that arouse them and chase away fears.
And some may be fooled, but the others have ruled
That a man has to pay for his sex.

And it isn't a dollar, or ruble or yen,
Which may be a lot for the stingiest men.
It's a life that is asked for, and that's how it's paid for.
And now, you've learned all – about sex.

******
                 
But the women, on hearing this nonsense, may yell,
“There's more to that thing than you've ventured to tell!
Or could it be this – ”  and the women now hiss –
“that you don't know a thing about sex?

“For the men may spring up – it's just one of their acts.
And parts of us do – but we mostly relax.
And there's sight and there's hearing, but there's also that nearing,
There's touch and there's scent – and there's sex!

“For the men may be thinking that the males are the studs,
But in matters that matter, the truth is – they're duds!
For though they have feared us and though they've repressed us,
It is we who know more about sex.

“For what we relinquished, as patriarchs ruled,
And women, as sexless, were drilled and were schooled,
Is our rightful domain, and will always remain
That of women – the realm that is sex!”

And the men, who were silent, at the thought of the dollar,
Now in finding their voices, may join in, to holler,
“We're tired of this crap, from this prancing old chap,
For what does he know – about sex?

“For it's sex that we've wanted, since reaching our teens.
And though, oh too often, we hadn't the means,
Since our teens, we've been surging, and so we are urging,
That you stop all this talk about sex!”

******
        
So the men and the women, in this, are united,
That I tamp down the flame I ignited.
But though it is rude to be publicly lewd,
I wish I could dwell more on sex.

For I'm told by my spies that they have detected
A tower or missile that Mars has erected,
And they tell me there's moisture where Venus has pasture,
Yet it's time to put end to this sex.

But I'd opened a window – and if I now close it,
To whom will you bring the deposit?
But I can't be a banker to every dear wanker,
Though I've led you along with the sex.

And if some would be arcing and seeking release,
I wish there were ways, by which I could please,
But others, more "moral", are giving me oral
Instructions to cease with the sex.
   
So alas, it is time, because they all urge it,
To zip up the verse.  If I'm leaving you turgid
On reading this ditty, then it's really a pity,
But I'll leave you alone with your sex.

And I also should say, as I bid you goodbye,
That I'm sorry that I cannot lie.
If you think I've been rude, because I've been crude,
Remember, it's all about sex.

2013 November 11th, Mon.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
 

Apparel

Apparel

I pray that I'll be saved from wearing suit and tie,
As I have been for all these many years.
Before I have to wear them, let me die --
And laugh that I've been spared, as dying nears.

As penguins, do the crowds of men appear,
With suits of black (plus bow-ties or cravats)
And shirts of white.  As Croats used to wear,
So now do all – except, perhaps, for hats.

And see the women, baring far too much,
While teetering on shoes inflicting pain.
At least the men are spared from wearing such!
In this, they win – quite clearly, once again!

What use, I wonder, is the collared shirt,
Or brassiere – for those less “well endowed”?
And why have women left the flowing skirt
For trousers tight?  Should I be asking loud?

2013 May 7th, Tue., 5:06 am
Brooklyn, New York

The Sea + Woman

The Sea

The sea, becalmed – a placid, tranquil lake, 

But vast – a mirror stretched from land to sky, 

Reflecting both – a giant, languid eye... 

The sea, now rippled by a rising breeze – 

A woman, wakened by her lover's tease, 

Aroused, with moon reflected in the tide... 

The sea, in fury – thrashing in the throes 

Of passions roused – and thrusting for release, 

By spasms rocked – towards her bless-ed ease... 

sjanah@aol.com

2012 November 5th, Mon. 

Brooklyn 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woman

A woman's told that she's the weaker sex,

For she can be the size of half a man;

Yet all, a man can do, a woman can.

And she gives birth, as only she can do,

In nature grounded, tied to sea and moon,

Connected to the earth, as man is not.

As boats may sail upon an ocean wide,

So men may float upon the surging tide

Of woman, roused to tempest in her deep.

And as a woman may, to some appear,

So, to sailors, does the ocean seem.

What lends us life, can also that redeem...

As Durga rides the lion, slays the demon,

And Kali strides on Shiva, so does woman

Conquer man, when she connects with earth.

And men must turn to gods residing high,

On mountain top or watching from the sky,

As they are torn by fear and by desire...

And when the women copy now the men,

And so wear pants, while men do not wear skirts,

They only copy weakness – that which hurts.

For man is insecure and torn from earth.

The weaker sex is he, who's not at ease.

So men make war – as women wait for peace.

sjanah@aol.com
2012 November 6^th, Tue.

Brooklyn