Becoming
Be
by debbie davidsohn
=================
equality?====
equality?====
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Acknowledgements and Gratitude
A big thank you to my professor,
Dorothy Barresi, a great poet in her own right; my crit group students in
English 491, Katelin Shelly, Juan Gramajo, Brian Andrade, Harley Parker, Brian
Andrade, Maricela Marin, Mandy Chen, Eva Sahakyan, Aubrey Harris, and Anna
Tutunjian; Uncle Luis Davidsohn, my mom, Harriet and her supportive love, her
boyfriend, Ron and his jokes, plus his house once in a while, so I could
be close to CSUN, and my dogs, Heidi Pup and Ford, who stuck by me during long
hours of writing and editing.
****************************************
Becoming
Be
Chapbook
of Poetry
by
Debbie
Davidsohn
******************************************************************
Here is some of my poetry. My name is debbie davidsohn.
I have been writing poetry since I was a child. I studied as an English major in college at one point and earned a BA in Fine Art and a minor in English / creative writing besides for my private academy studies in dance, choreography, music, voice & singing, opera, acting & theatre (colleges & private) I also earned a liberal arts degree in humanities & arts. I am nearing an mfa university degree as well.
Revolution
By Debbie Davidsohn
I
remember the flower children
dancing
in Hancock Park,
hippies
and mastodons
side
by side
my
mom working (no revolution for her),
the
boys as loud as the music,
flower
haired giants
dancing
hippy girls
looked
like fairy brides in
long
flowing skirts
of
dotted swiss, bell-bottom jeans
and
halter tops.
America,
where’s your joy
now?
Me,
the smallest of them all,
embraced
by the flower people
who
held my hand.
we
formed a line across the park
and
ran down the park hill together like a
battalion
of joy, singing, shouting . . .
rejoicing
along the way.
Julie,
my sister,
the
prettiest
daisies
in her hair,
played
guitar
“we
are stardust, we are golden
and
we got to get ourselves back to the garden”
there
was power in our love,
world.
Where is your love, America?
©
Debbie Davidsohn – All Rights Reserved U.S.A.
Harlem Renaissance
by
Debbie Davidsohn
Harlem Renaissance
a beginning
voices rise up
black sadness
the weary
blues
create
your beauty
I know your
hardness
I know your past
I know what it is
like
to be left out
cry your song
don’t take mine
I wasn’t there
but, I have known slavery
being treated as a slave, too.
rise above those who hate you
create your life
make your lives rich
row a while with me.
I do
not hate you
Remember,
the
“Monarch Butterfly”1
I wrote,
somewhere,
locked
in that white
house’s files
near, the
burning bush
within years,
of the fallen
towers,
unlocked, by your
love
somehow
made, at the refrain,
the turn,
within,
a new movement
because,
black lives matter is my art
too
© Debbie Davidsohn – All Rights Reserved U.S.A.
1. “Monarch Butterfly” was a poem I wrote for Rosa Parks in 2005 the day she passed away. I saw a dead monarch butterfly outside my abode on the near root portion of a tree the day she passed away. I emailed this poem to the White House staff, but I never recovered the poem, for my email system was wiped out by MSN when it purchased WebTV, which was the server I wrote my poem on. They soon built a large memorial for her.
Intelligence Test – Donald Juan
by
Debbie Davidsohn
he would make me eat
bullets
before he’d come to his senses . . .
it’s like teaching
a rooster to make chicken soup
because, he was born
privileged,
empowered,
male.
a screwdriver
who molested the laws
raped justice
and screwed some of my life
a dragon could breathe fire
at him
but he isn’t a knight
in shining armor
he won’t do what’s right.
I’ll just let him be the pea he is,
using his size and money
to Simon Legree butterflies
while he hides under a leaf.
he used women
to stuff his bank accounts with
sees us as his slaves,
only side jewels allowed
he cannot beat down the sun.
donald juan
and his merry bag of tricks.
