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This blog entry is an exercise to clear my head before working on a poem. |
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I just want to write my way out of feeling physically tense; to feel relaxed before I begin working on a poem about wearing high heel shoes. I keep getting messages about doing my daily blog. I know they are reminders. But they actually cause me to not want to write a blog entry. I don't know why. Its silly, I know but, I'm not sure what to think. I want to load some of my poems on to WDC but, I'm afraid someone will not like them because they are about a particular African American experience and I'm not sure people from other cultures will understand what I tried to convey about a particular family experiences in a very particular point in their history. And also this set of poems are not---well I didn't follow any poetic form. I just wrote them as they came out of my body/ mine. I didn't think about what I was writing as they emerged. I simply wrote the words as they came into my mind. But, now I want to learn to write in the different forms. As soon as I finish writing this blog entry I'm going to try my hand at a septet (or is it sepet?) poem. Anyway, I'm off to write a poem. |
| So this is the entry body. How is it related to the paragraphs I just wrote in the Blog Body? I'm going to post this and see what happens. Anyway, I don't want to blog any more I want to write a poem. Well maybe I can begin here. the poem is about wearing high heels, which I love although I can't wear high heels any more because I'm too old and too big and my legs are not steady enough to negotiate six inch hills. But I will always love them although I don't like the big platform like styles I see now. I like thin shaped shoes. Feminine looking. Charles Jordan were my favorite. Nostrums shoe salesmen giving pampered attention. I suspect that's a generational thing. I love the sound of high heels landing on concrete street as I walked along the downtown streets. I even liked some daring construction worker up on a scaffold on some high rise building doing sexist cat-calls, knowing he had my attention as much as I knew had his. I liked the sexual power that I felt as I walked down the street, heels clicking, head high, hair swinging to and fro. And the way a woman's backside churns, up down, side to side. Like I didn't get my first pair of high heels until I was out of high school. I mean the six inch high ones that we called stilettos; named after the long fancy picket knives that bad boys carried. My mother let me wear 'pumps' in high school, but they didn't give me the sense of female power that my mother thought I was too young to know. I decided early in life not to have girl children, because all the things my mother didn't know about me, I'd remember my own growing up and what my mother didn't know that I knew that I'd want to bind my daughters feel twice over. |
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