Lesbian Culture -- Art, Poetry, Music . . .

[Martina]

Please share your favorite cultural things -- dykey or not. Talk about them or post them. It could be the play you went to last night or the concert you attended thirty years ago.

So i never do anything queer anymore. i go to some butch-femme and leather events, but no culture. i live in SF. My friend goes to gay plays fairly often, but i never step out. i was never big into women's culture, but i was there. i read the books, the magazines, heard the music, went to the dances and the meetings and the parties.

But i am old now. The only magazines i subscribe to are The New Yorker and The Nation. Hardly queer.

So, i had to reach into my past to find something. i was looking for a book of poetry on my bookshelf, but it must be in a box or given away (i hope not). Olga Broumas is the poet. Anyone remember her? It took some doing, but i found a poem of hers on the web. I will share. ( i know, i know, a PINK cock, but it's good. )


She Loves -- Olga Broumas

deep prolonged entry with the strong pink cock
the sit-ups is evokes from her, arms fast
on the climbing invisible rope to the sky,
clasping and unclasping the cosmic lorus *

Inside, the long breaths of lung and cunt
swell the vocal cords and a rasp a song
loud sudden overdrive into disintegrate,
spinal melt, video hologram in the belly.

Her tits are luminous and sway to the rhythm
and I grab them and exaggerate their orbs.
Shoulders above like loaves of heaven,
nutmeg-flecked, exuding light like violet diodes

closing circuit where the wall, its fuse box,
so stolidly stood. No room for fantasy.
We watch ourselves transform the past
with such disinterested fascination,

the only attitude that does not stall
the song by an outburst of consciousness
and still lets consciousness, loved and incurable
voyeur, peek in. I tap. I slap. I knee, thump, bellyroll.

Her song is hoarse and is taking me,
incoherent familiar path to that self we are wall
cortical cells of. Every o in her body
beelines for her throat, locked on

a rising ski-lift up the mountain, no
grass, no mountaintop, no snow.
White belly folding, muscular as milk.
Pas de deux, pas de chat, spotlight

on the key of G, clef du roman, tour de force letting,
like the sunlight lets a sleeve worn against wind, go.

* umbilical cord

[AtLast]

River Rushing

(For Rebecca)

Brilliant as the poppies
you picked weekly for me,
our shadows reflect on the water.
My fingers colliding over flesh like stones
skipping intermittently, hesitant,
until finding a quenching river
after a parching drought.

On shore, my legs snuggle around
the strokes of your licking.
My senses rush like the water
erupting to a splintering fall.
Then, finding a compassionate pool
to float downstream within, content.
Steadily, I search your dammed passage.
Finally, your wetness allows me to slide gently,
freely into your core.

Finding a burgundy flume, honeycombed.
Glistening under my tongue next to the water.
Splashing in the water between motions,
the river pours over my eyes
making me feel like
I’m crying with the flood
running from you.
____________________

© 1976 M. Susan Gaye (My pen name of old)

I could not possibly be the butch I am without lesbian sensuality and its mix of the feminine and masculine within.

[Nat]

ooh I am looking forward to this thread. Thanks for starting it!

I have a weak spot for Ferron.



My momma was a waitress, my daddy a truckdriver. The thing that kept their power from them slowed me down awhile. I remember the morning that was the closing of my youth, when I said goodbye to no one and in that way faced my truth...and a walk along the river... and a rain a'coming down...and a girl on a road.

There's a rhythm to a highway to match the rhythm of your fears. My shopping bag possessions scattered with my splattered tears. A string of nights in truck stops and in darkness and in lies and a man they all called Tigerboy...he just had to show me why. He just had to give me something I'd forever understand...as a girl on a road.

Rain upon the water makes footprints sunk in sand. Anger upon angry hurt, take me by the hand. Take me by the heartstrings and pull me deep inside and say I'm one with your forgiveness and separate from my pride.

I don't know what it's like for you but here's what it's like for me... I wanted to turn beautiful and serve Eternity and never follow money or love with greasy hands, or move the earth and waters just to make it fit my plans. My eyes would be the harbor, my words the perfect place for a girl on a road.

I met you in the Summer, I left you in the Fall. In between we did some living...I like to think that's all...but now I see words can be like weapons no matter that they're small, and I used three tiny words on you and then beat it down the hall. Does this road go on forever? Does this terror know no end...for a girl on a road? Would you like to sing it with me? Rain upon the water makes footprints sunk in sand. Anger upon angry hurt, take me by the hand. Take me by the heartstrings and pull me deep inside and say I'm one with your forgiveness and separate from my pride.

You cannot measure what it takes to mend a withered heart. They'll tell you at the onset everybody does their part. I did my best to follow the calling of my soul. But, it's like that first guitar I played...at the center is a hole, at the center is a...longing... that I cannot understand as a girl on a road.

But if music be a boulder, let me carry it a long while. Let it turn into a feather, let it brush against my smile. Let the life be somewhat settled with the life that song has made. Let there be nothing I am longing for in some plan I may have made, in some story quickly written during a long forgotten time as a girl on a road.

[Jess]

we sure are a funny bunch... if you can't laugh, life just isn't worth living... sometimes, I think we get so caught up in the "issues" we forget to laugh at ourselves...

[Jess]

and who could forget BETTY???

HELLOOOOOOO BETTY!!!



http://www.hellobetty.com/

[Jess]

Couple of my fav lesser known authors...

http://www.honormoore.com/about


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blanche_McCrary_Boyd


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joan_Larkin