Joanna Gilman Hyde

tonight My Daughter

Made Me Up

using a combination

of Her Make Up

& Mine

I wore My Mother’s Amber Necklace

as My Daughter worked

My Face

She moved around Me

like a Sprite

laying out Her Blush, Powder & Pencils

allowing Me to choose

which Lipstick

as the Final Application

to The Body

Who Made Her

Up

Joanna Hyde

November 11^th 2011   The Hawk
7:13pm

“Is He Internal or External?”

“He is Both.”

“And when I hear a Song On The Radio – what is He then?”

“Then He is God.”

“But is not God within Me?”

“Yes, He is Internal & External – what You hear is the same.”

“What I hear comes through Me –”

“Yes, without You there would be No Song.”

“Without Me There Would Be No God?”

                                                     Joanna Hyde

November 12^th 2011   The Hawk

7:48pm

One day long long ago

in a land far far away,

a princess made a Bed

for Satan, out of Satin,

So Said She –It was rimmed

with feathers – white – a boa

and buried inside deep

a coal-black seed of smooth

round ball, sunk inside

deep the sheet – that seed

She sees for now is SHE.

                             Joanna Hyde

October 21st, 2011
The Hawk
7:37 pm

 Out of The Remains
of My Mother’s Attic
Out of The Remains
of My Last Half-a-Century
I have salvaged
The Fullness of My Feminine Form
My Ballerina Doll
bought for Me by My Grandmother
after I begged & begged
for a tubby mechanical blond
I watched over & over
in a television Christmas ad
twirling madly in a Little Girl’s Fantasy

 My Grandmother from Alabama took Me
into New York City
to pick any doll I wanted
when there stood only one Ballerina
on the shelves & shelves —
I took Her —
staring distant and blue eyed
with red haired curls elaborately styled
She was the most beautiful Doll
I had ever Touched
She was My Ornament Extraordinaire
never to be played with
never to be named

 She is still dressed like a Degas Ballerina
with Black Ribbon Around Her Neck
sparkles on Her Tutu
She stands stiff and…

This is coming to You
from a spiral bound page
in regular ballpoint.
My Silver Pen
is kept Upstairs.

 This is My Assignment:
I found My Voice Today —
it is not a regular voice.
It has demonstrated
and will demonstrate
My Capacity to Chant, to Move
to ruffle & unruffle its Hearers.
I can & do stand
as Precentor of The Billions
as Chanteuse of The New Age
This Age of Silver:
Swirling Strata of Our Development
here on Earth
where We have nothing left
to follow but Our Selves —
to know if We are ashamed

Joanna Hyde
November 25^th 2011

 
the poem was 
inspired by listening to the video of the UC DAVIS pepper spray and 
having you ASK for something.

Joanna

This is coming to You
through an acid-free page
from My Black-bound
Journal
written with My Birks
Silver Pen

 announcing The Arrival
of My Blond Bomb Shell
Daughter I Made Up
appearing at My Bathroom Door
with a favourite knitted scarf
over Her Head

 announcing to The Mirror
“I Am Dressed
Like A Muslim Woman.”

Joanna Hyde  November 30th, 2011

I almost had a Conversion Experience
today heading into our local grocery
flanked by two enormous wreaths
I felt protected, blessed even
to have the food here to buy

could I give up My Anti Christmas
stance —
maybe even for just This
Year —

Which Is Stronger:
My Abhorrence to the Lies
of “Christmas”
or
My Appreciation for How
I’ve made it
to This

Joanna Hyde
December 5^th 2011   The Hawk
11:46am

Now is The Time To Write
a poem about Doing The Laundry —
an innately Feminine Occupation —
not just Historically, but Biologically:
Women, mostly, cannot tolerate
a mess, chaos —
Women must organize their households
caring for their families
fundamentally
or They won’t be right themselves —
They must pick up clothes
the most personal accoutrements
and wash them in cycles
choosing to abandon
a dryer
in favour of a clothes line
or maybe on a winter day
taking satisfaction
in hanging 2 loads
on a laundry rack
and Balcony Banister

Joanna Hyde
December 8^th 2011   10:34am

I held The Little Tin Box
holding an encasement of glass
loose in a tin framework
with silver filaments inside
& some kind of Praying Lady —
I kept staring at It

The Little Tin Box was set upon
by Me & set upon the top of a giant glass case
housing stuffed birds
& It, My Little Tin Shadow Box
was left behind
in one of those numerous houses named
The Laundry, The Pirates’ Lair, or Oliver Jenning’s
temporarily housing My Mother, My Brother & Me
while My Father was elsewhere

Today I got a Case
from The Framer here
in My Adulthood, A Shadow Box
holding My Advent Calender
made for My Grandparents
when I was a Teenager
in My Single Mother’s House

I have My Glass Shadow Box Now
with Its secret compartments
tipped back for partial view —
My Own Glass Shadow Box
is Here…