Category Archives: Poetry



You don’t have the same body.

It’s changed.

Ten years ago your jeans were smaller, your breasts firmer, your tummy flatter—void of your mothers’ watermarks.

I know this weighs on you.

Undesirable. Tired. Old.

You hold that you are those things.

And I look at other women, their bodies young, and they attract me. I want to lie with them.

You’d like to look like that again, don’t you?

I do not wish for it.

Your health is my concern.

That you feel sexy and comfortable in your skin is my hope.

I want you to know that you still have that power over men, that you still command my devotion.

I see your imperfections not as imperfect but rather as a testament to a life lived.

You are a fucking lioness. A ferocious matriarchal beast. The giver of everything with worth in my life.

I desire you.

Fuck me, I want you now more than when your jeans were smaller.


How To Cure A Feminist: Spoken Word by Kait Rokowski

How To Cure A Feminist: Spoken Word by Kait Rokowski

I am a feminist because feminism is simply the belief that women should be treated as fairly as men, and there is no factual or rational reason to want the world to work any other way. I would be a feminist even if women all the world over were treated as fairly as men and there was nothing more to be done. Because feminism is the view that that is the way things should be, and thus the way we should endeavor to keep things going—Richard Carrier

And now, for some kick-ass poetry…

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A supernova synapse fires

for an instant God remembers.

Elements explode into the void

hot, but cooling.

I’m dying.

No, not dying.

Never that.

I’m losing my mind.

Ought I do something?


What then? What!

I must wait.


I will never cease, but

I will forget.

When each and every galaxy expands beyond the shift

I will think no more.

I killed a Singularity for the rousing bang.

If only I had known:

perception is not worth the pain of loss

The Curse Of An Addict

The Curse Of An Addict

Indulge me in a reprieve from disbelieving thoughts, if you would be so kind, so that I may share one of my favourite things: a slam poem, excellently spoken by its author—the charismatic and intense Shane Hawley.

I admit to being disappointed in the unenthusiastic response to my previous efforts at highlighting its existence; tweets remain un-retweeted, emails remain un-replied. And for the life of me I don’t understand why, because I think it’s brilliant. Despite the subject’s animated nature, it’s profound; because of it, it’s clever and funny. What’s not to like?

Like an addict, I will persist and pursue, in the hope that this time a blog will succeed where social media has failed. But like a joke explained, I fear that I’ve sucked out all the magic, and foiled myself. I’m comforted, at least, by the knowledge that Shane is a National Poetry Slam champion. My appreciation can’t be that misguided. So please, watch, and enjoy. I include a transcript below, because I think it’s a beautiful thing.

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