© Debbie Davidsohn – All Rights Reserved U.S.A. - 2016
Landmarks and Icons
Sing My Song
by Debbie Davidsohn
I want to kiss the sky
on Brooklyn Bridge
and sing my song.
I want to dance the second line
on Bourbon Street
its array of colorful lights
the Soul Center,
with its flags
for Mardi Gras
and sing my song.
I want to earn the wealth
of Fort Knox
stacks of gold bullion,
and dance on top
of that gold power
and sing my song.
I want to ride the Calico Railroad
at Knott’s Berry Farm
and sing my song.
I want to walk
up Bleecker Street
down St. Marks
in Greenwich Village
and sing my song.
Wing Wa Hing
and Ooga Booga
in Chinatown
and sing my song.
I want to ride my bicycle
in the Bowery
and sing my song.
I want to dance
a lyrical ballet
barefoot,
a figure eight
sideways, the sign for eternity,
in Hyde Park
and sing my song.
It’s Business this Time ‘Round
by Debbie Davidsohn
There’s no business
like show business
I am a demigoddess
whether he says so or not
I don’t ask his permission—
he’ll never own it all,
never did and
he does not own me
(although, he thought he did)
I kicked that bully off my back.
He better do an
about-face:
he’s on the “z” list for good.
He’s been lost in psychobabble
trying to rough me around
with his backroom
misogynist
politics
and,
perversions;
he’s a dirty clown.
It’s business this time around.
I’ll make a friendly wager
even though I’ve been bitter about love,
I had some bum raps
by a jealous man
who is non compos mentis.
He was some kind of mistake
a mutation, a morose
immoral disfigurement of unkind
(all too common)
but, it’s still business this time around
so, just show me the money.
by Debbie Davidsohn
A background figure
near Rembrandt
wearing Tampax
in a convex mirror.
A seer
for the cause
they owe money
they shall live life in their mirror.
Art from steel wire
native roast peaches
yearlings outside the window
a cow’s meow.
Measure per treasure
Scorsese and lace
dreaming,
yet, freeing me
from the hiss
of a muffed scoundrel.
Song of
the Diatoms
by Debbie
Davidsohn
1. Grains of sand,
trillions possibly . . . .
I walked and ran across the beach
and shore;
at 16, I made love under the stars
on the sand with my boyfriend
where,
I once played at 8 and ten,
and ate tuna fish
sandwiches as a child,
my mother near; I
listened to the sound of
the ocean
inside a frog shell.
grains of sand
parts of sea shells
corals, skeletons and
sponge
close-up, beautiful
honeycombed coral nodules
and, striped shells
polished by eons
of waves.
grains of sand,
jewel-like
little stars
foraminifera shells,
tiny one-celled sea creatures.
We walked
on the sand
at night.
I thought I was in love;
and he would lead me
to higher ground on LSD,
the sand remains.
grains of time
erosion of volcanoes,
swept by waves
thousands and millions
of years ago.
semi-precious peridot
tinted
green, from a mineral,
olivine.
a remnant of a
marine snail shell,
precious spiral,
akin to galaxies,
the natural design.
pink coral was
the ring he gave me,
after his trip to Hawaii,
7 years later
stolen by a greedy lover,
a thief of love, a cruel
grain of sand,
in the scheme of life.
green epidot,
iron-rich red agates,
black magnetite,
pink garnets,
hematite.
a small grain of copper
tiny crystals;
sapphire,
fragments of baby sea urchin shells,
biogenic sand.
the screen and its ads
obscures the view.
scientists presume the
number of grains of sand
and planets
in the universe:
is it like estimating
the amount of marbles in a jar?
there is one me,
one you—not two!
2. Clearwater:
different colors,
bits of sand dollars,
stereo microscopic
pieces of life,
rounded edges
indicate older sand;
sharp edges indicate
sand’s youth.
