Women's History Month

 

March is Women's History Month, so I thought I'd share a select few poems written by women about women. I've kept the last several posts simple and stress-free, which has allowed me to continue with this blog. Balancing demands and life require cutting back a bit. The direction is going forward, and not in reverse (thank goodness!) with respect to the next book, but I'm taking my time with it. In addition to painting with acrylics, I've revisited using watercolors and remember how much I loved it. Slowing the pace with everything is needed. 

As always, thanks for checking in and reading what I share.

A Suggested Campaign Song

Alice Duer Miller - 1874-1942

(“No brass bands. No speeches. Instead a still, silent, effective influence.”—Anti-suffrage speech.)

We are waging—can you doubt it?
   A campaign so calm and still
No one knows a thing about it
   And we hope they never will.
          No one knows
          What we oppose,
   And we hope they never will.

We are ladylike and quiet,
   Here a whisper—there a hint;
Never speeches, bands or riot,
   Nothing suitable for print.
          No one knows
          What we oppose,
   For we never speak for print.

Sometimes in profound seclusion,
   In some far (but homelike) spot,
We will make a dark allusion:
   “We’re opposed to you-know-what.”
          No one knows
          What we oppose,
For we call it “You-Know-What.”

Alice Paul

Katharine Rolston Fisher - 1871-1949

I watched a river of women,
Rippling purple, white and golden,
Stream toward the National Capitol.

Along its border,
Like a purple flower floating,
Moved a young woman, worn, wraithlike.
All eyes alight, keenly observing the marchers.
Out there on the curb, she looked so little, so lonely,
Few appeared even to see her;
No one saluted her.

Yet commander was she of the column, its leader;
She was the spring whence arose that irresistible river of women
Streaming steadily towards the National Capitol.

I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl (443)

Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886

I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— 

Life's little duties do—precisely— 

As the very least  

Were infinite—to me— 

    

I put new Blossoms in the Glass— 

And throw the old—away— 

I push a petal from my gown  

That anchored there—I weigh  

The time 'twill be till six o'clock  

I have so much to do— 

And yet—Existence—some way back— 

Stopped—struck—my ticking—through— 

We cannot put Ourself away  

As a completed Man  

Or Woman—When the Errand's done  

We came to Flesh—upon— 

There may be—Miles on Miles of Nought— 

Of Action—sicker far— 

To simulate—is stinging work— 

To cover what we are  

From Science—and from Surgery— 

Too Telescopic Eyes  

To bear on us unshaded— 

For their—sake—not for Ours— 

Twould start them— 

We—could tremble— 

But since we got a Bomb— 

And held it in our Bosom— 

Nay—Hold it—it is calm— 

    

Therefore—we do life's labor— 

Though life's Reward—be done— 

With scrupulous exactness— 

To hold our Senses—on—

Oughta Be a Woman

June Jordan - 1936-2002

Washing the floors to send you to college
Staying at home so you can feel safe
What do you think is the soul of her knowledge
What do you think that makes her feel safe

Biting her lips and lowering her eyes
To make sure there's food on the table
What do you think would be her surprise
If the world was as willing as she's able

Hugging herself in an old kitchen chair
She listens to your hurt and your rage
What do you think she knows of despair
What is the aching of age

The fathers, the children, the brothers
Turn to her and everybody white turns to her
What about her turning around
Alone in the everyday light

There oughta be a woman can break
Down, sit down, break down, sit down
Like everybody else call it quits on Mondays
Blues on Tuesdays, sleep until Sunday
Down, sit down, break down, sit down

A way outa no way is flesh outa flesh
Courage that cries out at night
A way outa no way is flesh outa flesh
Bravery kept outa sight
A way outa no way is too much to ask
Too much of a task for any one woman

And a favorite, which I shared here in 2016:

After A While (Comes the Dawn)

By Veronica Shoffstall 

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,

With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure…
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth,
and you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.

The Silent Partner

 

On a visit to Pagosa Springs, Colorado, I bought a book called Coyote Cowboy Poetry from a local antique store. Written by Baxter Black and published in 1986, the book is full of entertaining and straight forward thoughts from a person whose bio describes him as an American Cowboy, Poet, and Western Humorist. One doesn’t have to be a cowboy for his words to resonate. 

I would like to share one of those poems here.  For all the partners, spouses, and couples, the ones that built together, started from scratch, and sacrificed together, the silent ones laying the foundation for the exuberant ones, the behind the scenes ones to those in the spotlight, the worker bees to the queen bee, the ones who know the business and how it works but remain in the shadows for that not-so-silent-partner, the ones who take care of the incidentals so the big stuff can happen, and so many more too numerous to mention…The Silent Partner is for all and is timeless. Its message is clear. Appreciation. Humility. Equality. Acknowledgment. 

As for Black, born in 1945, he is a former veterinarian who has written a number of books, all still available for purchase. 

 

The Silent Partner

By Baxter Black

 

Her name’s on the note at the PCA, boys,

Though she might have questioned the loan

She signed her John Henry ‘neath yours on the line

And she will ‘til the kids are all grown.

 

Nobody’s counted the pickups she’s pulled

Or measured the miles she’s put on the rake

Kept track of the pancakes or lunches she’s packed

Or the number of times she lay there awake

 

Praying her prayers for the man in her bed

God only knows, ‘cause He’s keepin’ track.

She’s buildin’ up interest somewhere down the line

To use in a trade on your first cardiac.

