Wild Woman, Googled

At dVerse, the inimitable Sam Peralta has introduced us to Googlism poetry - whereby you go to Googlism.com , type in a short phrase, and create a poem by selecting from among the phrases that pop up, and embellishing them as needed.

I first typed in "Wild Woman knows" and Google sorrowfully informed me "Sorry, Google does not know what Wild Woman knows". (My secrets are safe!)

Then I typed in "Wild Woman", with better results. This was a total hoot. Thanks, Sam. Check out the links at dVerse, as there are bound to be some great responses. Do not miss Brian's, which is hilarious!
The Google lines are in italics

Wild Woman lives life to the full, 

Wild Woman is so hard to tame.

She is the untamed  within us all,

and she refuses to be blamed.

Wild Woman

 thunders in the face of injustice,

Wild Woman is of her own mold.

Wild Woman is proud to be a vision holder.

Wild Woman's truth cannot be bought or sold.

Many have tried to tame her, 

and just as many failed.

She goes her own way, happily,

and refuses to be jailed.

Wild Woman knows what she knows,

and it doesnt get any easier as she grows.

Wild Woman is fundamental in our 

connection to the divine.

Wild Woman is the source of the feminine.

Wild Woman, thankfully, has retained her spine,

(if not the sum totality of her mind!)

Wild Woman is an endangered specie.

More-

Wild Woman is the essence of my soul.

Come together, help us save her wildness,

which we must preserve 

to keep the Feminine whole.

Alas, Wild Woman is also very tired,

prone to dizzyness, while bonded to her couch,

betimes found mumbling incantations in a corner,

fending off the housepets while in a feral crouch

Wild Woman knows what she knows,

and it doesnt get any easier, as she grows.

Wild Woman is going into the woods.

Perhaps a vision quest will hone her skills.

She'll speak with oracles and owls,

come home replenished,

take up her calling

as wildish women always will.

Wild Woman knows what she knows.

And she needs a dose of wildness

by day's close.

Wild Woman Goes for Tea

There is a dangerous old woman

who lives in the forest.

Her house is whittled inside a tree trunk,

and her music is the rainfall on the leaves.

"Whu-hoo", says the owl 

on the cobbled doorstep,

blinking her yellow eyes

and rustling her feathers.

"To enter, you must have passed 

sixty years of seasons.

The map of your life

must be drawn upon your face,

and your eyes droop with 

 sadness and the memory

of your journey.

Yes. You are

sad enough and wise enough

 to pass."

I enter and, within, the fire is blazing.

A grizzled white-haired crone bends

to pour my tea.

"And what are you wondering?

What question brings you here?"

she asks,

dipping a dainty finger

in her teacup

and stirring.

"What do I have to do,

to have my dwelling in a tree?"

"Grow back your clipped wings,

and remember how to fly."

Wild Woman Learns About Limerence

Wild Woman has just heard about limerence.

It seems, when our aging and misfiring hormones
shut down our brains, temporarily,
the cure is falling crazy, ass-over-teakettle in love.
(surely a case of the cure being worse than the disease?)

Wikipedia describes limerence
as "an involuntary state of mind
resulting in romantic attachment to another person,
combined with an overwhelming need
to have one's feelings reciprocated, 
with  inordinate fear of rejection".
It is likened to obsessive compulsive disorder,
"involving intrusive, obsessive and compulsive 
thoughts, feelings and behaviors, counting on
a perceived emotional reciprocation from the object of interest -
the LO (Limerent Other)"
(You cant make this stuff up!)

Online sources suggest, if you find yourself
mooning about in joyful or despairing states 
about your LO,
that you find a treatment centre
dedicated to restoring you
to yourSelf.

"For those who wish a cure,"
these sources state,
"the most certain course
is prevention."

Wild Woman could give a seminar
on Limerence. 
She had to give it up,
as it totally screwed with her equilibrium.
She can now count thirteen years,
clean and sober!

disclaimer: Wild Woman does believe in love, kids, the real kind that grows over time with trust. She just fears the total plunge into infatuation, a course fraught with peril, in her experience.

* sources Wikipedia and Love and Limerence by Dorothy Tennov
* image from collegemagazine.com (google)

Wild Woman: A Cautionary Tale

google image

Young maidens: listen up!

Wild Woman has learned

a thing or three about

Choices.

(Too soon old,

too late smart.)

Come sit by me
and I'll tell you what I know
about Love.

When some dude
gives you the eye,
before getting all
OMG, he thinks I'm pretty,
check him out.

Is he smart?
Is he kind?
Does he kick his dog?

DO NOT think:
oh, he just needs love
and I can make him change.

Run screaming
in the other direction.
Find someone
who doesnt need
to change.

