Path

I love my
addictions
I swear
I do
My pals,
Behind my
back though
darkness,
coy things
that whisper sweet
“release, go”
twisted path
and gnarly, but
“go”, and I
just a glance
I go
thrill shivers
excitement
fear, well buried.

C. Villeneuve

Who are They?

Haha, we’re all going to escape folks, sound good?

And no, I haven’t done my chores yet, lol. Just wrote this –
– Who are They?-
We are the aliens
poked, sliced, tasted
and spewed
Ivory dust
for stronger “awareness”
Wild heads pinned
to a wall
We are nature
but wrong
We are life
but dying
The aliens.

C. Villeneuve

Baby Girl

I am one

of those girls

who rants

feminist

because

I just need

a man

to pacify me

feminists

are just women

who’ve made

bad choices.

C. Villeneuve

Pretty

Flowers are pretty

I like flowers because

flowers are pretty

and I am a girl

and everybody knows

that girls like

pretty flowers.

C. Villeneuve

Hamlet and the Ophelias

 OPHELIA :  There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.  (Hamlet, William Shakespeare, Act 4, Scene 5, Page 8)

When I was in high school we studied Hamlet by Shakespeare.  When we were finished reading the book we were all expected to write an essay.  Excuse my language, but I titled my essay “Was Ophelia a Slut or Not?” because I noticed that Hamlet kept saying pretty nasty things about her.  I went through the whole book to find every incidence where Ophelia appeared or was spoken about and discovered, as I had suspected, that everything that she was portrayed to be doing never took place.  It had only ever been Hamlet projecting his own thoughts onto her.  As you know, if you’ve read Hamlet, Ophelia becomes crazy and becomes obsessed with keeping track of flowers and their significance.  This, to me, is a representation of the role that superstition has played in our lives throughout history and how those superstitions have shaped and defined, in particularly, our perception of women and how we expect women to behave.  Her obsession also reminded me of how many women are delegated to the role of “crazy” because their behaviors or opinions slight men.

As we know, the story of Hamlet is what is called a “tragedy”.  When a character is considered “tragic” it means that the character exhibited possibly heroic traits or potential greatness but could not overcome some integral flaw and ultimately did not “make the change” that would have fulfilled that heroism or greatness.  The story of Hamlet is one where Hamlet could not step out of his soliloquy and see that Ophelia had been, in fact, a fine woman and that he had in fact, projected his own sense of inadequacy onto her.

I feel that this book is still extremely relevant today as women are still held to the same silly and superstitious standards of old and still fall prey to men using rumor and superstition to muddy or make disappear any women who makes them feel slighted at all.  I believe that it is still happening for the same reasons it always has – a puffed up idea about manhood that is actually premised in shame and many men’s severely awkward inability to function as human beings, especially in relation to women.

The following poem is not flattering to men but it is the truth as I and many women I have known have experienced it.  The result has been scores of us women trapped in prisons created by rumor and lies fed by superstition and projected shame.  Many of the women I have known have lost their lives to this tragedy and many more are walking around “crazy”.  My experience of this is that these women have “disappeared” and I miss them.  I miss them everyday.

Hamlet and the Ophelias

Rumors spread

by boys

who since childhood

spent their lives

hiding around corners

spying

and touching themselves

they heard us there

our thoughts alone

they listened

and touched themselves

and told

rumors

spread

to hide their own

smelly fingers

and dirty shame

jealous when they saw

us dance

and sing

living beyond

their size

bitter when they knew

we weren’t ashamed

rumors

spread

boys projecting

their embarrassed adolescence

their dirty little stories

onto us.

C. Villeneuve

Sky Haiku

When darkness does flee

it won’t be grand like Jesus

it will be blue sky.

C. Villeneuve

The Sin Lovers

Those folks

who envy

not real to me

those criminal minds

in darkened lives

too small for life

they are not real

those folks with bitter lascivious

murky breath smiles

cold light of false truth

shining blank knowledge

from dull stupid eyes

sin lovers

those folks

who break your ear

their void breath seeking

the light they lack

lost they are

to war, that lie

that belittles life

their voice

the sound

of lurking

small

grasping fingers

dirty with ignorance

soiled by perversion

small things

for them

their grand

master plan.

C. Villeneuve

Small Angst

Sad

again I was missing you

my stomach it twisted

my heart fell

a little lower

that song I guess

on muzak above

an aisle with lovers

another lonely meal

planned in my cart

I loved

you didn’t

I don’t care too much

about that I believe

in free will,

you don’t,

glad I’m free

but that place

limbo

I’m too old for this

too broke,

can’t just run

jump under bright lights

can’t just slide

into my car

and drive,

too old

too broke

and March just begun

there’s hope yet I guess

though dreary now

lonely aisles

heavy boots

and tired

a yawn my chest

a sleeping tree

cold

grey

void of birds

and colored songs

heavy with tears

for too many

gone

why you

small angst

childish rant

when so many

my blood story

family

so many

gone,

I’m too old

for this

too broke

and March just begun

hope yet I guess

with Spring

a bird

another song

again maybe

this shuttered door

closed again

will open.

C. Villeneuve

Writing on Our Feet

Sorry folks, I know that I was writing “Wizard Haikus” as I was posting it, but it was one of those things.  I started out with one haiku and then felt another one coming on, then another, and decided that I should make a brief story.

I know there still isn’t a story there, but who know, maybe it will develop.  Maybe it won’t.

I had fun doing this though.  It was like an experiment.  I am aware that it would be frustrating for those who are trying to read it though, and finding that it keeps disappearing and reappearing.

It is done, for now.  I won’t add to it, not yet, if ever.

Enjoy.

Wizard Haikus – A Story

He is a wizard

blazing, blue crystal ice fires

walking stick, a staff,

Story weaves his face

war, rage red behind his eyes

waving hand, a fire,

Black the bird upon

his eye, his magical mouth

a spell pursed and strung,

His traveller’s bow

held high his song o’er mountains

through trails twisted low,

He could pass slow there

amongst the creatures and streams

he could touch sun there,

Finding muse in light

a man, just old, a father

bent in twinkling smiles,

They believe him there

or so they pretend, afraid

to raise his gnarled hand,

From his knee, draped kind

his sleepy eyes a conceit

of magic and wise,

The moon there above

behind will shine a silent

shush above the trees,

A steady warning

that he will rise, a tyrant

wielding soldiers on

C. Villeneuve