Al-Khemia Poetica: A Women's Arts and Writing Journal

  I didn’t like her when we first met. loud, sprawling, changeable, dry breath, wild hair, perfume sweet and acrid rags one day, dior the ne...

Night’s Thinking Moves Through Shadow anchoress sits darkly through night no help proffered nor sought    she wants  tranquility   clouds wa...

  Writing Poems While Asleep she dreams of fragrant sausage spitting in the frying pan broken-hearted because she cannot eat it another nigh...

  - dying ants a small cloud of cinders * flower moon darken me erase me                                                                    ...

Perhaps a bird ate the breadcrumbs laid by the side of the road  by the woodcutter’schildren. It isn’t bad, being lost in a forest where its...

  The Tears Run Together I am weary and cannot bear to stay awake But the Shekinah Pries my eyes open. She tells me to look And I see a woma...