I'm serious.

Dont let dudes
just Happen
to you.

You are more wonderful
than you can 
even begin to know.
The gift of yourself
is a priceless treasure.

Before you give it,
make sure you can trust
the one you give it to.
Make sure the person
is worthy of
that most precious
offering.

Mary set us the prompt: Choices this week at Poetry Jam. I could have gone in a kazillion directions as my choices in life have been......er........Interesting, if often ill-advised. But Wild Woman is feeling rather feisty, it being Hallowe'en and all, so I let her zoom around on her broom a few times and dictate this poem.

google image

First Light

[image from ipzircon.deviantart.com]

The first light of dawn
is breaking across 
the horizon.
A raven's
gobble-cry 
wakes her.
Wild Woman stirs 
in her fur robe,
comes out
of her cave
and surveys 
the morning.


It is the end 
of the Hungry season,
the season in which 
her wolf companion
died.
His pelt she keeps
wrapped around her,
for comfort.
Even gone, he is 
still helping her
to survive.


The days are growing 
longer, now.
In the evenings,
her heart leaps
at the extra hour of light
added to the day.


When she sits by 
her campfire,
the sparks floating up
as  darkness falls,
she plans for tomorrow's hunt:
certain leaves, morels, 
and rosehips,
anything to fill the ache
of a too-long winter.


Soon the babies 
will begin
to clamber about:
cougar and wolf,
bear and fawn.
Bald baby eagles 
will appear in the nest
above her sitting place.


She takes heart
and hopefulness
from the turning
of the seasons.
The time ahead 
will be easier,
because of
all the light.

Wild Woman's GPS

[image by T. McCracken at mchumor.com]

Wild Woman's

GPS

is

recalculating.

It is

scratching

its head

and sounding

just a tad

confused.

Is this

really

the Way?

Haven't we

been down

this road

before?

[I must give a nod to Ellie for the idea
behind this snippet. She mentioned a
GPS recalculating on her blog last week.
I remembered two times when my sister
and I were following her GPS and it took
us half an hour in the wrong direction,
getting us hopelessly lost in the process.
Once at midnight when we were far from home and tired.
Not humorously at all,  recently in the news a couple's GPS system
took them down  the wrong road in the desert and the man lost his life,
disappearing as he tried to walk out for help. His wife, waiting with
the vehicle, was found just in time to save her life. Can't always trust
technology.]

Forked Tongue

[image from google]

Dinner conversation

went from

people comparing tattoos

to the

covering

of one's entire body

in tattoos,

to the embedding of

studs

right into the skin.

Wild Woman's

eyebrows

rose

higher

and higher.

She now understood

her grandmother's

incredulous

expression

at such

revelations,

as she

can feel

that exact

same

expression

on her face.

Then one guest

said

some people

get

forked tongues:

the tongue is split,

(ouch!)

and you can

learn to

wiggle

each side

separately.

(But why?)

"Isn't it

painful?"

"Well, yeth,

I eck-thpect

it ith

thumwhat

painful."

Cackles.

Now

Wild Woman

has heard

Everything!

Wild Woman on Books

[image from dennyreed.com]

As Wild Woman

shelves

the one thousandth book

and surveys

the result

with satisfaction,

a little

questions forms:

How many books

does Wild Woman

really need?

"Just the one

she's reading

now."

However,

between

the covers

of every

single

one,

lies a

new adventure,

just waiting

to be

embarked upon,
or an old friend,
waiting to be
revisited.

Wild Woman

is

addicted

to

opening

the covers

and

being taken

on

a pilgrimage.

She

will

not

stop

until

her

journey's

end.

Kids, I am being very patient, but the people in my world are Much Too Busy to fix what is wrong with my email program. I have not been able to receive or send emails since Tuesday morning. I apologize to those of you who have been trying to reach me, and also to those of you I need to reach for interviews etc.

Wild Woman says, "Argh!" Bear with me.

Fire and Moon

[image from google]

Wild Woman

wants to

sit by the fire pit

under the stars

and

gaze at the moon,

but she can't

stay awake

long enough

for it to

get dark.

[image from google]

Wild Woman Gets Spring Fever

[image from groundframed.com]

Slice of moon,
bare branch
stark against the sky,
scent of new grass
mingled with
 the earth stirring to life,
feeling
the pulse of Gaia
throbbing
deep underneath
my feet,
rising up
my body
as if it were
a young sapling,
I want to
grow my hair
wild and long,
run deep into
the oldest forest
I can find,
make a dwelling there
out of branches, leaves
and the shed skin
of a deer
who no longer wants it,
and spend my days
communing with
the trees.

Wild Woman and the Sea

Over the years,

Wild Woman

has watched

young brides

get married

at the edge

of the sea,

thinking

what a perfect spot

it was

in which

to pledge

one's troth.

