The Show Tell Project

For Seymour's Fat Lady

Tag: art

When She Waves

by fyarlgiles

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For Hellos and

goodbyes

my hands are

brittle sticks

stiffened by the forceful elements

raised up as if ready to punish the space

between us

with a strike.

unable to grasp–

They are unable —

to feel

to hold

Affection slides off of them.

and

sharing is lost.

Whether coming

or going

they wag.

wag.

wag.

Hi There.

 Hi there,

whoever you are.

“Her Wave” by Angie Hoover Hillhouse

Artwork: Shadows by Bird Heart

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Of Empowerment

by fyarlgiles

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Being in a gi again.

Tying my belt, again.

The meditation, knelt, eyes closed

As on the precipice of a great plunge.

 –

I am changed now :

My skin is not as young,

Not quite as pretty as I was.

My joints not quite as limber.

But my sweat still smells the same.

A clenched fist – remembered – is the same.

“A fist is a fist is a fist.”

Five years ago, when I began, tying my white belt, that’s what they said.

And now, dusting off my green-brown, I hear again

And again:

“A fist

is a fist

is a fist”.

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I look at my fist.

I remember keeping my nails short.

I remember wearing no makeup with confidence.

I remember

Balance

and

I could defend myself

if I had to.

Bowing into this keyhold door,

This is my dojo

my school

my home.

Deep somewhere in the roots beneath the floor boards

and the fibers of the carpet

is engrained my sweat

and my blood

and my tears

And there is magic here

underfoot

Because it is here I first saw

The glimmers of who is my true self.

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And I miss it

As a tree after a drought might remember its first bloom.

A level of introspection unparalleled as

what you do when a punch is coming at you.

I miss the intimacy of Kumite

Because to fight in this way is to know someone better

than a lover might know one.

I set my hands on guard,

I look you in the eyes,

and it is essential that I know you.

A strike and block exchanged —

The wing of a crane

or The bite of a snake,

and I know you.

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Oh, and I would rake as tigers claws might do.

I flew on wings and “rode the wind”.

My feet they moved as leopards do.

“A fist is a fist is a fist.”

And over clenched fist is set

an open one.

This means “Peace over Power”

To temper jagged steel

as I might have been.

But I’m back now. Things are different,

as I’ve said —

Ephemeral things like

the skin around the eyes.

But there are other things that are just the same.

And in these timeless stances,

That’s where I will find myself.

Untitled Martial Arts Poem by Vanessa Cate

The Gymnast

by fyarlgiles

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In the evening,

when her elbows grind into the gravel

beneath whirling toes

and plump, freckled cheeks,

she is alive

in the world with the rest of them.

She is the bringer of motion

of percussion—

of lightness and music–

she

is

everything.

But when the faint moonbeams recede,

she is a hardened lump of throbbing thighs

and raw skin–

stiffened scabs

and sleepy hands wrapped up in sheets

longing for the comfort of

adoring

eyes to tell her that

She Exists.

“The Gymnast” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Hugo Barros

This piece will be featured in an upcoming stage production called Cat-Fight, which explores  the complexities of womanhood!

Support Women in the Arts! Donate to CAT-FIGHT !

I am not a lesbian

by fyarlgiles

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I am not a lesbian. Not really.

but I know what it is to ache for a woman.

To be her smiles and her tears

To know

That she is the truth

To fantasize about feeling her breasts and her belly

About making her cum

About making her feel less lonely

but I am not a lesbian

not really.

” I am not a Lesbian” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: The Secret by David Delruelle

The Problem With Blue

by fyarlgiles

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The problem with blue

is that it

 plumps up my lips with

the fatty fluff

of

petulance

until I am a beautiful beast—

-coddled-

– admired-

————-and loving it so

“I am Woman. Hear me Whine”  by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Gold & Pearls by Jenny Liz Rome

Twist me Tender

by fyarlgiles

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-knees

and necks  this way

and that–

I hate to see that

bluish bend.

Beneath the floors

like dying

rats,

The folded backs

of melting men –

Cowardice by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Franz Flackenhaus

Sunday Funnies: I am not an Animal

by fyarlgiles

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Kitteh People by Eugenia Loli

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Owls are Cool by Ashley Percival

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Mr Walrus by Animal Crew

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Fish Bowl TV by Vin ZZep

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Night Smoke by Eric Fan

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Mr Rhino by Animal Crew

Raw

by fyarlgiles

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I feel

emerging from my softened heart

the rage of that diamond-blooded girl.

She boils in my body

like she did then–

sharper than glass

and

drenched in sacrilege –

 ready

to draw your blood.

“Platinum” by Angie Hoover Hillhouse

Rouge Illusion

by fyarlgiles

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with blurry fingers

and white shadows

she beckons me

to her

mirrored hall

of

—-  madness

————

–I won’t go

no, I won’t go–

but  you are always in my eyes

spinning shadows

into

fire

underneath your

bloody rose

“What it is to be Red” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Rouge Illusion by Elle Hanley 

Cinema Surreal: Sweet Dreams

by fyarlgiles

Animated food and allusions to Synanon.

Please enjoy this claymation short film by Kirsten Lepore