Tag Archives: daughter

The Doubtful Guest


Okay, I have something a little more linear and a lot less odd for you fellas today. Another from the vault!

The Doubtful Guest

The doubtful guest entered slowly
Shaking off her umbrella onto the mat
As her hostess fluttered into
An inviting kitchen of warm smells
Calling over her shoulder to sit, rest!
The hostess returned bearing mugs
Of steaming tea to comfort a weary heart.

Mrs Reed, whose hospitality a guest
Could always rely upon, prattled on;
Trivialities of suburban life, one
Consisting mostly of the idealized
Sort of domesticity found in the work
Of Normal Rockwell.

The gossip! the games! the neighbours!
The unendurable tedium of bridge
With a terrible partner on Thursday nights.
Mr Reed, his job and his car;
The children and their little friends;
Mrs Next Door’s tiny yapping dog.

Suddenly, a flash of deep thought from
The illustrious Mrs Reed:
“Oh! to speak plainly, as children do;
To proclaim feelings boldly is my wish.
The innocent see no need to hide.”
Suddenly the doubtful guest’s demeanor
Changes to a cautious acceptance.

Mrs Reed regards the young woman
As one might a saucy daughter
Or waterlogged puppy: with fondness;
While the woman, sipping her tea,
Silently reevaluates her situation
And wonders if it would be so bad
To while away this rainy afternoon.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

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Battle-Cry


I love finding these gems hidden in my notebooks. Enjoy!

Battle-Cry

I am no one’s wife
I am no one’s mother
I am a woman
Independent and true.

I am someone’s daughter
I am someone’s sister
I am a goddess
Patient and strong.

I am the leaves and the trees
I am the ocean, the breeze
I am rooted in the earth
Boundless and lush.

I am the bear in the cave
I am the bird in the nest
I am one with all things
Loyal and fierce.

I ebb with the tides
I change with the seasons
I grow, I die, and I am reborn
And I will never be silenced.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Rather belated edit, upon reflection on the topic:
I’m not exactly a wilting flower when it comes to equitable treatment regardless of race, sex, gender, species (with the possible exception of mosquitoes, because they’re bloodsucking terrors), social class, differences in ability whether mental physical or whatever, religion… Whatever you choose, or chose you, is yours, and I celebrate it -so long as you aren’t denying others their right to express themselves as well, or causing harm.

In the case of this poem, I guess you could say “I celebrate myself, and sing myself”, in the words of Whitman. It’s no secret that I love being a woman, and that I revere nature’s beauty.
I guess this came from a desire for women to speak, to yell, to raise their voices high in celebration of who we are, and what that means to us.
We are more than pretty faces, or shapely bodies, or the babies we bear, or the clothes that we wear.

Never having been a man, or a boy, I don’t know their experience of our culture as it stands now; I can’t comment accurately on the male condition. I know how difficult it is for a woman to get paid the same amount as a man for the exact same work. I know how hard it is to be taken seriously because ‘you don’t understand how the world works’. I also know how few people realize that sexual assault happens to men as well as women. It is a constant battle for us as humans to fly free from the restrictions of what is acceptable and what we have put up with for far too long.

So I guess I’m asking you to make little changes to your day. I’m asking you to remind yourself that you are worthy of love, and that you are valuable as yourself. I’m asking you to think harder, to speak out when you see injustice, and to reach out to others. After all, your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions. Your actions become your habits. Your habits become your character. I’m not so sure about destiny or fate, but certainly who you are shapes what comes your way.

And fuck ‘the way the world works’. I don’t accept that, so I’m changing myself in order to change this world.

Who’s with me?

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