Now she stands

on the shore,

alone as always,

content,

her heart

full of

the ocean's song,

and she weds

the sea

itself.



Wild Woman Looks in the Mirror

[Maxine's creator is John Wagner

copyright Hallwark Licensing Corp.]

Wild Woman

seeks an image

to accompany

her Wild Woman

poems.

Needs something

frizzy-haired

and cartoonish,

sorta like

a dumpling

with matted yarn

for hair.

  Hmmmm........

she decides

all she really

needs to do

is point

the camera

in the mirror.

But last time

she did that

she scared herself

so badly,

she vowed

she'd never

do it

again.

Wild Woman
is so
freaking
vain.

Singing Through Her Bones

Day 13 of the Soul Card Journey
with Elizabeth Crawford at Soul's Music
Soul Cards by Deborah Koff-Chapin at http://www.touchdrawing.com/
[paraphrased from Natalie Goldberg's Singing Down the Bones]

Traveler
lives in
many layers:
skeleton woman,
outer appearance,
aura,
energy,
the tactile senses.

She journeys
through this world
from the inside out,
carrying all
she has learned
in some
interior chamber.

Her inner
Wild Woman
knows
far more
than she does.
She points
the way;
she is
her own
True North.
Wild Woman
is always
singing through
her bones.

The Wild Woman as Fool

Soul Card created by Deborah Koff-Chapin

of http://www.touchdrawing.com/

 

Day 1 of the Soul Card Journey

with Elizabeth Crawford of Soul's Music

The Wild Woman
has been a fool
her whole life.

Class clown,
prone to
highly embarrassing
moments
of Not Knowing
How To Be,
it took so long
to discover
who she
really
was.

She dated
Impossible Men.
She gave away
her money,
her heart,
her energy,
her time
to the bottomless pit
of living
and the needs
of others,
which seemed
much more
pressing
than her own.

Now she has
nothing left,
but her heart
and her soul,
her fatigue,
her life's wisdom
and her
unstoppable cackle,
and,
at this well,
rich and soul-quenching,
she drinks
deeply.

(I am joining Elizabeth Crawford at Soul's Music as we make a mythic journey of the soul with Deborah Koff-Chapin's Soul Card images. Today's card is The Fool, to which I can relate, as I have been a Class Clown kind of person my whole life and, for too many years, dumber than a grownup has any right to be.)

The Wild Woman on Toxic Substances

[image from google]

Wild Woman
takes granddaughter
to a restaurant.
The stopper
on the vinegar bottle
is unusual,
not enough vinegar
comes out.

Talking, eating,
laughing, pouring,
struggling to attain
the elusive taste of
vinegar.

"What a stupid
vinegar bottle!"

The waitress approaches.

Wild Woman
demonstrates
the difficulty.

Horror.

"OMG!!
THAT isnt vinegar -
it's lamp oil!
And the LAST person
that did that
left here
by ambulance."

Wild Woman
doesnt need
an ambulance.
Oddly,
her body
accepts
the lamp oil.
Perhaps
she will achieve
some inner radiance
in her declining years.

The Wild Woman on Senility

[Hallmark's Maxine creator is John Wagner

copyright Hallmark Licensing Corp.]

Wild Woman walks
into the video store.
Chooses a movie
that looks interesting.

"Have I rented
this before?"
she asks.

Pause.

"Yes. Last week."

Totally no recollection.

Sigh.

Wild Woman
takes a pass
on renting
a movie.

Apparently,
she really
only needs
one movie -
and, come to
think of it,
one book!
and she
has one
of each
at home.

The Wild Woman On Love

[Love Cats from p4poetry.com]

for Poets United's Thursday Think Tank prompt: Love

When I was young,
I dreamed Love
was out there
somewhere
just waiting for me,
and one day
it would find me.

When I was young,
I was tame.
I had been
trained
to stay within
safe confines,
trained to dream
standard
Technicolor dreams,
of boundaries
surrounded by
white picket fences.
Trained not to think
for one moment
that life could be
an adventure,
could be More,
could be
wild and free.

Marriage,
babies,
divorce,
single motherhood,
all hard work,
too exhausted
to do much more
than survive,
and yet,
somehow,
I did.

Love had been
a disappointment.
I did not find The One.

But I began to realize
you can't find
the love you need
Out There,
only within.
Instead of
looking for
The One,
I had to learn
the harder task,
of learning to value
and have compassion
for The Self.
Instead of looking
for the person
who would complete
my life,
I needed
to be that person,
and complete it
for myself.

It was a hard lesson,
accompanied by
tears,
but it was the lesson
I was meant to learn
this lifetime:
how to go it alone.

