Heal her by Melita White

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Hollow clavicle seared with hot poker
Let the sun shine and hear her sing
Pain that aches like an unmet heart
Part the clouds and paint her sky blue
Void like the arms of an empty hug
Fill them with flesh and please let it care
Hunger like the itch of an attention junkie
Feed her with love may it nourish anew
The sorrowful swoop of a downwards brushstroke
Turn it upside down and make her smile
A big fat blank where the future once was
Rewrite it loud in clean clear letters
The promise of a fuck refused yet wanted
Dance instead and hold her hands tight
Lust for the breast like a needy newborn
Whisper a lullaby to soothe her soft soul

Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things. https://feministconfessional.wordpress.com

The Haunted Saucepan – Georgiann Carlson

the sauce pan simply
refused to do it’s job
she bought it
because she liked
the color
but every time
she tried to use it
no matter what
ingredients
she put into it
she always got
the same results
she tried to make
a thick hearty
vegetarian stew
dicing vegetables
all morning long
but hours later
when she removed the lid
all she saw were
tiny
greedy
power hungry
sexist
little white guys
floating in blood
she told her friends
about her sauce pan
and the bloody
little white guys
and they all said
the very same thing

where can we get one?


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

Deconstructing “Romeo and Juliet” part 2 – Saarah Choudhury

“In the opening scene, Gregory and Sampson, from Juliet’s household, discuss their hatred of the Montegues (Romeo’s household).
Sampson declares he will rape all the virgin girls of the “enemy camp” because they are so weak.
This is all talk, but as we see throughout the play, most characters (other than Romeo, Juliet and their supporters) proudly perform acts of violence.
If you’re defined by gratuitous violence in public, then you don’t suddenly stop being violent behind closed doors.
Yet, as ever, we just want to watch the play and simultaneously victimise, and blame, Romeo and Juliet, as though they were responsible for the chaos, instead of being by-products of it. . .”


Poet. World traveller. Moved from England to Cambodia. Might stay there. Not sure.

You can read more of Saarah’s writing at eastwest_nomad 

The Woman in Black – Georgiann Carlson

she always wore black
always
she said she did it
to mourn for all the
pain and suffering
women were forced
to face in their lives
all the torture and misery
caused by men
and patriarchal society
she kept her eyes closed
for long periods of time
she said she couldn’t look
not any more
broken bodies
broken hearts
broken children
when the solution
was so simple
all men had to do
was stop being violent
she said that
she had been gone
for many years
killed by a man’s fists
but as she was dying
she vowed
to roam the earth
for as long as the violence
continued
on Halloween
she became real
and let her vengeance
run free
she said that on that day
her eyes
were wide open
and she was very
very hungry


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

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.

Sharp Objects – Georgiann Carlson

because she had power
men saw her as a threat
they said she was dangerous
so she ran
never staying in one place
for any length of time
she tried to be invisible
to make herself small
so she wouldn’t be noticed
so she wouldn’t have to speak
but she was quite for so long
that words started sticking
in her throat
and when she finally
coughed them up
they were
sharp objects
that pierced
the hearts of men
and forced them see
the damage they had done


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

Bewitched – Robert G. Wertzler

I did not meet the witches
On the road from a battle
But in a different world
A world between the wires
They had no eyes of newts
Or toes of frogs and such
They had words burning
On pages, and with poems
They cast their spells
Spells of truth and life
Of pain and love
Of survival against the odds
Such spells they cast
That I fell under
I am thoroughly bewitched
Hoping never to be freed


Bob Wertzler is retired from almost twenty years in the mental health field in California and Arizona. There are times the title, “Recovering Therapist”, seems to fit. In 2006 he retired to move to Western North Carolina to help and become primary care giver for his father who had developed Dementia. Before all that, there was work at various times as a soldier (US Army 1967-70), community organizer, cab driver, welfare case worker, wooden toy maker, carpenter, warehouse worker, and other things. He relates to a line in a Grateful Dead song, “What a long, strange trip its been.”