All posts filed under: A Saturday Woman Poet

|The Girl in The Photograph| and other poems by Shreya Barua

|The Girl in The Photograph|   I’ll take you by the hand and show you what it’s like to sit under neon signs when the city goes to sleep and you’ll have known a little bit more about what magic looks like I’ll take you by the lips and show you what it’s like to taste the snowflakes I caught on my tongue and you might get to know a lot bit more about what dreams feel like I’ll take you to places you’ll forget to remember I’ll show you things your eyes won’t believe until you start to wonder if I am real; if any of it is So, I’ll let go of your hand one final time break away from your lips one last time wrap all the magic and dreams around your little finger and go back to being the girl in the photograph |Syria’s Daughter|   I am Syria’s daughter. I will soon be just as forgotten as my name is. And when they come for me rummaging through heaps of …

“Vase Painters” and other poems by Magdalene Fry-Bigby

Fractyl Poem — Seeming, Appearance and Being How the true was with world Is sometimes bricked Out with bangles, Sound and sight both alike. Put your paint this Side, put it that Side, we talk a lot, like Talkers. And face This way, blink, brush Through lashes, powder on Powders, a look For, or about, Female, they say, so too, Some male, they say, So too this or Sewn to that. Or, some say Wine is crossed best In a vat, brains, Birds, nests like glowed on Dendrytic leaves, A state, or a Syntax, both one And the same. Say Most who say on What is seen and what is Thought, and what it Is that being Is, and yet can sometimes Be not, and then Become again.   Fractyl Poem: Be Nothing That Is, Not Hello is good, morning, Evening, night, We say Good to. How are you is peaceful It brings glad and Not angry thoughts. We listen, we hear things The conversing Has its ears told. Which is how televised Religious yes …

“Thrushes In The Rowan Tree” and other poems by Maureen Boyle

Christmas Box   There is honey and chocolate on our doorstep since Christmas—sweet box and coral flower— one on either side. The heuchera with ruffled cocoa-coloured leaves hunkers in the corner but the sarcococca or sweet box is where we step inside by design so that on nights as dark as winter and full of storm we brush the bluff, squat, shrub and boots and coat trail the scent of summer into the hall. Its flowers are what are left of flowers, petals blown away—spindly threads ghostly in the leaves, the odd early blood-berry that follows. Its genus confusa is right—from so frail a bloom a scent so big, as if the bees have nested in it and are eager for their flight.  Thrushes In The Rowan Tree   The very day the rowanberries ripen, thrushes fly in, stately and speckled, as if summoned there. They turn the tree to illustration, an autumn square in an illuminated script, or a sultan’s tree of singing birds. Acrobats in motley, they swing, making lithe lines of branches, stretching—somersaulting …

‘sunday DARTS and my phone’s dead’ and other poems by Alicia Byrne Keane

sassy ghost sometimes I’m startled by how perfectly my boots land when I take them off in poses too outrageous to plan like a dandy has strode into the room and is posturing, invisible, in my boots i can’t draw shoes it makes me restless (the art room of my school with its swelling cabin roof like an overturned ship, the teacher played the bon iver album with skinny love on it on repeat all the time the song makes me sleepy and cold)   i can’t draw shoes, when i try they look like puddles or ghosts everything about them less certain on inspection the soles worn in places so the line will look uneven on the page (the fear that no-one would know you were accurately capturing the wobbly bits)   When we came out that morning everything was covered in ice We talked about so much stuff that I can’t remember Any of it really, just that I was nervous in a good way And that we slept surrounded by paintings You’d …

“Hair” and other poems by Kasey Shelley

My Name Is 1 Kasey 2 Bailer Kascerd Kasmeister Macy Bae 3 Casey Katie Tracey Lisa Chelsea Shelley 4 Bitch Slut Cunt Whore Prick tease Damp yoke 5 Kasim Kas Princess Hon Love Hard Work When the boy texts you to cancel your date, saying you’re hard work, say “OK”. Say “Thank you”. This will confuse him, obviously. He will be expected to respond with “How?!” “Why?!”, starting an argument, thus proving, you are hard work. When he writes back “what for?” you do not respond. When he texts you the next day saying “ah hun, babe” you still do not respond. He has already given up on something that did not have the chance to begin. Besides, you like men. Men who know what they want and go for it. Men who do not masquerade their own insecurities in yours. So you’re hard work because your walls are higher now than they were at what, sixteen? Well, he should now be taller than he was at sixteen. When you threw over a rope and …