I Am More Than Breath and Bone: I Am More – M.A. Morris

I am more than breath or bones.
I am the Melungeon veins
of my many great-grandmothers
as they run through the coal mines
of West Virginia into Kentucky and Tennessee.

I am more than breath or bones.
I am my mother’s and grandmother’s blood
flooding the snow melt rivers
of Appalachia.

I am more than breath or bones.
I am my mother’s iron ore,
her steel torn from the hollows
among the mountains of West Virginia
in the time of the Great Depression.

I am more than breath and bone,
I am the centrifuge
of history and heritage
of spirits and earth
of women who held
up mountains
for their children.

I am more than breath and bone.
We, my foremothers and I,
mother the culmination
of the next generations
to hold up the sky,
the sun, the stars, the moon
for their children.


 

I am a retired teacher, enjoying everything that retirement means. In addition, I have been active in the LGBTQ community since I was four years old and marched my Ken doll with all his little Ken accouterments to the big metal trash can in the yard. Yes, I dumped Ken, along with said accouterments, into the can and slammed the lid on. My two Barbie dolls lived happily ever after.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

THE MEDUSA PROJECT – Call For Submissions For International Women’s Day 2020- Megha Sood

IWD-Votes

I’m so thrilled to share my first call out for submissions as an Assistant Poetry Editor of Mookychick, a UK based feminist literary journal. We are celebrating International Women’s Day with a themed call for submissions that resonate with freedom, choice, and equality. The submission for the IWD will be later considered for e-book anthology called “The Medusa Project”.I’m really thankful to the EIC Magda Knight, Poetry Editor Juliette Van der Molen and the entire team of warm and brilliant Mooky team for supporting me.

We want you to help us celebrate the 100th anniversary of this powerful day. Mookychick is calling all the writers of all genders to submit writing which resonates with the feeling of freedom, choice, and equality.

The details of the submission are here.

Happy International Women’s Day!!

Megha Sood

 

 

SMITTEN This Is What Love Looks Like – A Review by Nicole Lyons

I fucking love poetry. I love good poetry, exceptional poetry, poetry that sits heavy on my chest and reaches down my throat to pull my own words out of my belly, and thank the goddess, in the era of the Instapoet and art without soul, Indie Blu(e) publishing and Candice Daquin have given us all a reason to fall in love with poetry again.

To say that SMITTEN This Is What Love Looks Like; Poetry by Women for Women touched me on a level that very few books have been able to reach, would not only be an understatement, but a massive disservice to the writers, editors, and publishers of this book.

From the cover design and the foreword, and my god, the opening poem ‘Lesbian’ by Avital Abraham, I was enraptured. How could one not be with words penned as exquisitely as this:

Lesbian is a monster.
Am I the monster?
Because oh,
oh god,
do I want that word to feel delicious.

And delicious is exactly what this book is. It’s delicious in its pain, delicious in its suffering, delicious in its acceptance and unapologetic love. The writers in this book have no doubt all faced their share, and then some, of feeling less than, being told they are less than, living as less than, all because of who they love.

For far too long any expression of love by women for women has been chalked up to either lukewarm hypocritical acceptance (it’s okay to be gay, but I hope you aren’t) or nothing more than erotic urges to be played out in most men’s fantasies, but SMITTEN smashes the hell out of those twisted views, and it does so with absolute stunning precision.

Like that bell
That got Pavlov’s dog to salivate
I rise to an intensity of longing
in the presence of a tall, sexual
Butch pristinely starched
pledged to sisterly friendship
she says, not the sort of wild
sunrise I ardently desire, still.

Henri Bensussen – from This Splendid Sunrise

SMITTEN is the book I will give to my daughters, not only to appreciate and cultivate their ever-growing love of literature, but to take a walk inside the mind of many someones who loves just as fiercely as they do, even if on the outside, that love looks different, or remarkably the same, as theirs.

SMITTEN is something to behold. The lines, the breaks, the breaths a reader takes between are both sharp and soothing. This book is bursting with the kind of breathtaking poetry and prose that knows no gender, no sexual orientation, no colour or country, only the collective sighs of literature lovers from all walks of life.

Whether you identify as a proud member of the LGBTQ2 community, an ally within, or someone not entirely certain where you stand on love, SMITTEN is a book you simply must read. Whether you’re looking for acceptance, understanding, something to change your mind, SMITTEN is by far the book to do al of it.

But of course, if you’re just looking for good fucking poetry, well then I have high hopes for SMITTEN and every writer cradled within its pages.

SMITTEN This Is What Love Looks Like: Poetry by Women for Women an Anthology is now available on Amazon in both print and Kindle editions.


You can read more of Nicole’s writing at Nicole Lyons

The Haunting of Hill House – Marilyn Rea Beyer

Hello, Shirley.
We’ve been expecting you
to look inside and see how
long these thoughts have taken to brew.

Some thirty years,
isn’t that what you’d say?
That’s a long, long time for guilt
to grip you with its teeth of clay.

Enter the house,
Shirley. Look all around.
Dig with your hands in the dark
corners where old devils abound.

They will bite you.
They will pinch your fingers
if you try to jerk them out
and poison you with tail stingers.

Under the hill
that still houses your pain
lives the bleak notion that you
should feel shame and shoulder the blame

for all that you
did though under duress
when hard he grabbed at your breasts
then forced himself under your dress.

End it, Shirley.
Now re-button your blouse.
Switch on the light and say “No.
No. No more.” Get out of the house.


Marilyn Rea Beyer has read poetry in public since the 1960s and began writing poems in 2005. She holds a Master’s in Oral Interpretation of Literature from Northwestern University. Now retired, her varied career includes teaching, high tech, folk radio and working as PR Director for Perkins School for the Blind. A native Chicagoan she and her husband, author and filmmaker Rick Beyer, raised their two children in Lexington, Mass.