Saturday, March 6, 2021

Women's History Month: Saturday, March 6, 2021: Three poems by Heather Schubert


The sea is where I belong.

Where the rocks melt with the sand.

The majestic,

California coastline.


Poppy sprinkled cliffs give way to the foam below.

Towering trees border spiraling dirt highways.

Mustards and dandelion greens sprout from under their shade.

Dainty periwinkle wishes whispering on warm breezes.


There is a solitude of soul,

Amongst the ragweed and frothy salt slime.

Out here; on the divine,

California coastline.

 © 2021 Heather Schubert






Personality is a complex conglomeration of various tendencies,

Dichotomies in each individual.

Temperamental Gods rage through my veins!

Goddesses ride the mood swings of the artificial hormones this fucked up society has caused my body to crave.

Initiation excites your chakras,

Energies, or some weird fringe of your twisted up subconscious mind.

Causing material chain reactions within you.


I will not emulate your deities any longer.

For I am secure in my own right.

This is the fury and wrath of God!

This is the pissed off voice of reason.


I have swallowed your pills of religion willingly 

And now I shove my fingers down my own throat.

And force the regurgitation of this myriad of promises

all recurring and changeable


Puking up these oaths

along with the bread and salt of your cynical phallocentric secret societies.

Freedom and enlightenment fall on my head

Like a brick -

Of reality.


Every symbol contains its opposite

And we are the serpent swallowing his tail

Sucking in his own feces and sustaining his own existence.

Cannibalism tinges the metaphysics of my being

As I lash out at this gaping hole within your systems,

I will not fill it with my soul.


This degradation into a dogmatic society

Does not deserve my devotion.

My heart and my sex are sacred.

I will not slash my skin and scream with you.


Inspiration is sweeter than the pain of devotion.

I am my own Angel.

My own God.

And my own,


 © 2021 Heather Schubert






Stacked on top of me

I don't have time to breathe,

Chasing friends and losing sleep.

Too much drama,

And second-hand stress.

The wheels of emotion keep turning

On this carousel of crazy.

A maelstrom of nuts and flakes.

Surfing in the eye of a hurricane every day,

I dance naked in the storm.

Chaos is my music;

Disaster, the air in my lungs.

A bloody-jawed eater of civilization,

Goddesses of destruction

Possess me.

Pulled up from the depths,

A survivor.

No one needs to know the rest.

© 2021 Heather Schubert






Heather G. Schubert is a writer, visual artist, ceremonial magician, teacher and mother of many. Her written work and art have been published both online and in print. She is the editor of The Daughters of Babalon Anthology Series, she writes for, and does book reviews for Spiral Nature Magazine. Heather studied classic literature, philosophy, psychology, religion, anthropology and early childhood education. Her interests lie specifically in applying the Waldorf and Montessori teachings of the therapeutic aspects of creative play across many scientific disciplines and philosophies as they relate to what cultivates thriving childhood experiences.