Amen.

Our bodies a tangle of
snakes and ladders
strewn on the floor-
pages from the good,
ggod book, sacrifices
made from lace and polyester.

In the morning we yawn
holy, wholly, together
in an immaculately made bed
stretched over each other
like cobwebs. We remember what
was said in vain

The Lord's name
left my lips
last night
after you kissed me
I wished for Heaven
even though I've never been.

The Lord's name echoing out from the rafters
from here on after, it shall not be said again.

Adidas 5k Women's Challenge

Hallo all!

Slightly off poetry topic but in keeping with the feminist theme, I just wanted to let everyone know that I shall be doing the Adidas 5k Women's Challenge in september this year :) Sponserships would be fantastic, it's all for a very good cause: www.refuge.org.uk More information is available on my just giving page:

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Thank you! Hope yr still enjoying the blog :)

Yaz xxx

Simian

I hate your
patriarchy;
your insistence on
Chekhov and bitter,
you made me
drink bourbon;
the male amber
swilling around
the tumbler
the pages
of the good book
ripped out without
any regard for
the words within
them on a whim
you destroyed
my literature.

Without the females
cries for help it
seems indeed that
she deserved it
and brought it on
herself, by laughing
Oh Shakespeare

you were very wrong
to suggest a death by asp.

Ties.

Underneath the rope the wrists
twisted, pale white off set by
purple gouges; hold on tight.

She was up against a metal
beam when she died. She
was riding a white horse
with her hair flowing
across her body when she went.

*

Her last words were of water;
of flooding, of the turning of
the tides. In her last words she
spoke of a mermaid; a girl
from long ago, a mother,
a ghost in the bedroom
waits. I know what
heaven's name is.
I know that it is male.

Victor.

He placed an apple on my head
then interlaced the fingers of my
right hand with that of his left
and caressed my digits, just
before he shot me, we were holding
hands, and there was still glory
in love, still blood that I could
spill, in wars, for him, oh love! I will!
I'll go to the hill with the jacket and the
gun and fight for you, our country and son
if nothing ever works out from now on
remember I loved you and more importantly
that you won.

Ask for it.

Creeping in, that same
familiar bruised feeling
spreads across my hips
as I eye up the ceiling
and look for a cloud
and hear a noise and
come back down and
you're still inside me
but you don't make
a sound and the pillows
drown out all you need
to know- the hope that I had
when I met you in the bar
isn't the same hope that I felt
driving back in someone elses
car and dreaming about
driving it into a wall when after
I fall I come back up to the ceiling
and see, you are still, you are still inside me
waiting for the moment to make me
prey, pray, pray, love, sleep, it all
ceases when that feeling seeps
back in to the skin of my hips;
the bruise that you gave me,
the love that we made in a bed
that's not mine is just another
way of passing the time
fruitlessly; give me the works of
Keats and I'll give you the Odyssey
when I'm on my back and I can't
feel my legs, oh what will you do
when I leave this bed? What will
you say to the other girls
the skinny, the singer, the one
with the pearls and the big, big
heart- I am
bruised;
don't ever
ever
do that
to me
again.

Thursday.

I drank with my hands cupped
around the wine- white, it swilled
around, whistling the air out,
spilling on me, clean and toxic,
it went down a treat,
neat and dry, it made
me cry, two bottles in
I had to sit down,
I was thinking of you
I had to call you,
I really had to.