Maui:
calcium carbonite, basalt,
weathered by waves and wind
at the shore;
Lake Powell:
mica and hornblende;
Caribbean sand:
white sand is
Parrotfish droppings.
tiny snails,
intense wave action
glossy coral drops
tiny tooth of a baby whale
or of,
a sea captain who lost
his way.
Guam:
green sand;
olivine crystals
derived,
from lava cone
where,
the green frog prince
took his first
steps on the land.
Malibu:
kyanite,
sky blue
midnight blue
for its night hue
minerals:
garnet, paragonite,
phengite, quartz,
kaolinite, a clay;
calcite, aragonite,
ankerite, dolomite,
hematite, limonite,
goethite, and albite.
William Blake
did not see
Namibia, Africa—
a tiny diamond
black magnetite
Fanore, Ireland:
purple tips of
sea urchins,
internal skeleton
of a sponge.
Negative ions,
to heal a whale;
or your soul.
listen to the song
of the diatoms,
producers of our oxygen,
yet our warming
is sending them
to the bottom, to sink,
from our diatomless
grains of grains.
wading at the shore
at Venice Beach,
a Native Indian’s medicine bag
floated to me
within: a five
dollar bill
wet,
I then lost it in the sea
for someone else to find
as treasure.
© Debbie Davidsohn – All Rights Reserved U.S.A.
Hollywood
Dreams
I
want to put on
a
pair of wings,
walk
down Hollywood Blvd.
notice
drivers in cars
turn
their heads.
I
want to walk
in a
pair of
big
white wings bigger than
their
economic pinions
as
if no one would notice
I
want to walk
past
the old Ivar stage
the
sex shop
with
rainbow
dildos, push-up bras with rhinestones,
pink
lack teddies, black fishnet stockings,
cherry
flavored condoms;
the
movie theatre,
with
a cinematographer
or
two
in
full view,
Grauman’s
Chinese
tourists
from Japan,
Europe
and America,
from
anywhere
looking
to the golden
valley
of dreams
in
the
New
York Pizzeria
where
3.95 buys you
a
coke and a big slice
those
kind of Hollywood
dreams
the
red carpet
movie
theatres
singing
my song
over
past the
collectibles
shop
selling
nickel plated oscars
I’m
filming
a
music video
wings
made
of
money
flapping
in the wind –
plenty
of it, finally.
my
divine right
my
revenge
for
what they did,
for
their misogyny,
their
crimes,
motivations
to oppress me,
deprive
me a career,
economic
independence,
make
me subservient,
poor,
codependent,
with no
legal
recourse or justice,
no
money to pay
the
judge-jester and his jolly
17th
century-like co-workers
richer
than rich
my
new fashion
from
now on –
black
wings
let
it fly
let
it fly
© Debbie Davidsohn – All Rights Reserved U.S.A.
Dog Lady in a Barrio
We may understand
differently,
you and
I
we may speak
a different language
we may read from
left
to right
right to
left
or up
and down
we may dance
jazz, ballet, or
freestyle
sing, “The National Anthem,”
“Purple Haze,” or
“Blow Wind Blow,”
or use a different
noun
we all know love,
or want to
we all find
heartbreak
in its many ways
we all learn
we all need praise
we give and we get
may we find common ground
as our views collide,
may we realize a
common cause
if we get stuck
wayside.
Alice’s Pad
You gave
the bird
in the
most super bitchin’ way
like, far
out, dig
the flat
topped fuzz
looked at
you
with a
“f**kin A”
in his
hands
while you
eyed a fox
flowerchild
wearing a funky
dress,
you
noticed you had no bread
to ask
her out
on a
date.
you
walked over
wearing
thongs
and
invited her
to
Alice’s pad.
she told
you,
“right
on, fab man,
I’ve been
to the commune before”
she put
on her shades
you both
shined the
man
behind you
in
psychedelic threads.
crossing
over a few miles
to the
other side of town
a small
farm
where
lambs roamed
free and
horses played
and
loved,
vegetarians
drank tea.
