All posts tagged: LGBTQIA

“Tracing Rivers” and other poems by Leo Kuhling

Ambiguous Loss She is a mortician. You see she doesn’t move. No eyes open, only ragged breath. Flushed cheeks. Silence. She has prepared the body nearly a century. Not yet embalmed but ready. The lipstick is a light rose, it makes white face seem ghostly And glasses perch on a nose like mine if lids were to open they still wouldn’t see She is her own mortician. I have come to the funeral every saturday I have said goodbye and kissed her lightly I have watched the process of becoming a corpse almost   Fixed Vortex Feeble fingers have collapsed into themselves her fist, like an infant’s lies limp in her lap As if made of marble the grip won’t relax unyielding “What is it that you are holding on to?” I take her thumb try to unfurl the claw, the nails digging into her palm Stigmata she must be searching for some sensation some sting of pain something “Hello” I am watching two blue planets to see if they notice the sound if gravity …

“Eat Up” and other poems by Fiadha McLysaght

Eat Up At home I bury my face in the crease of your elbow You cover my mouth as though quenching a flame In return, my fingernails incise the back of your hand as a gift to you coupled with a promise: I would never do that on purpose I cannot understand why you are not thankful I would be so grateful for that promise, so grateful someone had etched themselves into me   In the morning we sever ourselves on the rim of the tin can that encloses our breakfast haphazardly pried open to devour its kernel I blot my bleeding lip against my shoulder and leave a trail of watercolor stains moving down to the crease of my elbow I reach the back of my hand and realise that should you walk in it might appear as though I am purposefully applying hickeys to my body like a curious teenager   You beckon me into the kitchen once more Having forced open the can and fished out the discernible scraps of tin from …

“affairs of the unsettled” and other poems by Olly Lenihan

The Robin   You show me your robin bright little bird you are gentle with him   He trusts you, dear, eats from your hand not scared in the slightest   Not as he should be not as I was you were not gentle with me   G.R.C.C. (Galway Rape Crisis Centre)   Through winding streets, I’d never seen before it didn’t feel like Galway at all more like a cardboard cut-out town   When I arrived it was silent, empty a maze of corridors identical flowery waiting rooms   A calm space, dangerous nonetheless I felt like if I fell asleep in one of those rooms they’d never find me again   I believe now that ghosts roamed those halls shells of those they’ve hurt white with nausea, I was one of them   Coming home, I caught snowflakes on my tongue pulled my stolen coat tight against the wind I felt so far from home. Still do–   I can’t tell what I am today whether I’m closer to me than I’ve ever …

“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 …

“English Breakfast Love Song” and other poems by Rhiannon Grant

English Breakfast Love Song   I am longing to pour out my soul to you in words which show my creativity and let off my head of steam but my soul is not so liquid it comes out in funny lumps uneven like old-fashioned sugar ready to make sure your tea is always too sweet and never sweet enough. Unengaged Concepts   Your thin God – onmithis, omnithat— is nothing beside the wildness of Goddess.   Love and suffering may have reasons but are not rational.   You say we can know about ‘chastity’ without living it.   Really?   Outside a seminar in a thick press of people could you look the right way maintain your dress just so be chaste in soul in ways you cannot describe?   You can use the word ‘God’ in a sentence.   So far, so good.   Do not presume to know what my God is like: how flowers dance for Her how Thou is there in silence how His sentences would make no sense to you. …