Women’s Rights #poetry #mistreatment #nigeriangirls

girl at coffee

I a woman since I was a child

yet so often wanting to be a male

having opportunities of that sex

 was however a forbidden trail

I started as a little sprout

I’d climb the old farm tractor

wanting to feel the powerful gears

 large tires the ground’s compactor

“No you are but just a girl

 get off  that large machine

only boys and men can ride”

instead I learned to fix the thing

We may not have the same muscles

in groups as tight as men

but I assure we can compete

our minds out play many a man

woman are held back by walls and veils

girls become shields -what for?

“women can’t do many things”

though we are misused toys of war

have we not taken one step back

we women of this age

once students we at equal stance

perhaps it was just a phase

women used as young as ten

poured  out in hands that measure

virgins once now sullied used

frankly no ones pleasure

women  I call you fools

 to slavery you newly bound

these sodden rights are truly foul

into dust we are ground

***

With all the rights we talk about we are seeing women and young girls mistreated on a regular basis. Slavery, abduction, rape are daily occurences in our world.

Oksana – a story of survival #dailypost #children #world #Atozchallenge

The true story of survival of a young Ukrainian girl

painted rose

Oksana -It seems but days ago that you sat on my lap rattling off words in English proud of your ability to master  languages.

I present you with a new challenge to start at, a skill – teaching. “Oksana, take these pictures of words and hold them as you point to them. First say the word in your language, then say the word slowly in English.  Very slowly form the letters  “R_AB_BIT. ” Atleechna you are a natural.”

My eyes sparkle as I look at the proud face of a woman who never knew she would be a mama and certainly not at 65.  “Nina be happy. Oksana will make you proud. At six she is fluent in Russian and English and is attacking Polish.”

Oksana holds the cards with hands that barely shake. Just tiny reminders of the drug addiction she had as a baby. “Yes, you will grow beautiful like the rose and your knowledge of the world like its thorns will keep you strong.”

I silently remove the picture of a bottle from the stack of cards. It too closely resembles the scores of bottles that Oksana’s mama found herself wrapped around. They found Oksana’s mama at the bottom of her bottle one day; a screaming 5-year-old clutching to her ankles. “What was it you poured for yourself? Sleeping pills and Vodka? The Vodka never hid the scars that you got from your husband’s beatings did it? Oksana’s little body only survived because your body shielded her. Your older son Sasha was not so fortunate. What pile of broken glass does he lie under?  Prison is too good a place for a man who uses broken Vodka bottles to tattoo his son using blood as ink.”

‘”Da,” Oksana very good. You pronounced WA_TER well,  just a tiny hint of a V, but not much. Nina your love has cleansed this girl like water. Yes, she will always be old for her years and bear a certain sorrow, but look at her radiant smile.”

“Dance Oksana dance with the children as they play in the waves of the Azov Sea. Fly high with the gull;  he too has much knowledge of the world he sees below him. Crimea is etched with scars well hidden  in the sunlight, but you understand them.”

“Persevere Nina, this is a job for a young woman. The energy and vitality of this young mind will test you. Be strong for her. For one day Oksana will be a strong woman. She will hold the hands of other young girls who suffer at the point of the needle, are cast offs, or are used by men for momentary pleasure. Shield her from her mother and father’s world. She will always wear the scars like Crimea, but she will hopefully wear bravery like a crown.”

****

I have fictionalized the story of a young girl I met while working in the Crimea enough so she can’t be identified. “Oksana’s” story is one of victory because she was rescued by a compassionate woman who lived in the neighborhood. “Oksana” would have otherwise joined her mama soon as most of the discarded children of that country do.

ctapaen-bottle-graphic-design

A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9 (1)

I’m also using this story for the Daily Post at WordPress. The challenge is to write three paragraphs (Person Place and Thing), though you can choose to write more or less if you wish — the goal is to get you watching closely, observing, and collecting people, places, and things to use in your creative writing projects. It’ s story that I believe is poignant and needs to be told.

 

Girl Ghost #NWCU #photography

Sometimes it’s best not to look at the reflection…

Captive in the frame

Welcome to Wednesday Wake Up Call. I’m hosting today. Hope you enjoy the prompt.

I can’t tell you how long ago it was.

Sometimes it seems like yesterday – the first time I saw her face.

There was something so familiar, though I could not quite define it.

She looks so alone that girl frozen in the mirror.

What was it she saw that caused such terror?

Her eyes are like magnets I can’t look away.

Please tell me your story. I implored on this day.

An icy hand grasped mine and took me to a place behind the staircase.

Things too horrible to be told were there. A place that was beyond cold.

A smile of knowing was glazed on a horrible eyed half face. “you are us now” he grinned.

Now there is a new face in the mirror. I have taken her place.

Please set me free!!!!!

Photograph “Ghostly Image” L. Moon copyright 2011

I took a picture of this painting at a B&B. The mansion had a long history. I wondered if there was a girl captured in a frame.  I think the reflection of the staircase makes the picture more complicated. Would love to know what this inspires in others…

But the Cat (Microfiction Monday)

I’m  sweet – see my smile.