 

She puts up with cows she knows you should cull

Scourin’ calves on the livin’ room floor,

Tracks in the bathroom and mud on the sheets, 

Flies in the kitchen from broken screen doors.

 

She patiently listens to stories you tell

Recounting the skill of your blue heeler mate.

She wishes, herself, if that dog was so smart

You could teach that pot licker to open a gate!

 

She offers opinions that seldom sink in

‘Til time, oft as not, proves she was right.

But it’s damn hard to figger how she coulda known?

You’re not the only one who worries at night. 

 

She’s old as the mountain and young as the spring

Timeless in labor and wisdom and love.

Of all of God’s creatures that man gets to share

The wife of a cowman was sent from above.

 

So lay there tonight when you go to bed.

Remember your partner, she’s tried and she’s true.

You’re lucky, my man, to have such a friend

Take care of her, ‘cause she takes care of you.

 

Illustration by Don Gill, as seen in the book

Fairy Tales and Such

I'm sharing two poems that I wrote for my daughters when they were quite young. One I've shared here before, written with my youngest in mind when she encountered falling snow for the first time. Both have copyright dates decades ago, but copyright still applies. 

What's up next regarding writing is simply deciding which route to pursue. I have three books outlined; maybe I should take a poll with the most popular choice being the manuscript I start writing next. Decisions. 

Thank you to all for "the reads" and don't forget my websites, www.veronicabatterson.com, and www.veronica-batterson.pixels.com for more updates, photographs and artwork.

Fairy Tales

 

By Veronica Randolph Batterson

©Veronica Randolph Batterson 

 

Once upon a time, the story began,

We have heard it over and again.

It happened in a far away place, a very long time ago,

Where kings loved queens, and knights braved places where no one else would go.

 

The dragons breathed fire and villains were mean,

Wizards knew their magic, or so it seemed.

Damsels in distress were trapped high in a tower,

Witches and warlocks fought each other for power.

 

Unicorns were horse fairies that flew through the sky,

Granting wishes to good children they often passed by.

Stardust and glitter mixed together on the pages,

To stay with each reader forever through the ages.

 

This fairy tale kingdom we all seem to know,

Has pixies and purple castles and seven dwarfs who never grow.

What is the moral and what message does the story send?

Just that everyone lived happily ever after.

The end.

Playtime

 

By Veronica Randolph Batterson

 ©Veronica Randolph Batterson

 

A child of three moved far away

Where heavy coats and mittens were needed to play.

For outside it was blustery, cold and wet

“Whoever heard of playing in weather like this?” her mommy would fret.

 

Where they were from the weather was warm and sunny

Here all the children looked kind of funny.

For they were bundled and covered, not a visible face

Resembling martians, UFOs or something from outer space.

They wobbled and they hobbled, barely able to walk

Don’t expect words from them for they’re too cold to talk!

 

So this young child stepped outdoors one day

And looked up at the falling snow to say,

“What are these things dropping from the skies?”

“It’s snow, honey,” her mommy said.

“Well, it’s getting in my eyes!”

 

Peace

May you have warmth in your igloo, oil in your lamp and peace in your heart. - Eskimo Proverb

This weekend, I saw the movie, The Book Thief, and my thoughts have been with it ever since...similar to how it is for me when I've finished a great book and can't get it out of my mind (of course, the movie was based on the book).  While I've seen many films set during the Holocaust and World War II era, this movie's message has stayed with me, perhaps for the meaning of hope, the importance of peace and how words factored into survival for the characters.

As a writer and someone who loves to read, I enjoy words that give me peace and make me think.  I especially appreciate poetry and lyrics which paint a picture of contemplation and expressiveness (think paint to canvas).  In my opinion, one of the great lyricists was the late Dan Fogelberg.  Ironically, today marks the anniversary of his passing six years ago and, while this post isn't meant as an homage to the late artist, I think it warrants a mention of how great a poet he was.  It's something special when lyrics read as poetry and have meaning.  While the music adds to the beauty, the words stand alone.  Dan Fogelberg had that gift of creativity.  Some of his lyrics follow this entry...forget why or how he wrote them and, for the time being, silence the music that accompanies them. Just read the words.

As I write this post, the snow is falling outside and my dog is resting at my feet...a peaceful scene.  In closing, I wish all a relaxing Christmas and holiday season. Share with all you love and find meaning and purpose in what you do with your lives.  Do well and be kind.  Peace to all.

"Shallow rivers run between us where a stone may never sink
Though we taste, we are left thirsty for a deep and soulful drink
Narrow channels, barely open, fraught with dangers out of view
In the current, we are helpless - still I cling to you..." - Shallow Rivers, Dan Fogelberg

"Stood out in the rain
Let it soak me down
Before I called you...I called you
Didn't see me there
Hidden by the rain beneath your window...but I saw you
Putting on your face before the mirror on the wall
Dreaming that the looking glass was me..." - Stars, Dan Fogelberg

"I was born by a river rolling past a town
Given no direction...just told to keep my head down
As I took my position, a man fired a gun
I was so steeped in tradition I could not run
I was raised by a river weaned upon the sky
And in the mirror of the waters I saw myself learn to cry
As the tears hit the surface I saw what had been done
I gave feet to my freedom and I did run..." - The River, Dan Fogelberg 


"I saw you running
Ahead of the crowd
I chased but never thought
I'd catch you.
You said you loved me
But you had to be free
And I let you.
Why did I let you?
We walked together
Through the gardens and graves
I watched you grow
To be a woman.
Living on promises 
That nobody gave
To no one.
They were given to no one..." - The Last Nail, Dan Fogelberg