a bunch
of friends
sat on
tree trunks
some
smokin’,
all
wearing flowers
in their
hair
peace
signs around their necks,
most with
smiles
you and
she
ordered
brownies
and
sipped Yogi tea,
enjoying
the now
you swore
to Buddha
that she was the girl
of your
dreams;
that
you’d spend forever
loving,
knowing,
and
making love with her.
the hip
dude
with
Jesus boots
walked up
to you both
and
offered a free, groovy
wedding
ceremony
right
there
at
Alice’s Pad
in a real
hang loose atmosphere
on the
farm where
you both
agreed
were
married right there
Alice’s brownies,
the
wedding cake,
with all
your hip cool friends
as the
Vietnam War raged on,
and POWs
were the new trend
and style
in news atmosphere.
your
marriage was not
legal,
because the government
did not
have its pockets
filled
with yours inside out
you
didn’t need
a piece
of paper
keeping
you tied and true,
but, like
a slave in history,
you made
your way to Canada
to avoid
the lottery, the call of government
to kill
for no reason, for their military industrial profits; to win a war they never
would.
you and
your bride
slipped
back
to
Woodstock
in the
summer of ’69,
even
stuck around
for Jimi
the last
time
you’d
hear him live,
but so
many left when
he wailed
on his guitar
like a
fugitive
you left,
she at
your side
trying to
figure out
human
beings at war
When it
was all over,
Nixon
banished
once and
for all,
you both
slipped back
to
recover your homeland
layered
with the bodies
of
American flags,
covered
in salt and dust,
dirt, to
be remembered
with a
granite wall.
a justice
of the peace
gave your
marriage legitimacy
in the
eyes of the so-called “law”;
a law
that thought itself
justice,
Jimi now
gone,
your love
grown
like the
flames
of a
burning bush
tied and
true,
for your
anniversaries
you both
wore flowers in your hair, and vowed love
before
each other, each year,
for all
time.
© Debbie Davidsohn – All Rights Reserved U.S.A. -2017
Android
he thought I was an android
meant to be programmed
to be a perfect woman,
to be meek,
a slave,
economically empowering him
forever,
supporting
his whims, his wishes,
silent, loud, and obnoxious –
“she is fine
with having no mind
of her own.”
I have a scar unrepairable
across my back
and chest,
broken nose, stitches
behind my ears,
what for?
I cry perfectly
and feel saddened
for his cruelties;
hers as well.
my throat can’t take
more strangulations
my face,
more hits
no more knives
at my throat
no more rapes
(call it sexual misconduct—
rape is still
rape.)
I had tears
from expectations,
some extra weight,
cellulite on my thigh,
he always said.
I could exercise
but could not
run off the filth and horror
of exploitation.
c All Rights Reserved - Debbie Davidsohn - USA - 2017
Society vs. the Wilderness
society versus the wilderness
are we one with nature
are we separate?
return to the garden
return to eden
return to love
nature,
by the lake
silence of the trees
have you heard them
too?
water,
birds at a distance
nature’s music
without civilization
taking over
I can make my lines
look or sound as rivers do
ebb like oceans
grow like redwood trees
I can make my paragraphs
chirp like birds
singing happily in a tree
I can make this page
sing like you
sing like me
dance with the universe
make you know
you are free.
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Bibliography
Back jacket art by Debbie Davidsohn – High Priestess, a
Self-Portrait – Cards Project – Watercolor, acrylic inks, gel pens, and
digital on Fine art board – 15” x 20” – 2017
Cover Art by Debbie Davidsohn – A Little Equality Goes a Long
Way – Watercolor on watercolor board – 20” x 7” – 2015
Woodstock. Performance by Joni Mitchell, 1970.
Joni Mitchell’s lyrics quoted in Debbie Davidsohn’s poem, Revolution.
photo of debbie davidsohn - Photo taken October 1, 2018
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