I would never do a thing

to cause you to  revile.

But cat-  spells alarm

she has a police record

as long as her arm.

Thanks to the sweet and gentle Susan who each week hosts this Micro Fiction Monday and does a fine job. Join us for the challenge to say something in few words.

What will this day hold??? (One Shot Poetry)

On this day

I am faced

with a barrage

of questions …

Who is that  in the mirror?

How can it be?

How did I get here?

Is the little girl a woman now??


I was in a  dream

dressed in white

long dark hair

on top of my head

I wore  a veil

the scent of flowers

wafted in the breeze

***

A man was there

looked into my eyes

his smile took my fears away

our hands

were joined

***

I turn from the girl

face the  man

We say

“I do”

**

My questions are answered

The girl  is no more

the woman is held close

in the arms of the man

she loves.


****

I hope you enjoy the photography of my friend Florin. Go to his website to see is gallery

http://florindesign.com/index.html

Yes it’s another day to celebrate great poetry at One Shot Wednesday. Please come join in the fun.

www

It was over … (Part 1 – Short Story)

“It was over before it had begun… ” Mae awoke to these words banging against her head where had she heard them before??? She had to close her eyes to reach deep. Several frozen frames shot by rapidly until they stopped at…

There was the frame of a girl climbing up in a tree. Scabs on her knees; her hair in a tangled mess. “I will save you princess,” she called into the air. In her make -believe turret was a teddy bear with a satin dress. “Away with you ogres” she looked down in disgust at the ogres dressed like leaves.

Suddenly, she was yanked from her fairy tale by her older brother Charles.

“Get down here quick. He’s asking for ya.”

“I’m playing,” she pouted.

“I know sis,” he said as he smoothed the dirt from her beautiful cheek. “We don’t want him mad.”

The reel spun to another frame.

“Mommy, I will always remember this day and my special gift.” Mae smiled as she hugged her mommy and her new teddy bear. A tear fell from her eye; that was the last memory she had of her mother alive.

The frame moved. She was in her first year at the University of Louisiana. He was older; A professor, like her father. He assured her of his love for her. That he was struck by her beauty. “We will be together someday soon I promise princess,” he said as he stroked her brow and gently touched her lips.  He was her first lover; she poured all her desire to be loved and adored into this talented man.

Then frames whizzed past other men who all seemed to resemble each other. Were they all brothers? “No they were all professors,” she sighed.

Then a frame with two people: Charlie her beloved brother who took good care of her. Too bad they were related he would have been a faithful lover. Rosie, a little blue eyes rosey cheeked little girl who always brought her mommy rose petals and smiles.

She pulled herself up and wondered what it had all meant. What was her life, why was her life? She didn’t know who she was anymore. “Really?” Why was there so much heartache and pain? How could she survive another day?

The last frame was more ominous. It was a girl laying with her bear. On closer inspection, it was a woman who was “girl-like.” A knife driven through the heart of the bear and the woman.

Thanks to Dom H for the Teddy Bear with the Heart

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/domhuk/197869000/)

I loved a girl

I loved a girl

She wasn’t pretty or fair

I’m not even sure

of the color of her hair

***

I read her on paper

that’s where I would see

a portrait of words

quietly enfolding me

***

A journey of sorts

is where we would go

nowhere had limits

places high- places low

***

I loved her because

she opened my eyes

to a world without speaking

no barriers- no lies

***

We never got closer

than Jupiter and Mars

but the fire in her eyes

drew my heart to the stars

Photo: Thanks to Miss Turner

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/missturner/2434425394/)

navicore /aka Ed Sweeney

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/edsweeney/4111291263/)

The Child Becomes a Woman (a poem)

The small child a girl
Prayed to have arms to embrace
Hear words of love
For once feel safe

The growing girl
Hoped for value as a friend
Part of secrets part of play
Wanted friends on whom she could depend

The woman once a child
Waited for the heart of one
The desire to be dear
Feel the passion of love

These three in one
Waited hoped and prayed
Knowing that one day
Love would forge its way


rivrvlogr

Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)

mrswrangler

Thanks for following a cowgirl on her crazy life journey.

Maria Michaela Poetry

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. - Edgar Allan Poe

A Unique Title For Me

Hoping to make the world more beautiful

Writer Ravenclaw

Books by author Diana Coombes

Some View on the World

With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger

I Write Her

my humanity in written form

Reena Saxena

Experiments in Creative Writing, and more ....

michnavs

Poetry by Mich

Love13Reading

FOR READERS AND ASPIRING WRITERS

radhikasreflection

Everyday musings ....Life as I see it.......my space, my reflections and thoughts !!

The Children's and Teens' Book Connection

From Board Books to Clean YA

Trisha Faye

Cherishing the Past while Celebrating the Present

MOM AND IDEAS

FROM ONE PARENT TO ANOTHER

Therapy Bits

Living life with dissociative identity disorder and complex ptsd

Brizzy Mays Books and Bruschetta

Predominately Books But Other Stuff Too

Monty’s Blahg

Home of Monty Vern

Faith Builders with Philip and Michelle Steele

Building your faith and framing your world by the Word of God