Composing in a Frenzy
by jeanne rene watson
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Rated "R" by the Author.
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If I had my druthers
(wonderful word, druthers . . could rhyme with brothers)
I’d want to release ribbons of color,
streamers flowing out from my fingertips,
promise bouncing off at the tap of a touch
tangling the world with my keyboard sagacity
(sagacity, rhymes with capacity)
Rainbows of wonder . . .
But it seems I can’t tap, tap, tap nothing,
(which really ought to be anything)
except something of which I know nothing about
of the face of a woman I would not know,
save, but from portraits obscurely hung
on flat screen placations. . . .
Reporting the rainbow extinction of the Congo
of deep rivers, the Congo,
mangrove and mahogany,
and rare white rhinos.
And features of women with no expressions left for grief
whose quiet revelations, words of demure demonstrations,
slam into my ears,
bam into my ears,
tap, tap, tapping at my indignation
(let us say nauseous sensation)
into my ears,
the rape, the rapine, the profanation of women and their daughters,
mudcloth, indigo and wax print drapes,
wrapped in flora and fauna, mothers and daughters,
the dragging of women and daughters into perdition (without petition)
by hands totting weapons libido, greed and power
savage manipulations. . .
The binding of husbands
who drop their souls deep in the ground,
but who, mercy will not blind.
Of sons, cowed because they won’t spread the legs of their mother,
won’t give seed to their sisters.
shaped by machetes because they won’t spread the legs of their mother.
under the canopies and into the roots of red mangrove trees.
I sit in a frenzy,
tap, tap, tapping a keyboard presentation
of a human kind . . . frothy spittle of the gutter,
the boils and blisters,
the pus of the Dearth of things I don’t know
outside my front door when thinking of
mothers and a phantom hip-hugging child of the Congo.
When thinking of mankind, sister and brothers,
of knowing the sensation, placing my hands palm to palm
seeding my petition, casting it to the wind . . .
Do we have the capacity?
Do we have the capacity?
Do we have the capacity to heal?
Give me my druthers,
for I’d rather not write
of why women wail.
Ribbons of rainbows . . . .
jeanne rené 2/05
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|Reviewed by Andre Bendavi ben-YEHU
An outstanding prose-poem offering thoughts´ developer reading.
The lines of "Composing in a Frenzy"
are a stimulating learning experience.
Healthy Long Life, Poet!
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
|Reviewed by jude forese
|poems like this help to enlighten the plight of women in underdeveloped states of social, moral and poltical injustice ...|
|Reviewed by Sue Hess
|God, this is fantastic, from the very first words|
|Reviewed by Lori Moore
|Wonderful write. "Druthers," is such a great word.|
|Reviewed by Judy Lloyd (Reader)
|I would say that this is powerful and yes I have read the stories of this coming out of the headlines and news casts. This is truly one of those things that you wish that you did not have to write about but it indeed happens. I go one further than Jerry because that fool Kofi Annan and the United Nations will not do a damn thing and their lame excuses for not entering Iraq was well paid for. Hell they moved the WMD's a long time ago and but that is another story. Fine write.|
|Reviewed by Mary Quire
|This is awesome. It says so much about what you feel and where you stand that the reader can't help but feel it with you. The power of the pen...
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
|This is good. It will not help the situation, but it will help assuage the very complaccent mind of us who sit in comfort in front of our computers and wail and moan about real people wailing and moaning. This was a damn fine piece. This will touch the heart of all who read it. It needed to be said, and you said it well. But it will not matter. Send it to Kofi Annan and thhe United Nations cronies who stand by and allow these and other atrocities to takke place in the world they are supposed to be a watchdog over. This is not meant to be a deaming of your words, it is just frustration that such things can happen time and time again and no one who matters cars. Remember Rhwanda?|
|Reviewed by Erin Kelly-Moen
|Exquisitive, provocative, aching piece, Jeanne!!
You glow with your frenzy, recreate its origin with painful intensity, promote growth of mind's awareness, and show how compassion can bring about improvements in individual readers' tactile, reaching need to be shown hurricanes destruction, rainbows healing.
You are a true Poet, Jeanne Rene. I'm going to share this piece with a friend of mine, thank you, for your being yourself.
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen