All posts filed under: Alpha sites for women poets

Poems from “Barefoot Souls” by Maram al-Masri

Sara Daughter of Sana Age 9   Why does my father beat my mother ?   She does not know how to iron his shirts properly.   Me, when I am grown up I will iron the shirts very well.   FAÂdi Son of Sonia Age: 7   You know, Mother if the giant comes during the night to beat you, You can come sleep in my bed.   I ate up all my soup and all my spinach so that I can grow up quickly and protect you.   Salma Son of Leila Age: 12   Why don’t you go to the doctor and have him give back your smile, Mother, your lovely smile?   Samir Son of Magda Age: 13   I do not remember her face, I was very small when my father carried me off to my grandmother’s house far, far away.   My grandmother did not like the one who had brought me into the world, with every prayer she would demand that God would punish her.   She would …

‘I wanted to tell you, but there was no time’ and other poems by Csilla Toldy

Kitchen   With hot chilli in my eyes I read between the lines, a coded message of noises: A child’s scream sheathed in wind blasts,   gashes through the cracks. The mandalay porcelain clock, riveting, ticks between my shoulder blades. I carry my life like a snail.   The fridge sighs, a boiler roars into motion, it broils the oil of the seas and heats – my place, the kitchen at dawn.   Clouds scrub the stratosphere with desert sand; a mad dog, stuck in fear, just shrills. The river at the bottom of our glen, shushing its song, cushions our senses.   In my body’s kitchen the heart spins unrelenting. Organs send impulses talking to each other. “Thanks for the parcel, we enjoyed the food.”   The universe of enzymes awakens, matter is transformed, vibrations vocalise. My body is gauze, from Gaza, letting through the particles of light – staunch at covering the wounds, so absorbent.   Beyond its wonders I remember last night’s cosmic dance at this table, our conversation about intelligence and …

“Fintona” and other poems by Aine MacAodha

Windowless church   My church has no windows in fact it has no doors either and to be fair no altar it has no ordained minister or priest or gospels. Its in my heart, in the starry sky the moon shining over the land its the planets in our solar system the sun when it shines or not its the foods god/creator left us, berries, leaves, nuts my church has winter winds that cut to the bone and to enlighten I have the sweet smell of roses as I follow the seasons. It is bog cotton waving on an early Autumn evening as the sun bids farewell. On nights like these dark and Irish wintery the familiar trees and hills become ancient septs ready for battle with the ether. Fields caped in winter fog appear as crafted cities of the dead souls roam among the rushes in search of utopia or a home. Trees scan the darkened horizon the wind calls out names too and winter hangs around like a threat. This is my church. …

“Satellite” and other poems by Roisin Kelly

To a Writer   You write of raspberries and snow of the mimosa flower’s scent of how it makes you feel to put on lipstick and heels. Of how it feels to wander home   below the stars, drunk but not too drunk how you always like to show a little cleavage though you never undo more than the top two buttons of your shirt.   But there’s so much else I’d give to you like the full pale weight of your breasts bared to the world and wild. During menstruation, don’t stay in   breaking chocolate before a laptop screen: dip your fingers between your legs and stain your face with red. Write down all of last night’s dream   not just the parts with crystal seas but the parts you’d rather not think about. Drink whiskey until you vomit. Stand on a beach in your bare feet   and cry about the guy who betrayed you but comfort yourself also with thoughts of his drowned body his groin now a home for nibbling …

Poems from “Strange Country” by Kimberly Campanello

These poems were first published by Tears in The Fence and are © Kimberly Campanello Kimberly Campanello was born in Elkhart, Indiana. She now lives in Dublin and London. She was the featured poet in the Summer 2010 issue of The Stinging Fly, and her pamphlet Spinning Cities was published by Wurm Press in 2011 . Her poems have appeared in magazines in the US, UK, and Ireland, including  nthposition , Burning Bush II, Abridged , and The Irish Left Review . Her books are Consent published by Doire Press, and Strange Country Published by Penny Dreadful (2015) ZimZalla will publish MOTHERBABYHOME, a book of conceptual poetry in 2016.   Strange Country can be bought from Penny Dreadful Publications Sanctus by Kimberly Campanello We Protect The Weak by Kimberly Campanello