In time,
I began
to dream
a very wild
dream.
It involved
the universe,
and trust,
and one gigantic leap
out of my comfort zone
and into the
life of my dreams.

Wild Woman came alive
with an excited howl,
finally freed from
her fetters,
and we plunged into
frizzy-haired
wolf-howl
West Coast
living,
liberation,
life without limits,
where Different
was welcomed
and normal,
where life was
as big or as small
as you wanted
to make it.

In time,
I had to leave
that place.
But I brought
Wild Woman
with me
when I left.
She was rather quiet,
and tired,
bone-weary
from the long fatigue
of living.
Every now and then
she rattles my bones and
gives a long howl
to let me know
she is still in there,
still up for
another adventure,
for newness,
for dreams
with no limits.

We are still in love
with the land,
with the wind,
with the tall and  
toppling trees,
with night skies
and morning dew
and the smell of earth
stirring
in springtime.

Love? It never was
what I had been taught.
It never did come in
as a gift
from someone else
in the way
I had expected.
Instead, it goes out,
constantly,
from within
to all that
surrounds me:
babies, old people,
dogs, horses,
the sky,
forest trails,
the sea,
eagles and herons,
humanity itself,
transcendental heroes.
Love is in the living.
Love has never been
in the receiving,
nearly as much as
it is in 
the giving.

Wolf Wisdom

"You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."
Excerpt from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery - prompt from Real Toads.

I lived with a wolf

for fourteen years.

I found him in the wild,

where he was trying

to survive

as a baby, on his own.

I took him home

and he lived

in a house with me

for the rest of his life.

But his spirit

-and mine-

belonged solely

to the wild.

He made

these adaptations

to be with me.

In return,

every afternoon

I took him

in search

of wilderness trails,

rushing rivers,

the ocean's shore.

Tail up,

alert for the scent

and sound

of critters

in the bush,

he'd race before me,

looping back

from time to time,

to check on me,

then off he'd go again,

forever chasing

that enticing
and elusive

wildness

that coursed through

his soul,
and traveled always
before him,
luring him
just a little bit
farther
down the trail.

When he died,

his death 

awakened

my inner wild

wolf-woman,

who had been sleeping.

Now his spirit

lives within

my heart,

and I am

longing

even more

for our
shared wilderness.

I can feel him,

now Wild Woman,

wanting to

run through the bush.

I can feel him

wanting to

breathe

the salt sea air,
plunge into
its roiling waves.

I can feel him

wanting me to

flee this township

and return us

to our

wilderness home.

As much as

I tamed him,

insofar as

a wild creature
ever

allows himself

to be tamed,

he woke up

the wild

in me,

and now

Wild Woman

is singing

unstoppably

and

forever

through

my bones.

Women Who Run With the Wolves

[image from whitewolfphotos.blogspot.com]

I am reading Clarissa Pinkola Estes these days, in response to the stirrings and mutterings of my inner wolf woman, who had been sleeping for a time, and who seems to have awakened. Here is a stirring quote from Clarissa, whose life has been a study of the wildish nature of women:

"Once women have lost her and then found her again, they will contend to keep her for good. Once they have regained her, they will fight and fight hard to keep her, for their creative lives blossom; their relationships gain meaning and depth and health; their cycles of sexuality, creativity, work and play are re-established; they are no longer marks for the predations of others; they are entitled equally under the laws of nature to grow and to thrive. Now their end-of-the-day fatigue comes from satisfying work and endeavors, not from being shut up in too small a mindset, job or relationship. They know instinctively when things must die and when things must live; they know how to walk away and they know how to stay.

When women reassert their relationship with the wildish nature, they are gifted with a permanent and natural watcher, a knower, a visionary, an oracle, an inspiratrice, an intuitive, a maker, a creator, an inventer, and a listener, who guide, suggest and urge vibrant life in the inner and outer worlds. When women are with the Wild Woman, the fact of that relationship glows through them. This wild teacher, wild mother, wild mentor supports their inner and outer lives, no matter what......

Wild Woman is the health of all women.....She is what she is, and she is whole....If they are suppressed, she struggles upward. If women are free, she is free.....no matter how many times she is pushed down, she bounds back up again. No matter how many times she is forbidden, quelled, cut back, diluted, tortured, touted as unsafe, dangerous, mad and other derogations, she emanates upward in women, so that even the most quiet, even the most restrained woman keeps a secret place for Wild Woman. Even the most repressed woman has a secret life, with secret thoughts and secret feelings, which are lush and wild, that is, natural. Even the most captured woman guards the place of the wildish self, for she knows intuitively that someday there will be a loophole, an aperture, a chance, and she will hightail it to escape."

Sounds good to me, kids!