Empire

Empire
by Anonymous

You’re made of stone
But stone can crumble
Under the pressure of a cold embrace

 And on your own
You thrive on struggle
But under the real lights you hide your face

 

So before you drift
Away from earth again
Savour a glance of your empire
And if it’s your last, dear
Oh please act surprised
And this time I’ll promise to avert my eyes

Like infamous sketches
You’re out on display
But canvas is breakable and lines can be erased

 

While they applaud your pose
As the Martyr princess
You fear becoming
Just another case

 So before you drift
Away from earth again
Savour a glance of your empire
And if it’s your last, dear
Oh please act surprised
And this time I’ll promise to avert my eyes

So before you drift
Away from earth again
Savour a glance of your empire
And if it’s your last, dear
I won’t be surprised
But if you ask nicely, I’ll avert my eyes

~ Anonymous

She Was Born

by Sarah Davis
You can find this poem in the current herstory issue of wom*news!

She was born from earth,
amongst the reeds and rushes.
The stifled cries of her beginning
and the perplexity of her worth.
She is made from mud and sticks,
and leaves, and the wind that pushes
its way around the being’s new birth
and sighs and speaks of what is to come.

She was born from fire,
the deep essence of her soul.
The painfulness of her identity burns
in the discovery of an unknown desire.
Yet the wind stirs up the flames,
and throws embers into the night,
and reignites all that will transpire,
for the tears she sheds are her undoing.

She was born from stone,
as the same wind that carries on,
and shares tales of what she is
and isn’t, and how little she has grown
in the eyes of the mighty,
in the eyes of the weak,
and in the eyes of her own,
as even stone can break to the ground.

She was born from air,
for a moment she is one with the wind,
flying blindly amongst sky,
a stormy cloud, a sheet of rain, swept elsewhere.
For a time she exists, anywhere.
For a time there is silence,
in that moment she is bare,
and there is completeness after all.

She returns to earth, she is dust,
all that she is, all that she was, she is no longer.
But she is more than mud and sticks and leaves,
She is less than wind, her being is the purest
She grows into the ground as resonant as stone,
Burning as hot as fire, as light as the air
She is the mother, her daughter, your child who is solaced
She is the creator, a creation, a flower – a woman.

~ Sarah Davis

Candle Girl + Mannequins [Poetry]

Candle Girl and Mannequins
Two poems by Charlie Lockhart

Candle Girl.

 Like melted wax,
sanity flows down
her ashen face.

In little time,
the flame has whittled
her features away.

She’s always crying,
and the wax that drips
distorts her once lovely figure.

The wick shortens
till nothing’s left; but
a mound of misshapen memories.

~

Mannequins.

Mannequins line the hall,
still and silent and pretty.
We are the same
We look the same
We do as we are told,

“Look ahead and keep in step,
stop and take a bow.”

A thousand single copies
are marching down the stairs.
Step by step
we carry on
in perfect unison,

“Look ahead and keep in step
stop and take a bow.”

We’re tiles that pave the future,
trampled and dirty and strong.
You told us ‘hush’
but soon we’re out
and then we’ll say to them,

“Look ahead and keep in step,
stop and take a bow.”

~ Charlie Lockhart

My Girl

 By Charlie Lockhart

This is a poem. A poem about
a girl and me. Me and my girl.
In a world where love
lasts and no one is left alone
at night. It isn’t about forgetting.

No. And it isn’t about heartbreak.
My heartbreak.

Once I was normal. Seems
like forever since. In the day
I learnt and went to school. At
night I worked with the other
bees. I was part of a hive. My life
meant nothing. But then I woke up.
Forever ago.

I don’t like crowds and I don’t like
people. But I especially don’t like
being alone at night.
Alone. I do like to be near
my girl. She looks like mine.
Even if her hair is darker and
her lips fuller and her hips wider.

 She is my girl.
Everyday I see her. I see her
everyday and she sees me. I
love it when she looks into my eyes.
I love it when she smiles.

I wonder what her name is. I wonder
if she loves me too. If she watches me
too. From afar, at the counter.
I wonder.

I’ve felt like this so many
times before. So many times.
I wonder what her
name is. I wonder
if she knows when she smiles
that it’s for me.

This poem is for
you. It’s a poem about us. In
a world of walls. A world of
Counters and shelves and
Heartbreak.

No.
This poem isn’t about all the times
I wasn’t seen.

~ Chelsea Lockhart