A heart-wrenching poem about radioactive racism and the long quest for peace and justice, written and spoken by ICAN campaigner Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner of the Marshall Islands, where the United States conducted 67 nuclear test explosions. Produced by PREL, written by Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner (www.facebook.com/kathyjetnilkijiner) and directed by Dan Lin (www.facebook.com/danlinphotography)
I honour and respect the work of Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner, especially in her campaigns for justice in the Pacific Islands. This is a powerful message that needs to be shared. Please share.
Together and enjoying the water – Kaz and partner. J.K.Leahy Pic.
Knowing what is not there,
is through the window’s stare
In one pause
Bird play – water soothes
Presence is being
Stamped: “Authentic – one pure joy”
Every drop enjoyed,
but silence yells louder
Shadow talk lurks and
slides in the next scene
Mr Fear and Company
A voice: “Let’s head into the desert alone”.
……………………………………
*A heart felt gratitude for those kind words from those of you (my readers) that enquired about my health. I am on the mend. I have been going under some major changes personally, spiritually and health-wise. I was surprised by my doctor asking me if I was hearing voices. I walked away a few days ago wondering, what if I said “yes – all my life”. In my culture, you need those “voices” to guide you – it’s your intuition but we see them also as our ancestors and guides. But there are those “voices” that we need to be aware of as well. Such an interesting topic to discuss further at some stage. I would be grateful to hear your thoughts on the matter.
The winner was Vivi Baker with her poem on The Murder of Women. I was unable to contact Ms Baker for her permission to publish her poem, that’s why this post is late, but Jenny Campbell gave me her poem to share. I hope you like it. Congratulations to both women poets who will now enter the Australian national finals.
I wanted an image to go with Jenny’s poem and there was so many to choose from, but I thought this one was appropriate. It was one of the many Trump images on Digital Arts UK – following his election last year.
This was the cover for German publication Der Spiegel. Translation: The end of the world (as we know it). Published on Digital Arts UK.
A Pink Bundle with Price Tag is a poem I wrote about an incident that occurred some 20 odd years ago. I was trying to write my exercise in a prose form (for my Creative Writing Workshop), and after much confusion, I had gone down this path with the exercise, so I just went with the flow. With 700 odd words later, I told the whole story in a poem, by accident. I spoke with the workshop facilitator and confused her too, but she has forgiven me, she said. I think it’s because she wants to hear the rest of the story tomorrow. This is the opening of the story and hopefully, it will be part of my collection of poems and short stories book later. I hope you like it.
Upon reaching the other side, body shivers in cold
Darkness encloses, waters still
Life pushes back against the will
The shadow arrives and becomes me
My life has come to decease for now
In a fleeting glance I see my daughters and son
The grand children and friends
My heart swells in love and happiness
What a legacy I have constructed
Living on, the beauty of life and its greatness
Unto him I will see – the final release lifts me
I drift to the heavens, where my final resting place
Written in loving memory of Mum Kathy by Joycelin K Leahy. (copyright)
Sunday March 29th 2015.
For a woman who was beautiful in and out. My friend Belinda’s mother Kathy Moeder who died peacefully after illness. We buried her today in Brisbane after a wonderful funeral where there was sadness and pain, but many stories of Kathy’s life with happiness, humour and celebration. Kathy Moeder believed in love, family, rights and safety of others. She was a Peace and Women’s advocate and a dedicated Christian. She was truly loved.
To celebrate us, the women of the world today (March 8th), I share words of a great poet, Maya Angelou. I would like to pay tribute to the phenomenal women (pictured below) that raised me, and whose blood flow in my vein.
From left to right, Mama De-ec, Tinang and Mama (Freda). My aunt, grandma and mum. Guess who is in the bilum…
Phenomenal Woman
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me. Maya Angelou
Tribalmystic Stories 