April 30, 2016


I was a tree
Bending, twisting
Around each part of you
So much more
Than you would do
For me
I was a stone
Solid and unyielding
To your touch
Never moving
Never giving
Anything was too much
It was just
Too much
I was an ocean
Salty and wet
Swelling with pride
And indifference
Flowing around you
Through you
Drowning you
In my tide
I was a star
Burning high and bright
Outshining all the rest
I would light up the night
And wish upon myself
I always know what is best
I was a moment
Passing like a kiss
Brushed across your cheek
And unremarkable
The piece of time that is most weak
I was a poem of rhyming verse
But always free
And I worked my way down the thoughts
And tripped off of the pen
Of some poet
Just like me

Lucinda L Flanary

The Queen’s Library

April 30, 2016

Books on stairs

if it hadn’t been for the books
thrown about by the stairs
I wouldn’t have noticed
how with each purchase
she revealed herself
one on top of the other
covers pressed upon covers
titles lost upon genres
“The Colour Purple”
casting shades of “Black and Blue”
on some oriental “La Bete Humaine”
as “Madame Bovary” vanishes to “Sleep”
with Murakami’s elephants
her majesty has yet again
leafed through the truths
of her characters
flung about in the pages
one would dare ask how the King
gets by with such a collection
but would not dare question why
her bookshelves haven’t been built

Margaux Denice Garcia


April 30, 2016


Fairies don’t care about earth friendly shampoos. They’ll literally blight your fucking land & crops if you so much as look at them funny!

Fairies don’t care if you’re vegan, if you vote for the Green party or if you spread “light and love” all around you, either.

Be warned.

They’ll happily mess with your life, steal one of your kids leaving a Halfling as replacement, and kill of all your livestock (especially cows) if you piss them off.

Don’t PISS OFF the fairies!


Good read…

April 30, 2016

good read

god in your life


Diary 30th April

Fetishistic women in tightly laced corsets, stockings and spiky high-heels, congregating on a raised platform with their naked victim – he’s rolled in a ball at their feet having receiving a vicious blow to his intimate parts.

Ten or twelve people in the audience show their appreciation by clapping. When one of the women – the tallest, most powerfully built one – reaches down and grips her victim’s genitals, the audience applauds even more loudly…She lifts the squealing man half-off the floor by his privates, smiling all the while at her companions.

‘See how it stretches,’ she calls, and the audience cheers enthusiastically. ‘Rip it off,’ cries one rosy faced woman. She is obviously very excited by the spectacle. ‘D’you want to come up here?’ the dominatrix asks her. ‘Punish his balls for us?’

There is a momentary hesitation and then the woman moves forward and scrambles up on the platform. The audience goes wild when the woman crushes her victims testicles in her fist…

Outside the small community hall it is sleeting, but almost at once the sleet turns to a miserable soaking drizzle. Spilling out of the hall everyone says their goodnights. Umbrellas open despite the strong wind. The evening’s victim with his tall wife is smiling and waving as he climbs into their car…

‘Goodnight guys, see you next month…’


Today is a day for housework. We have visitors coming tomorrow for an afternoon of carefree imbibing. So I will spring clean both lounge and kitchen…


And in the news Red Ken’s done it again. Yes, that rave from the grave, Ken Livingstone has opened his mouth and managed to cram both feet in it. Nothing new in that, I guess. But Ken is now suspended from the Labour party…


When taken by the throat
I know how to say thank you.
How to be cut down mid sentence

how to shut my empty mouth
up and out without a ride I know
how to carry my panties home

in my purse. I know how to rise
the skeleton from my nothing body
starving up the currency of me.

I know how to be held
against a wall, when I am called
a bitch I know how to say yes.

Three times a day, I know how
to apologize on my stomach,
to feel grateful that I am

the only woman. I know
how to good girl a Sunday
into submission. When asked

to open my mouth I am already
kneeling. When asked if I want it
I know how to say please.

Meghann Plunkett

(Meghann Plunkett is a poet, performer, and feminist.)

The First Day

April 29, 2016


At first, there is only the rolling of
heaviness across his heart, a

wheeled medicine cart in an loony bin
He jumps towards the wire,

feels the cold scratch of the dive,
she waits with the saints

under an endless January moon,
and falls backwards into

the snow, like a cross
newly burned into white

Melanie Browne


And pleasant is the fairy land,
But, an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tiend to hell,
I am sae fair and fu o flesh,
I’m feard it be mysel.

The Ballad of Tam Lin

(Ah, one can only feel the deepest sympathy for poor Tam, haunting those wild places where he must wait for a fair maiden, all unsuspecting, to pass by. The maiden must give him a gift, of course, usually her virginity!)