They say September is a good month. We have Labor Day Picnics and nice weather. I think having a day off for workers is a good thing but I happen to dislike the idea of picnics. The ants, the sitting on the tablecloth, the people sitting so close, who needs it? Yet many people love September. September is the beginning of the Jewish New Year, happiness and forgiveness and the beginning of the school year. I think I liked September better when my kids were young and goat like. This September has not been good for me. I blame Vulcan, the Roman god of fire, especially destructive fire, and craftsmanship ( He supposedly was a blacksmith who made tools of destruction). Vulcan thought the month of September was sacred. One of his wives was Venus so he must have been a hunk but a bad boy hunk, the kind that Venus and many other woman would want to marry. He also had another wife named Maia. She was pretty hot too.
Anyway I digress. I am glad this September is almost over. It was not good to me this year. But hey, I’m not complaining. I’m still alive, all my goats and dogs are too, one just barely; the goat not the dog. and my man helped me by not adding to my troubles. He never does. He is not Vulcan like. More nerd like. I like that in a man though for a Roman god, it might not be a good thing. Ugliness is a funny thing though, it really is in the eyes of the beholder. You see when Vulcan was born his mother Juno tried to throw him off a cliff because he was ugly. It didn’t work. It just made him stronger, angry and passionate. I can relate.
I am ready for October. I always disliked October not because of Halloween, but because I met 2 out of my 3 husbands on that blasted day. So this is an a small poem that is not funny but comes out of the September that kicked my ass and how it made me stronger to fight on for injustice.
This is Vulcan and Maia. He hadn’t met Venus yet.
I’m a tiger, hear my cry
I’m a woman, that’s no lie
I’m not perfect but I try
I fight those bastards who tell us lies
The sheep who follow the media trail
Give up their souls to sink like snails
They adore the gossip so they can smirk
And feel their lives are better than dirt
The voice in the night that goes unheard
Are the old, the ill, the homeless herd
They have no cash, cache or clout
They soar within but live without
I fight for them with all my might
I’m one of them. I share their plight
But I’ve found my voice, my strength my light
I live each day to continue the fight
I guess I have more in common with Vulcan that I thought