To New Members andÂ Potential Friends...
Please fill out at least part of your profile.Â This helps us at C2 get to know you and to let us know you aren't spammers.Â It doesn't have to be your whole life story, but it must be something other than any Groups you may have joined.Â
I would also appreciate an introduction if you send a friend request.
Thought I'd start Forwarding news of friends whoÂ don'tÂ send regular links,Â every week a different one.Â Want to expose new members and friends to postings other than animal cruelty, though petitions will certainly be included in many of the postings.Â Who knows, you just may make a new Friend and learn something new.Â I have.Â Hugs...
Anyone wondering where my avatar came from, it's from freedigitalphotos.net and called Woman,Â by the artist africa.Â You can use any of the content free from their site as long as you give credit to the artist and the site.Â I think this one is my favorite...so far.
When you fight with monsters, be careful lest you become a monster.
And if you gaze longÂ into the abyss, be careful lest the abyss will gaze back at you.
Michele Bardsley, paranormal romance author:
We are the sum total of our experiences.Â Sometimes I felt more subtracted from than added to.
Laurell K Hamilton, Flirt:
Revolutions start from the bottom up, rarely top down.
Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few are to be chewed and disgested.
All books can be indecent, though recent books are bolder.
For filth, I'm glad to say, is in the mind of the beholder.
When correctly viewed, everything is lewd.
I could tell you things about Peter Pan,
And the Wizard of Oz, there's a dirty old man!
Children are made readers on the laps of their parents.
The Uncounted Woman
The Uncounted Woman brings sadness to my soul,
A feeling of something undone.
Where is her anthem? Will no banner unfurl?
She's our sister - the heroine unknown.
Feelings of frustration, understanding and grief
Fall over me each time I see her.
The simple plaque on a red wooden form,
Standing tall, but alone, at the end of the line.
Alone, in the quiet darkness of night,
where was I when she whispered her plea?
When did she finally give up the fight?
Are there others who mourn her, or just me?
Isn't it time we take up the fight,
Not let her death be in vain?
The survivors, her sisters,
Walking hand in hand, standing tall,
Let our voices be heard across the land...
No More! No More! No More!
On 1990-1 I went to a rally for abused women at our state capital, in St Paul, MN. At the top of the steps were plain wooden forms in the shape of women. Painted red with small plaques, each naming a woman who had died at the hands of her abuser...the last one had no name. She represented all the women who deaths were misdiagnosed, Jane Does in some morgue, or those who just disappeared.
That woman haunted me for a very long time, until I finally sat down to write this poem, hoping I could get my feelings out. It's not a perfect poem, many here could probably do better...but it's the way I have felt since seeing her that sunny day in MN.