Body Love Word Blank

I made this for the South Dakota National Organization for Women's Love Your Body Day Celebration. Enjoy, all!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: Morning Meeting

Image
If I fits, I sits. But I don’t fit, and still I sit, In the very back, Capping the row, An oversized bookend.
One side gasps for air. The other knows my colleague. Our arms, our thighs Kiss, make love. Their mouth, their eyes Frown, promise retribution In seething blog posts Or cruel laughter Over afternoon cocktails.
My doughy bottom Rolls across hard plastic, Sighs, drips over sides. I torque twist, fold: Inward, always inward, In posture if not in fact.
My fat, knotted body An unvoiced apology For daring to exist.
Thighs that normally Clap and steam Loll, cold and dead, The only tingle The electric shocks Of restricted blood.
Tiny, hinging writing surface Unfurls – O Modern Technology! It bounces on my belly, Slanting our worldview.
I’ll take notes in my lap If I can just… reach… I’ll take notes in my head.
What happens when you Stuff a peck Of tender/tenderized poet Into a tiny, Industrial coffin? A drippy, gooey mess That flows Across and over, Coating hard plastic And hands: Folded, lumpy, Wobbling In pain.
Maybe mass-produ…
Keep reading

Singing the Literary Songs

Image
A week ago, I completed a poetry half-marathon. A full marathon asked poor, abused poets to pen a poem an hour for twenty-four hours. Wimps like me who appreciate a comfy night’s sleep could opt for a half-marathon, which demanded one poem an hour for only twelve hours. So, by the end of my stint, I became the proud mama of twelve poem babies.
Since then, I have become a poetry fiend. I pen quick limericks in elevators, wax poetic in blog posts, jot down freestyle verse during lunch. Heck, during a series of endless meetings last week, I wrote pages of poetry bemoaning the uncomfortable, molded-plastic, stadium seating into which the administrators had shoved us poor instructors.
Here’s a haiku I wrote while shifting every five minutes in order to restore circulation to my legs.
Metal-toothed plastic
Bites my ample derriere.
Classroom seating sucks.
In addition to actually writing more lately, I’ve also found myself pondering the musicality of poetry and, by extension, prose. How do I kn…
Keep reading

Fur the Love of Animals

Image
All of my books so far but one include animal minor characters. In my novelette, Hunted, a big, chatty, black beast of a cat named Picante owns and demands obedience from our hero, Simon. I mean, come on – nothing says sexy like a man who puts his kitty cat’s safety before his own. In Hunted Past, Aunt Mona, who actually plays a pretty important role in the book, possesses a passel (Herd? Pride?) of cats, all named after cheeses. (Because cats and cheese, people!) In a manner not even slightly reminiscent of one of my many rants, Aunt Mona rather pointedly extols the virtues of spaying and neutering and rescuing homeless pets. Cough, cough. Anyway, in Hunted Dreams, a beautiful, blue pit bull named Mina fearlessly accompanies our hero, Reed, as he searches each night for his sleeping beauty, the Rubenesque Katana. When writing The Tithe, I admit to spending a ridiculous amount of time wondering how I could sneak an animal into a book situated in an abandoned bunker in the middle of t…
Keep reading