Tuesday, September 30, 2014
The unknowing Woman!
For Men Only!
The unknowing Woman!
(…or, Women of Condor Wide-wings) a Prose poem
For a poet, it is his function to voice life as he sees it, and so I must do so,
but I must confess, only a woman knows a woman!
So what I’m imperturbably sharing here is: my observations, experience;
and that will have to do.
I will try to do so from the incontrovertible facts of my ambiance from
yesteryear! Lest my wife hang me for writing this.
The women, those I have known, personally known, intimately known, not
all but more of them, than less, are or have been at one time or another
the instinctive huntress of men; I call this condors with wide-wings, —
(to be quite frank, my wife was more huntress of me, than I was a hunter of her:
that is to say: she was known to be shy, but that was the wrong word for her: yes, she fooled everyone, she was not shy, she was waiting: sure, shrewd
and resourceful, and resolute…);
This is not bad or good, just a fact; like feelings: they are neither good nor
bad, they just are…
And in point of fact, for I have seen this with my own eyes, more than one
time, should an interesting man be in with the pack, say a thousand other men (all handsome, bulky with muscles coming out of their ears) fear not,
she sees just that one, naked or not, ugly as a goblin, or homely as an
imp, — she sees only him, the rest I’m afraid, are lost to oblivion.
Women should get—the day they are born—a Ph.D., in psychology, they
know how to read men, much better than a man can read them.
At times, supernumerary—and more often than not, imperturbably, they go
about humming, bustling, making their little nests, and then suddenly lugubrious, malevolent—men call this moody—yet they remain desirable to
My advice is simple, find a hideaway, hobby, or dive into a book: the main
point being, it’s not worth the percentage, of what it will cost, to
confront an inevitable end, of circular confrontation!
They are like sun to the sunflowers, or snow to winter, or rain to spring…
They have many moods, and many degrees to those moods and behind
those condor feathers, and deep into the predator’s skins, resides,
Love-seekers: obsessing, possessing, depressing, making men always
I know, they look fragile, soft like a teddy bear, but when you’ve been
around a while, you will surely find out they can be fierce, venomous,
More a prowler, and even more prouder, than the snake in Eden; yet man
will not let go of his morbid attraction for the woman: thus, blazing through the night, like the Green Knight, sword in hand, with ruthless
passion to cut off his head to show her his lustful-love!
She can be awful and soulless at times, thus, making her man
cantankerous by her sway, and drawn into her web like a fly: to no
Who is the savage here?
Who returns to the dark den?
This calls for contemplation!
Is it not the muse of the woman, at its very end? I know, I have given you
more questions, statements, than answers:
But I doubt they, themselves can cough up afresh diagnosis of themselves
by their own mystery:
You see, the snake in the garden, went to the woman to get to the man, to
get to God, yes he took the long way around, but see who got the job
done, it was the woman!
And who did God have stomped on the snake’s head?
Yes, again it was a Woman!
My advice to you: be nice to them, or get out of their way, forget revenge,
women are better at that also…
Written 9-23-2014 (No: 5558)