Divin

another publication for this poem x

Squared /  for Ellyott
Things have changed since
Van Limburgstirumplein last saw us 
cycling around her
I sit to sip overpriced coffee
hoping I can still see
your cheeks puff
up front on a giant homemade bike 
me with my
over stuffed rucksack
dangling from the back
two foreign girls
escaping our governments
looking for life lasting love
and finding it
in each other’s
secret world faces
Ellyott, my lover is
several inches shorter than even me 
but three times as strong
astute jockey always pushing through 
what else can a dyke woman do? 
over tram tracks
careful never to get stuck
the number ten
to Javaplein
which too has been
reclaimed from the squatters 
renovated and rebranded
reblended into Amsterdam green  
these days’ dykes are not so strange  
everybody is somewhere
on the queer spectrum range

integration is the new normal
as everyone assimilates our fists
and to be fair our old enemy capitalism
never needed homophobia as an excuse
to kick anyone where it hurts most
we, like the Moroccans have been priced out 
way beyond the railway tracks
unless we have money
when we are welcome
to spend in the sunset lit square
nice bikes sitting upright tidy in their racks 
adorn the advertising pumping station
as if it has always been
like this there
not filled with junkies their gums burned bare 
the Kemperstraat stands far too quiet 
without her graffiti minded sluts
near the Avondwinkel in
need of more than
a lick of paint
the number of bridges getting smaller
as the city council carts
all homeless looking damaged bikes away
the cries of freedom from restraint
have all grown faint
but the pigeons circle
the square indifferently
just the same.

We be Witch

We be Witch
We be old
We be strong, clever, hearty, lusty, bold
Rich and poor
We be many more than before
We be here
We be there now
We be risen from the flame
We be cunt punk
We be women
-witches

dyke shoes

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Adverse Childhood Experiences are called ACE's

YOU have the ability
to see and care fully about me
spend time to understand
this complex A.B.C
Adversity molding
Belief into Consequence
the build up to
an ace high hand.

It starts with crumbs
jumbled rushing nonsenses of
being unable to breathe
like bees stuck in a bottle
we can hurt anyone.

Some issues are obvious
no-food poverty
lack of personnel put into
the field of our mental healthiness but
others are sticky batons handed down
past pain emerging into view.

Red is our colour to warn you
aggressive people can seem handy
when horror has already hung out here
we know what we need but
your help could be easier to get
where is our transport or
people freed
to drive us to safety
I stay covered till I’m ready
hoods offer protection
keeping cwl.

Show us what good people do
when they uncover difficulty
form a circle smiling around me
listen as a super skill
ask our advice make us feel tall
If you care to proper help
until you understand
how I'm hungry and
whose job it is to feed me.

Wonder what stirs us up
take a breath from talking down
try trusting me to be responsible
ask 'whats wrong?"
if you open me up to see what’s inside
don’t then walk away
with your insight prize
to let me down again
or start some project kids actually like
then watch the funding leak away
because we can't mix with babies
we need decent mirrors to look in
we are elegant creatures
with a dark side
forget it at your perygl
we are you too.

You want me to socialise
but how can that go well
when I’m bullied and unsupported
lonely drinkin n smoking
sexing to get hugs
going down far too low
don’t you dare patronise me
I’ve been a carer since I was tiny
speak a real language
or listen harder if you want
to hear how to be worthy.

Resilience is
being able to bounce up
from the basement floor
means enough people
around the trampoline
a catch me community
who don’t let me fall
those I can depend on
show up when I call
cheer when I score
my overarching goal.

I need enough of you to
see down the barrel of my gun
and still call me son
care about the real me socially
when I tell you that I hate widely
all authority and bloody revision
but what I really mean is
I need to see my dad when he's away
because of me in prison
can you honestly listen
really hear
I’m silent retreating
not even sure
whose feeding hand I've bitten.

No body left behind
Our kids, our future, every, One.

Roots

Do we belong to our birthdays / planets grooving to choreograph fate

To the women who baked us / diligently discriminating between amino codes

Were we born in a big bang accident / free to jostle and yearn towards superhuman form

Or did we just land lucky/ first on a spot to draw swords to defend our home?

You Can't Kill The Spirit. by Majikle

From under muddy plastic sheeting

tenting over a sapling tree

Jo Freemantle can see

anxious bailiffs and

their nuclear stiff ballistics’

cynical stare

Like a mountain

she will lay limp to stop them

still they will drag her bodily

shred the women’s peace camp

every single rain or shine day

for the twelve years she is there

‘Greenham common women’ cursed on telly

for leaving their babies at home

disgracing themselves tied to fences

fingers entwined being crazy

choiring antidotes to war

like vital thrushes

With silty firepit sisterkin

even now at 73

Jo changes everything

Indigo-Line Mudgoddess

a rainbow name to refuse

to be her father’s daughter

She says that houses don’t need wives

but the world needs women

to reveal Emperor nudity

old and strong like a mountain

she goes on and on

and on