Shoes
First ones, white, polished nightly
great for balance, learning to walk
Mary Janes, shiny, black patent leather
Keds’ sneakers for kids, wore ‘em out
black n’ white saddle shoes with red soles
bought only at Fischers’ in Trenton NJ
high heels with an ankle strap, sexy, sexy
sensible shoes for carrying babies safely
boots for leaving & riding a Honda motorcycle
comfortable shoes for working, standing
Skechers for comfort in traveling, exploring
Birkenstock sandals daily, never polished.
Filed under Poetry
Ten Things i am Thankful For ~ arlene s bice
express our love, show we care
stay connected, are close to my heart
feeding me an eduation, new ideas
exchange ideas and thoughts
to toast, congratulate, and commiserate
in touch when i am alone, never lonely
brings great memories, creates new ones
protection from the elements in the rain
creating smiles for all who notic
* memories, to know i have lived, loved, lost, found
take me away yet keep me grounded.
Filed under books, family, Poetry, reflection
Introduction
Over many years, I talked and listened to women tell their stories. Whether I waited tables, tended bar, sold or appraised real estate, or leaned on the counter near the cash register on a quiet afternoon in my book shop. I mention the last item because a quiet afternoon in a small town book shop was perfect for a conversation with a woman who needed to release her story to someone who would listen. It didn’t need to be a close friend, maybe even better because I wasn’t. Each one of those stories, though not written here, were not forgotten by me, is honored with this publication. They reveal the various lives we have lived as women.
An anthology is the perfect vehicle to reveal stories untold; to explain, represent and disclose. Like a whisper in my ear from a feminine ancestor, the idea slid right into my mind. It wouldn’t let me sleep until I put thought into action. Timing is perfect, I said to myself. Women’s achievements of the past are now coming out of vintage trunks. There are tales of heroines of long and not so long ago. Women who made great changes behind the scenes are stepping into limelight they deserve. No more hiding behind curtains or in the backroom.
Reading Jeanmarie Evelly’s History of a Body inRattle #66 set me on fire! It boiled the blood in my veins! It slapped me alert! Excitement charged through me as images passed in front of my eyes. I needed to invite women to tell their stories. I wondered how many women experienced incidents only because they were female. I felt their stories could only be told correctly and completely by them.
It is time to let the world read our words; words reveal who we were, how we lived, loved, and who we are today. We went unnoticed, doing great things in small ways. We influenced others with our quiet deeds.
We postponed and sacrificed our dreams to benefit ones we loved and never mentioned it. Let each reader laugh or cry, cheer for us, or get angry at what happened. Let some disagree with our decisions or shout ‘Brava!’
With kindness and respect,
Arlene S. Bice
Filed under anthology, Poetry, women, women writers, women's stories, wormen writing
by arlene s. bice
Guy wanted to be the protector
at 3 years old
he emptied his brother’s piggy bank
sweetly took the little girl next door by the hand
they walked a mile
to the nearest candy store.
Alerted by a frantic me
the police found them
in an area I said
“he would never go that way”
as they walked home
licking their ice cream cones.
He believed in being a super hero
donned the Superman suit I made for him
one Hallowe’en when he was 6
all royal blue with red accents
a golden S splashed on his chest
He raced through the house
building up steam
threw the kitchen door open
onto the back porch and flew
off the ledge
he fell straight down 6 feet.
he was shocked!
surprised! he didn’t fly!
broken-hearted because
he couldn’t fly!
Filed under Poetry, reflection
Come
To the first
Open mic evening
Read your poetry or prose
Sing a song *** Or just listen
In the Beautiful Garden
Rain or shine
Sunday, September 15
4 to 7 pm
Host: Arlene S. Bice
No Cost
At: Clyde’s Backyard Birds
3410 Hwy 903
(driveway abuts the Sunoco Station)
Exit 4 off I-85
Bracey VA
Tacos, quesadillas, hand-dipped ice cream and
specialty coffees available for purchase
A Ghost
A ghost
that pants
and breathes
on my neck
that sends chills
running up my spine
and raises the hairs on my arms
A ghost
whispering
softly in my ear
reminding me of life
after death is a true thing
a spirit without a body not to
be forgotten because it is not seen
A ghost
configuring
in front of me
as a misty curvy wave
a haint to be an image of terror
to some, but not by others who know
and accept it with the joy of a past love
A ghost
cannot give
comfort by touch
because never does
warmth come out of a spirit
from the middle world it inhabits
yet the sight brings memories of passion
arlene sandra bice ©
Filed under hauntings, living with ghosts, paranormal, Poetry
From a different chapter of different experiences that will take you along with me, also from SIMPLY PUT, a collection of poems
I CAME UPON THIS DOOR~arlene sandra bice
When roaming a medieval town
I came upon this door
by accident, I thought
tucked into
a hidden lane
a short distance away
it summoned me
come closer, enter after knocking
I remembered it, but how?
