All posts filed under: 25 Pins in a packet women creators

The Penelopiad

“Love: After Neruda’s Sonnet XXXIII” by Ingrid Casey

Love: After Neruda’s Sonnet XXXIII   Florica walks behind Inspector, to home where she’s not at-home. Children’s eyes and begonias meet her here, on this threshold, waiting for her to give them chocolate, water.   Her crushed velvet skirts have followed his silver through tracts, across karst; Carpathia, Kiev, Berlin. Now here, to eternal damp and clouded summers and loved masonry.   He sees the amber of the sun in her kitchen eyes at day’s end; she’s a building that flies without buttress.   He lets her make coffee and listens to her laugh peal in time to the boiling water, bells in unison.   Erasmus   Anwar and Pierre flew to the university town on this damp island at the edge of Europe two months ago. Zarabe and gros blanc, they are a marbled unit, lines blurred. She is too cold, he rubs life back into her but she’s not singing any more Creole love songs because the fruit here is so shit, she says. She watches droplets of condensation on the window with …

“Disarticulation” and other poems by Clare McCotter

Selfie With Thelma after Thelma and Louise   In the Southwest desert shedding turquoise on an old man’s palm she trades time for a beat up Stetson hat. Only a day or two since she posed with rose red lips black sun glasses and Audrey Hepburn headscarf marking the start of their journey with the big Polaroid held at arm’s length.   A snapshot of two smiling faces left lying on the backseat of a convertible loaded down with all the stuff they thought they needed pencilling in borders shoring up boundaries soon smudged with ochre earth lost in the dust from a stampede of stars.   Everything looks different now doused with dirt they are part of place gunning the engine before flooring it for the canyon cliff. Out here at Dead Horse Point there are no shallow graves wooden markers or name plates only a thunderbird still whipping up storms suspended in a high solitary leap of faith.   Disarticulation in memory of E M   For them the grave gave no rest. …

The Light Dancing” and “Lizzie” by Catherine Conlon

The Light Dancing When I close the door my father’s coat slow-dances against the dark wood. It is old, this coat, marked by many winters, labours of a lifetime done. I imagine him in the front yard screening sand for the new extension, coat collar upturned against the breeze, a cigarette ashing towards his lip. There’s a light in his eyes when I stop during play to prattle and hear him say “you’re the best woman in the house” Now coming from the Big Field, the day’s farming done, his great hands in deep pockets. Dark shoulders that bear a darkness coming, the last of the light dancing on his wet boots. (first published in Ropes 2015. Issue 23) Lizzie I had a child’s view of her, black stockinged legs without shape of calf or ankle at my grandmother’s hearth, the fire shining in her laced-up shoes. Balls of wool from an old shopping bag, and her tongue like the clappers as she looped and purled. Her needles took up the light, flew like red …

“Love & its Edges” and other poems by Anna Walsh

is it is it ok that i am lying on my bed not having any useful or funny thoughts is it ok that i do this is it ok that i am lying on my bed unshowered and not replying to anyone is it ok that i do this for no grand gesture but just because i can be lazy sometimes is it ok that when i don’t have to work or go, or eat i like that i don’t have to is that ok to just waste some time blinking   in times of overwhelming panic   it’s sometimes too overwhelming and sad to be alive in the world and to know that being alive is overwhelming and sad either way you have to sit down and be quiet and think, fuck, i’m so lucky i love the people that i love i’m not a total prick and i can sleep when i need to   love & its edges   i have decided to start practising assertiveness, and telling people how frustrated it …

“Bookmarking The Oasis” and other poems by K. Srilata

Things I didn’t know I loved (after Nazim Hikmet) I didn’t know I loved windows so much but I do – enough to wrestle someone to the ground over them, so light can, once again, flood my eyes. I didn’t know I loved bare feet so much, or walking away on them to wherever point, my heart slung over my shoulder like a sheep-skin bag. I didn’t know I loved small islands of quiet in the middle of the day, but I do – they feel like old friends. I didn’t know I loved the idea of night descending like a tired bird or birds flying in and out of rooms and poems but I do. I didn’t know I loved so many things. Only now that I have read Hikmet, am I setting them free, one by one. from Bookmarking the Oasis(Poetrywala, 2015) Looking for Light, Sunbirds I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being. (Hafiz of Shiraz) Looking for light, sunbirds …