Revolution-Introducing Kristen Wood


[Poem and picture by Kristen Wood]

You say you want a revolution.
Resolution.
Change the world,
but look good doing it.
Nobody likes an ugly rebel.
Protest, but peacefully.
Provoke, but prettily.
Warring with the world
and that last ten pounds.
Troublemaking radicals,
extreme in their tactics,
but not in their lipstick shades.
That would be too unconventional.
Liberals must look conservative
to be subversive.
Resolving to riot and reform,
but reasonably and respectfully.
Repentant revolutionaries.

[Kristen Wood is a mother of five, a writer, a reader, a student, and an aspiring librarian. She has had her work published on Mothers Always Write, and is an ongoing contributor to the online magazine, Still Standing. She is also a proud pop culture geek and a champion napper. She loves to make people laugh and make people think, and if she can do both at the same time, even better.]

Still Life in the Oral Surgeon’s Chair -Introducing Robin Wright

Still Life in the Oral Surgeon's Chair
[Poem by Robin Wright]

After my fear of teeth being twisted,
cut, pulled like plugs for barbaric
bloodletting, after the mask covers
my nose and the nitrous has reduced
my hands and feet to far-off
sensations, thoughts fly from my body
and laugh from above.

But I endure, rise, retreat
from the chair, no longer still,
no longer the surgeon’s
mouthy masterpiece.

Robin Wright’s work has appeared in or is forthcoming in Indiana Voice Journal, Eunoia Review, Peacock Journal, Unbroken Journal, (b)OINK zine, Lost River Literary Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, and others. Two of her poems were published in the University of Southern Indiana’s 50th anniversary anthology, Time Present, Time Past. She has also co-written two novels with Maryanne Burkhard under the name B. W. Wrighthard, Ghost Orchid and A Needle and a Haystack.

Attractive Miles by Nadia Garofalo

Landslide
[Poem by Nadia Garofalo Photo by Women Beyond Boundaries]
I remember
when the desert called me
oasis of lost boys and love hotels
sometimes still
dry heat
warms cold blood
tempts me
can it quell uncertainty
with its attractive miles
heavy silence
lets let it go
we’ll soon see
if she calls now to you
or still, sings for me.

Bruised Knees-Introducing Rachel Finch

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[Poem by Rachel Finch]
My knees have known Bruises.
A spectrum of colour staining my skin as a reminder.
Pigments of who I am, altered at their hands.
Fists clenched to strike, clench, imprint.
Each stain a bolt, a language seeping into my essence; teaching.
My ribs have known bruises.
Painted, I am every female ancestor face first in the dirt.
My throat has known bruises.
I never felt so transparent as I did wearing lesions beneath a high collar.
Fading, my shell returns, burying the real wounds beneath it.
But I am wiser.
Healed I am every female ancestor face towards the Sun.

Rachel is a writer that speaks from her soul, expressing her trauma and strength through her work. She lives with Mental Illness, refusing to let it define her and is mother to four courageous children. In her free time she volunteers to support people through their own experiences of abuse, mental illness and recovery at Bruised But Not Broken.

The Good Wife-Introducing dmo Nietzsche

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In the game of love
She was the queen
Not a Pawn to the king
Her thoughts were supreme
But once caught by the ring
She was stuck in her dream
But it’s not what it seems
2 sides aren’t symmetrical
If they’re not identical
When you watch the second go
They FEEL so forgettable
Emotions are reactions
Their not all chemical
Unless it’s medical
Confined by her fear of change
The walls they speak and call her name
Tell her that it’s all okay
Hold it in don’t complain

The good wife knew when to cry
When to shade her shiny eyes
The spark been fade
but the times not right
Even if it’s all a lie
You told her that it’s all alright
she believed you
Believed it Like it was the truth
Before the “death could Do us part ”
You took the fire in her souls
Made a liar of her heart
Fire turned to embers
Now your sitting in the dark
But tears turned to rain
As they evaporate
You couldn’t ascertain
Why they disappear
Just to come back again
She comes back repeatedly
So fiendishly she’s bowing to her deity
Strategically she needs it to end peacefully
But all the time together couldn’t
separate them evenly
sincerity slowly turns to hostility
Instantly her palace an instrument in her captivity
Now under siege his words artillery
Her cries and pleads of stop your killing me
Now just please god finish me
Shed rather die than live submissively
If she dies she still submits you see

[I write words,sometimes they rhyme. Lynn, Ma. poet in search of peace of mind. -dmo]

Now at Liberty-A humorous break-up poem by Dorothy Parker

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Little white love, your way you’ve taken;
Now I am left alone, alone.
Little white love, my heart’s forsaken.
(Whom shall I get by telephone?)
Well do I know there’s no returning;
Once you go out, it’s done, it’s done.
All of my days are gray with yearning.
(Nevertheless, a girl needs fun.)

Little white love, perplexed and weary,
Sadly your banner fluttered down.
Sullen the days, and dreary, dreary.
(Which of the boys is still in town?)
Radiant and sure, you came a-flying;
Puzzled, you left on lagging feet.
Slow in my breast, my heart is dying.
(Nevertheless, a girl must eat.)

Little white love, I hailed you gladly;
Now I must wave you out of sight.
Ah, but you used me badly, badly.
(Who’d like to take me out tonight?)
All of the blundering words I’ve spoken,
Little white love, forgive, forgive.
Once you went out, my heart fell, broken.
(Nevertheless, a girl must live.)

DON’T BLAME ME, I VOTED FOR VERMIN SUPREME

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[Poem and photo by Leah Mueller]

[ Contact Leah Here]

I voted for a pint of my poems

on my door slightly before dusk,

and found them to be

extra kind to each other today.

I voted for a huge wave

of your profile picture,

with whom I was excited to

see my awkward pre-teen, years later.

I voted for $1,000 per month

helping me in an interesting niche market.

I voted for me with an hour.

This made me be exact.

I voted for a protest vote.

In fact, the skull looks nice.

I voted for a lot of lunacy.

I voted for Mother’s Day.

I voted for Hillary Clinton

in a cool video and wild music.

I voted for a product that my sister

built of automatic weapons,

on top of everything else.

I voted for a fine-toothed comb.

I voted for a hard rain.

I voted for legal marijuana, though.

I voted for me, but less bad,

for someone that

blatantly broke the law.

I voted for a couple more than an hour

layover/plane change in Salt Lake City.

I voted for her mouth,

and literally committed Treason

by students in such situations.

I voted for a sign

telling people not to say anything.

There is already chosen.

America is not quite normal.

And if you’re a Mean One,

in battle with firecrackers

until dawn.