I have never been here before
The lamp bid me as welcome
as a candle in a window
it felt familiar
as I paused
letting my senses
respond
to warn or
to comfort, I did not know
But I felt I had been here before
a long, long time ago
The knocker beckoned
my hand to grasp
let it fall
send echoes
down the hall
of stone
cold
secretive, empty
with stories to tell of times
amidst this forgotten pall
As memories came to mind
visions of men, women
revealed to me
I wondered
what string or crumbs
brought me here
to revive
those stories of long ago
of folks, kindred who must
not be left, thoughtlessly, behind
Filed under Poetry
Writing poetry in high school was not something I did, even though it was, and still is, common for many teenagers to do. However, I loved English class where Miss Sadley taught us to read and write poetry using all the rules and regulations. I wanted to soak up everything in that class.
I planned to be a writer since I was in grammar school and kept trying as an adult to get to a class to further my study, yet something always blocked my way. Poetry was not my goal. When I began attending the International Women’s Writing Guild annual conferences I took a class in poetry and got hooked. It was very different from high school poetry. The late Judi Beach’s class was an automatic choice after that first time. Then I fell into Marj Hahn’s poetry & art class and loved that particular marriage of creativity.
When I met the poet Thomas Park in Warrenton, NC we, including Sherman Johnson, put together a combined art & poetry presentation at the library. Artists held their work, mostly abstract, and the poet stood next to the artist and read the poetry written about their work. The librarian displayed the art and relevant, matted poetry, alongside it in the library for over a month. I still particularly enjoy writing poetry about art. Paintings have such stories shouting out from the canvas, stories understood differently by various people, stories just waiting to be told. Art and objects play important roles in our lives that we don’t always notice.
I especially enjoy having my writers’ groups compose work about abstract art because we all come up with widely contrasting pieces. We relate differently to the art because we each come from various backgrounds and experiences. I just love the differences in us as people.
Filed under Poetry, women writers, writing
Speaking of WH Auden. . .One of his quotes sets me off to writing, in SIMPLEY PUT my latest book of poetry. A small taste for you:
W H AUDEN QUOTE
A poet is, before anything else, a person
who is passionately in love with language.
W.H. Auden (1907-1973)
This quote from one of my favorite poets
sits with truth on my lips, slides down
to my heart and nestles there,
as it finds a home.
In love with language, words that tickle me
making me laugh; sometimes outright giggle
words can impress me with their sincerity
depress me without any reason just because
they are a word that forms an unhappy picture.
Poets take words and move them around
write one higher on the line to make it jump
or rest quietly to let you sigh, take a deep breath
be happy to see it, special words can be italic
to touch you, you will remember those words
so precious that they imprint on your mind
and stay there
Bards play with accents as in persona poems
where you use the voice of another, allowing
your words to come from their mouth or is it
their words from your pen, after stepping into
their shoes, testing their waters, feeling how
someone else thinks. Is that possible?
Or is it guesswork and misunderstanding.
Filed under Poetry
Does anyone remember hearing John Hannah recite (with his lovely Scottish burr) WH Auden’s beautiful poem in 4 Wedding & a Funeral ? It still gives me goose bumps and was worth buying the DVD just for that alone.
From SIMPLY PUT my latest book of poetry with a wide range of what goes through my head and my heart. It’s like a buffet of words….enjoy!
LISTENING TO JOHN HANNAH~arlene sandra bice
When John Hannah
recites
The Funeral Blues of
Auden
from his heart
his memory
I know he weeps
in deep sorrow
as his Scottish burr
brings a deeper love lost
tears fall
mourners remember
Filed under Poetry
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