* if you ever need help, dial 000. Don’t be a victim for too long. Stand tall. It’s unfair but it’s not your stuff. Speak up. Say no. Call people out on their behaviour. With empathy , of course, know people hold within them their own darkness. But that darkness should never be inflicted on someone else. I urge everyone to sort out their own shit so we don’t inflict it on other people.
Tag Archives: woman
I wish I did not write about love.
I wish I had not let them brand me.
If I am on the market
How will people know if this subject
is the only way I’m in print?
I wish I did not write about nature
Specifically how it makes my ovaries blossom.
If I am only fertile these few more years
All ready engraved in pollen
How will anything other than sticky stamen penetrate?
I wish I did not write about Venus.
She gives away my distance, timing and rotation.
If I am not pulled by internet routers
Turned out from churning oceans
How will I find connection?
I wish I did not write about you.
who have folded language over in the mouth so it
Curses in hisses of spit and sputum.
If I am to share saliva again
How can I turn my tongue over?
I wish I had not written.
Pen and paper has given me away.
Perhaps though in ink
You could endorse this woman’s indentations.
I am simply blotched
Bleeding about the page like the rest of you.
Press me to your adjoining pages
I will etch in so you read me well.
Today she thought
I miss being a girl.
How many times these months
chants & championing
woman & strong
impregnated so as she might erupt
An Orphic egg
Spit out a new cosmos amongst the darkness
Create from the wound.
She was sorry to let the universe down.
But when she buckled up her own helmet before riding
when she took her own hand to cross the road against the lights
She shuffled her feet at the curb & breathed
‘All the women in me are tired.
I miss being someone’s girl’.
I started with a cool 2 billion.
I was a ‘high roller’.
I lost 11,000 a month.
I laid them out like bargaining chips for love.
A Dr. told me I’d been a fool then asked for more of them:
‘I’ll take 300 for 10 grand’.
But even she couldn’t give me any guarantees.
As a 37 year old woman I’m learning there is a price you pay for love.
I went to do the maths in fact and found myself dropping cartons at Coles with every zero that racked up on my phone.
The store cleaner looked at all the shells, yolk and white around me.
‘You’ll have to pay for those’ they said.
‘I already have’ I replied.
‘I started with a cool 2 billion’.
My lips have been pinched by crisp New Zealand mists
And I long to be a seal bathing in voluminous vats of leathery seaweed
In an ocean that matches my heart in bitterness and storm.
The eagle whose eye is on me as I wind along the coast line
drifts with the same wind that curls my hair.
‘I’ve gone wild’ I say.
‘My travelling woman…’ he says.
‘Yes you have.
Yes you can’.
My Army of Me.
Calling gargantua boulder.
Calling brittle pine
smooth pebble and feather find.
Calling padded barefoot wildling
Calling winter and spring
Calling surface of the sea from the abyss
mountain crevices and caves
sticky stamen and hungry bee.
Calling earths name- Mother, Sister –
Stand around me
Walk with me
Breathe with me
Dance with me.
(Army of me)
Unite with me.
I know no other that understands the sharpening of teeth and the flexing of claws
The whirling circular effervescence
The erratic yet.con.stant.beat.
The watershed, the eruption and the soft kneeling
And the hope for a better tomorrow.
I am sore and I am weary.
But I am also hungry
Feed me. My gut is desiring.