The Strength Of Women Hear Them Roar




I went to my first sit in in 1967 during a nationwide protest. As cool as it was to be leaving a Jr. High class with all the swagger of a false rebel I was profoundly effected by the movement. I saw first hand what power of the people meant, the power of unity, and the importance of standing up to any injustices I was confronted with. This movement went much further than just protesting the Vietnam war. I was hooked, more sit ins, be ins, and peace rallies followed. I quickly became a real rebel.

Yesterday I was overloaded with rebel pride when I went into New York City to join the March for Women’s Rights. I always believed in the strength of women but they really blew me away when I saw they had the power not only to stand for their own issues but they also had the love and strong shoulders to absorb so many others causes along with their own and turned it into a march and rally for all of humanity. Every race, religion, class, and gender were given equal status, and all were represented. They proved that it doesn’t matter what your background or political affiliation is but what matters is that as a human being we have compassion for each other and the planet we live on.

So I thank all who marched and/or supported the amazing peaceful movement our sisters have started and I applaud the strength of my sisters everywhere and ask that you don‘t let it stop there. Become a joiner and supporter of destroying any injustice anywhere and become a pain in the ass to your elected officials, they work for us. Most important, get out and vote every chance you get, let your voice be heard in every way possible. Real men make quiche and are inspired by strong women, not intimidated by them. Real men don’t feel the need to brag about the size of their hands but are willing to show the size of heart to all.
Live and Love in Peace

The Beautiful Monarch



All the bugs laughed
Called her names
Slug bait and worse
The caterpillar crawled
Paid them no mind
But it hurt just the same
So she built a cocoon
Crawled inside to cry
The tears of the lonely
Caused by the arrogant
The condescending insects
That held themselves superior
Fueling her sorrowed droplets
Which turned into acid
And dissolved the body
She had grown to hate
And dissolved the mind
Of the girl she feared
Until the day came
She said fuck em all
I am beautiful
Not just inside
But everywhere
Then the beautiful butterfly
Broke out of her cocoon
Held her head high
And soared above the crowds
Without looking down
As the insects all looked up
In great admiration
Wishing they were as fantastic as
The Beautiful Monarch

Drying Paint

dry paint

A life in color she cloned the sky
Shared on the canvass of her soul
Tumultuous sessions
Lasting impressions
Razor imprints streak out of control

Put down the pallet toss the brush
No need to assign any more paints
Colors ran from the dream
No more sparkle or gleam
A hospital bed locked with mental restraints

Bleeding out through her paintings
Images screaming words yet unspoken
Self loathing contempt
A near fatal attempt
A life was shattered but not fully broken

This is not how the world works
No brush in hand
Not in command
Soar out on your own
You’re not out on loan
Or alone
You belong to the sky
Let your colors fly
don’t let your paint dry
For some guy

Pick it back up
Paintbrush in hand
Your world to command
Take your stand
Paint your own picture
Colorful and true
Its all about you
Your color, your glory
Drying paint tells the story
The soul tattoo
Of a woman so true
Paint not yet dry
She’s back to
Cloning the sky
With strength found anew
She isn’t quite through
That painter is you

No Way To Treat A Lady

no way

Preying the young in the stealth of evening
The visitation of his demented perversions
Unleashing his vile for an immoral pleasure
Deviant forcing them his unholy excursions

Disregarding the freedoms of his unwary victim
He pried deeply into her most intimate sanctums
Inflicted unwanted passions upon her at will
Not adhering her pleas to impose moral sanctions

Eagerly mounting innocence with pain sacrilegious
Another conquest for him to spread on his wall
Unbridled with guilt of inflicting unwanted filth
No ones conscience would he ever answer to at all

I whimper my compassion of her tragic dilemma
Tears of all the innocents they seep down my cheek
Nary one soul on behalf of the victim stands up
Sanctimoniously unable for her benefit to speak

Guilty perversions outdone by the turning of heads
The silent congregations hails phony of faith
Who observe in silence chanting boys will be boys
As the woman’s soul becomes one shattered wraith