Joanna

I begin a verse…

I hesitate on a word…

I lose what written freedom there is.

To a life years ago…pictured in a daydream.

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She had smelled of Henna and Poison…and, and, and…

She had come from the south…

An urbanite in flowing skirts, cotton piled upon cotton

earth tones among simple Aztec design.

Her smoke rings, gentle and meaningful.

Made menthol circles around a crowded granite tomb.

An odd figure among provincial settings…

ancient walls, ancient floors…soon to be filled dorm rooms.

Had I known of flirting…it did not provide me with a guide.

Young and bare footed…I wore, yokel…with pride.

She taught me of love without borders…

sensuality without touch…

She taught me…ever so, much.

I think of her from time to time.

A southern belle adjoined with sophistication, Cat Stevens and…

lust playing between…hours, minutes, seconds.

I think of her from time to time.

When my youth took a delicious, decadent, memorable ride.

 

Radical ’89

 

As she sat  banging away at the keyboard.  Sitting in front of the forever writing device…always allowed her to think of the ‘days’.  The flashes of time that were many; dangerous and stringy with a writer’s thoughts.  College days!  Four years of higher minds and the banging out of ‘Baby Dyke’  autobiography.

RandomwordbyRuth wasn’t even a zit on liberal’s ass…in those times.
Course, the autobiography would not be entitled, Baby Dyke!  It was to be given the simple listing as…the Cancer part I and the Cancer part II.  But when you are fresh out of a cluttered closet…the two are one in the same.
Twenty some odd years ago, the times they were a changing.  The college had decided that being single sexed…was not a profitable idea.  The student body of 1/4 feminist in training…felt that having a college president who’s morals were filled with corporate ideas…had been a selection poorly made.
Current day, the times were still a changing.  The keyboard had gone from a Royal Fleetwood ’72 to a, still in training, Chromebook  ’14.
The world had grown, immensely, and that had been, a most significant…revolution!
Our ancient times, college grad., was tallying polls, volunteers and/or anything else that moved and voted.
“How different?  How unique to see these persons…these albeit strangers…come together from homes, that were villages apart, and stand for a common cause.”
Children of preteen years, holding hands with both Mom and Dad…while heading out the doors of the staging location.  Inter-racial couples, two women who had married not days before, elderly men and blue collar workers!  All uniquely qualified to stand for a REVOLUTION!
Bernie Sanders had not only been the honoree to this vestige of canvassers.  He had also brought about something that many had never witnessed.
However, Mr. Sanders, stood for something, that a few, had sensed before.
She, the ancient college grad., started her own coo, back at that typewriter. Many years before.  Banging out the lyrics to, I Am Woman!  Preparing to take matters to the next level, if need be, the moment her school choose to go co-ed.
None of that went over well with her parents.  Particularly when a picture of her in torn up jeans…smoking a cigarette, vowing to sit out classes, showed up on the front page of the one and only state wide newspaper.
Today, yesterday and all the pages in between, didn’t really matter in the grander scheme of things.  Change was change was making a difference meant getting off the fence and standing up for things you believed in.
 There had years of volunteering to help combat the A.I.D.S., misconception.  Years spent helping recovering addicts.  Glimpses into times and tribulations of the abuse of animals.  All relative forms of service to the community.
Sitting back, now, I listen to 3 or 4 avid constituents of unconventional political party discussing… radical change.
Friendly arguments, civil humorous spats over the state of the state and the perishing world; the atmosphere is none different than twenty years ago.
 Most likely, other than decor and clothing style…no much has changed from those progressives sitting around a wood-stove.  Liberals that traveled for days to a little shack way north of the Mason Dixon line.  A tiny little cabin that would house the ideals of a hopeful few.  A hopeful organic cluster of people wanting to do away with slavery.
Course, being several years beyond my term at college, the ancient graduate that I am.
I just watch the prophets and the forward thinkers and wonder…
“If we all sat back.  There would be nothing in front of us that would be worth getting radical about.  Nothing should remain the same but change!”