She. Or a Brief Critique of Modern Feminism

In the shelling of equality perhaps she should take shelter under the umbrella of humanism. Except no, that will not do. She is not a religious zealot. Narcissistic, she knelt before the camera. Her resume pointed to her eagerness for such a position of authority. But her responsibility to her brother, how she dismissed him! Cast aside his burdens to garner sympathy for her own! In her hubris she banished her sister to a deep grave. For the eroding breath of the golden sphinx shows a lack of kinship. Nevertheless she pleaded with her father to grant her parity by force. She ne’er laid a finger on the architecture of her present. Forgotten was respect of the self in favour of the love of her father. Ignored was her cousin sneaking through the legs of the sphinx and the father and weaving golden threads.

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The modern adage is that poverty is violence, and I agree. Though not ‘in poverty’, I myself belong to the lower tiers of Australian society, fortunate enough to have family to borrow (read receive) money off to pay the electricity bill. Still my family has no financial freedom, no security, my husband is a wage slave and every day is a stressful and depressing nightmare. I worry for my son’s future. Should a scenario such as this play out in a workplace the affected individual would leave or sue. Actually, that is not true. Said individual would most likely remain and suffer in order to support themselves and their family. But we must have the ideal option (not necessarily litigious as that is an issue in itself), to leave and devolve. To move freely through society on a path of contented progress.

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a sea with no beginning

grey days

a bored world

scratches on the vinyl

fingers laced

if I could…

as though in love

(the only thing I liked

was the music)

a naked wind

the Sun dawns spectacular

with the subjugation of the day

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Two Thousand and Seventeen


 Starving street rats bicker o’er crumbs of bread,
In gutters flooded with a pestilence,
The promise of the morrow in the wind fled.

Listen as men of no consequence said,
As golden tongues lick in malevolence,
Starving street rats bicker o’er crumbs of bread.

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City of Trees


And if nimble fingers could penetrate the dappled canopy

I could touch light itself.

Or to even brush the fingers of giants,

tracing their palms with my fingers.

I feel an understanding, a knowing.

I too sway;

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The First Encounter


Oblivious to the ochre sky-
Ensnared in dreams,
As a darker red stains the lips
with sips of yen,
The restrained sentiments,
So agonized in the percolation
of wavering eyes,
The heat of the setting sun
throbbing as the heart,
In time with the other;
At our first encounter.

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To A Miss

I, dancing in my own bitter disgrace,
Washed and hung out and my mind unaligned,
And with my memory I did erase.

Unable to maintain a fitful pace,
Body and soul so utterly resigned,
I, dancing in my own disgrace.

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Ten Pills


One pill;
For my merciless and raging tempest.

Two pills;
For the voices acknowledged as my own.

Three pills;
For howling dogs stalking my promenade.

Four pills;
For forgetting what was to become of me.

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