Sad Dyke Poetry Night

We're back, just in time for cuffing season. Come pour your heart out and impress all the cuties that will be here.

Wednesday September 27th Glad Day Bookshop
7pm doors open and you can sign up for the open mic.
7:30 we start.

Bring a date. Bring your bestie. Meet your soulmate. Let's get vulnerable.

***anDateNight

Thank you Minnie-Bruce Pratt for your words, for your femme light, for your working class writing that informed my worldview. Thanks for being one of my femme roots. May your memory be a blessing.

In case you need a reminder

From

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https://poetrysociety.org/poems/to-the-woman-crying-uncontrollably-in-the-next-stall

To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall Placing poetry at the crossroads of American life since 1910.

The perfect poem about loss

One Art

BY ELIZABETH BISHOP

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop | Poetry Foundation The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

Hey Sad D**es - here is a great list of local Black owned Hamilton, ON business to support!

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1C2pGGJ-RORWS6mmyUZzqDXhgboAeXCFCM8QMxOIJhzg/htmlview?fbclid=IwAR0G7gfnUHHwXuRbznPRXmPaq7r71kh18UO35rja9nmSDdfCdnOnTJm6wuA #

Black Businesses Hamilton - Google Drive

They say that Blackness is depravity, a poem by El Jones

They say that Blackness is depravity.
They’re a tooth and we’re the cavity
We orbit in their galaxy
And they claim universality.
From slavery to cavalry
In ghettos or academies
They say we’re inferior naturally
So we’re condemned to live in agony.
Our bodies like profanity. We’re prone to animality
At least that’s what they tell us when they get off on technicalities
And when they beat and murder us I guess that’s understandably
And we know that’s been the strategy for 500 years of history.
They don’t even do it underhandedly. This all takes place quite publicly
And the cops can go on trial but we all know that’s a travesty
Same with their inquiries or all their fake apologies
Until we start to rise up then they say we should go peacefully
Let me tell you bout the frequency. Black bodies dying ceaselessly
And forget about their prisons where it all takes place in secrecy
They call upon protesters for non-violence while they teargas us repeatedly
Can’t find money for a pandemic but get the military in immediately.
You know it’s happened recently. They even lynch us legally
And we stand on the streets and keep asking where’s your decency
The media makes you believe that we didn’t go obediently
We didn’t act respectfully.
A little boy outside playing with a toy but they still treat him like the enemy
A woman with her pregnancy. Or someone suffering mentally
Their loved ones call for help and the cops don’t enter gently
No, they come in with their weaponry
And we end up in autopsy
Outside a coffee shop or she just slipped off the balcony
And when the cops suspended they don’t even lose their salary
They say that there is justice but we out here in reality
And in reality we can’t jog without meeting our mortality
There’s a target on our back like we’re in a shooting gallery.
It’s in every locality, this municipality
When a mom can’t shop in Walmart without police brutality
They stop our people randomly. They say Gerry looks like Anthony
Suspect fit the description so I guess he’s now a casualty
And they take our life so casually. A victim just of gravity
We have no idea why she fell but oh well, it’s not a tragedy
Investigations just formalities, if I could give you an analogy
I’d say that life in a Black body is like life without humanity.
And then they say we act so angrily. We shouldn’t damage property
A cop kneeling on his neck and it took days to charge fatality
And they blame it on our family. Or something in our mentality
And for five centuries or more they said that we’re the abnormality
They label us with savagery.
We have to be controlled or else we’d just do criminality
Imagine the audacity. To say a burning station’s a catastrophe
They care more about their buildings as they murder us so callously
We’re defined by our anatomy our character and capacity
And so they always have some story they’ve concocted in their fantasy
And if we have it all on video they still will say well actually
Just wait for the investigation so we know what happened factually.
When we say that Black Lives Matter, they treat that like a blasphemy
And if they have a heart it long ago was atrophied
When they leave our body on the concrete for hours without empathy.
Black Death is just an industry
In nursing homes or factories
And when we get corona they say we’re acting recklessly
They’re kneeling on our necks while our bodies thrashing breathlessly
And while they kill Black bodies they wear our culture trendily
Do you even have to wonder that this all affects us mentally
We’re carrying the burden and it weighs us down too heavily
We protest in the morning and in the evening there’s no memory.
They control our sexuality, say our children don’t have pedigree
Bust into our apartment even when we’re sitting restfully
Athletes can’t even take a knee without career paying a penalty
How can we even say their names when it just goes on so endlessly
Could be Wednesday or a Saturday
You could be walking happily
Or just driving along and you’re suddenly lying helplessly.
They put others in the cemetery, all victims of coloniality
Muslim and Indigenous they still commit their felonies
16 year old in Winnipeg they gunned her down so senselessly
And all the other violence that we suffer without remedy
It could be you, it could be me, could be any interchangeably
So know that if I die in the presence of police
It never happened willingly.

An epic sadness list for the deep sadness in these really tough times. Maybe these films can help you feel your feels. ❤️

Sad Le***an Movies and Shows to Pair With Your Sad Le***an Self-Isolation If you’re anything like me, you’re sad, isolated, and desperate for something gay to consume. Let me help you.

I hope this helps to warm your heart on this snowy day.

Sonya Renee Taylor - "The Body Is Not an Apology"

Sonya Renee Taylor - "The Body Is Not an Apology" Become a member! Support Button Poetry: http://bit.ly/buttonpatreon7 Subscribe to Button! New video daily: http://bit.ly/buttonpoetry Minnesota folks! Don't ...