Rochelle Hope Mehr Country : United States of America bio: Rochele returns with new and stirring works. Rochelle's poetry has appeared in ken*again, Offerings, Map of Austin Poetry, The Sidewalk's End, Poems Niederngasse and other publications. - Editors BMP
They got me so confused, those therapists. The one in Greenwich Village advising Me to act like Marilyn Monroe. I Should have been flattered he thought I could pull It off but instead was highly offended. And what about the psychiatrist who Told me that I was, "A good little actress?" She thought I was already acting a part. I did realize that I imitated her clanking about In her stiletto heels but she was supposed to be A role model, wasn't she?
I never could figure out their vision of Femininity: Red smooching lips? Curvaceous hips? Honey-tongued siren Baiting Odysseus? To this day I wonder if I am too aggressive, a gamma ray. I never could properly act the part of a tart. Does this make me gay?
The Grog (on the first anniversary of 9/11)
We were floating on the ether Of infinite expansion, oblivious to The dust gathering at our feet. Until the bubble burst The fortress collapsed And we were strewn across a grid Of infinite complexity, a new grid, One not of our own making.
And one year later, we are still laid waste In this morass of confusion. Not clearly discerning The way out. Still dazed from the planes' impact As well as from the grog We swill to palliate the pain.
After a Long Illness
Blessed Solitude where have you gone? Thrust into the world I am newly undone.
Too much to remember. Too much left undone.
Thrust into the world. Naked. Undone. Privy to nothing. Naked. Alone. Scared. Undone. Raw Flesh to be eaten By a devouring world. Heart exposed.
Flesh to be spat upon. Heart to be shat upon.
Congratulations! Your work is worthless. Your rant is not worth a grant.
Why do you care? Starving artists exhibit the most flair. They cater to no constituency
Save the solitary soul. Unfettered by the skeins of expediency They rise
It's not a happy way to live. It's not a joyous way to live. But it keeps me alive. It feeds me as it feeds upon me. We have a symbiotic relationship. We two. Anger and me.
Every time I forget. Every time I let down my guard And am singed by ignorance, prejudice Or malice Its hungry tongue laps Hard against my breast And I am galvanized Into pure ire.
I won't melt a heart But I will resonate through The canyons of insensate resistance.