Friday, October 10, 2025: Terry Wolverton's " The moon showed up at my house this afternoon"

 The moon showed up at my house this afternoon

Isn’t it a little early, I asked when

I answered her knock. I didn’t want to wait,

she shrugged. She was so beautiful standing

there on the porch I could only invite her

in. I knew the neighbors would gossip, the news

would get back to my spouse, but she also loves

the moon and her main upset would be that she

wasn’t home to greet her too. My spouse works hard,

but devotedly follows the moon at night.

The moon squeezed her orb into my living room—

she’s bigger than she looks from far away—sat

next to a window so the afternoon light

could filter over her. She glowed. She faced half-

way away, so she appeared as a waxing

crescent. I offered her a cup of oolong

tea. She returned a musical laugh as if

my suggestion was charming but absurd:

After all, what do I have to offer the moon?

I longed to unburden my predicaments.

It felt like we were old friends, just catching up,

but of course, I’d never been this close to her,

inhaling the scent of night sky. And what could

my disconsolations mean to her, whose view

is so vast? Shy then, I stayed quiet, chiding

How stupid! The moon is sitting right beside

you, and your tongue is mush? As if she heard me,

she offered a kind wink, then began to hum.

© Terry Wolverton

Terry Wolverton is author of thirteen books of poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction,

including Embers, a novel in poems, and Insurgent Muse: art and life at the Woman’s

Building, a memoir. She has also edited sixteen literary compilations. Terry has received

a COLA Fellowship from the City of Los Angeles, a Publishing Triangle award for

nonfiction, and a Fellowship in Poetry from the California Arts Council, among other

honors. She is the founder of Writers At Work, a creative writing studio in Los Angeles,

and Affiliate Faculty in the MFA Writing Program at Antioch University Los Angeles.

http://terrywolverton.net

Sunday, March 22, 2020: National Women's Month: Heather Schubert's poems "Wound Tight", "Woman", and "Insomnia"

Wound Tight

All tied up in knots

A yarn ball of raw emotions

Wound tight

Spun strong

Cork stopped

Waiting to burst

Erupt in a single fashion

Of colors and dye lots

Shades of blues and greens

Spilling emotions

Onto the blank pages of my mind

I dip my brush into those watery hues

And glide free.

© 2020 Heather Schubert

(Previously published in the anthology called Little Letters on the Skin, published as a partnership between the Cleave: Bay Area Women Writers Reading Series and The Liminal Writing Center.)

Woman

Red paint drips

From stained glass lips.

Cracked, broken and shattered

Sapphire eyes like

Swallowed jewels

We cry,

Into the deep well

Of a bottomless soul.

Gouged out through cages made of ribs.

Hanging on by the skin of reality’s teeth.

One breath left,

To tip,

Woman over the edge.

Divinity beyond design.

Then, in the end,

Her heart stops her dead.

© 2020 Heather Schubert

                                                    Pinky on Detroit Ave by Marie C Lecrivain

                                                         

Insomnia

It’s 3 am in my ancient digital land.

How can I lose myself,

When GPS won’t let me?

Social medial festers.

Yet I’m alone,

Though everyone knows my name,

Tweets my pics and likes my page.

I want to understand

What glues me together

And what sets me apart.

Demons swell in my throat.

As words shoot straight from my soul

Things you won’t find on Google, MSN or Bing.

But the internet won’t let me forget,

No matter how hard I try.

That I’m just a carbon copy,

No better than a lie.

© 2020 Heather Schubert

Bio: Heather Schubert was a writer in residence at the Liminal Writing Center. Her poems, articles and other writing have been published in a variety of books, newsletters and magazines for the past 25 years as well as online as part of an anthology series. She has an essay and poems in the anthology Little Letters on the Skin, which is a collaboration between the Bay Area Women’s Cleave and The Liminal Writing Center, and can be found on Amazon.com. She is currently working on volume two of the Daughter’s of Babalon Anthology series, a collaboration of collected poems by Aleister Crowley and a book that delves into the spiritual aspects of orgasmic birth. Daughters of Babalon Volume One can be found online at Lulu.com. She is also a visual artist who works in various mediums and has an online store, LittleBeastlings.com

Tuesday, March 17, 2020: National Women's Month: Diana Rosen's poem "Spider Woman"

Spider Woman

She tats filaments for her web, delicate

beaded threads, attached to a prized corner

until a mosquito hovers too close. LUNCH!

Her spinnerets exude just enough liquid to spin

her geometric magic to stretch a new web

from the wall to the back of the sofa. WHAM!

Her new web collapses under the indifferent mop

of the cleaning lady attacking dust balls, dirt,

the detritus of life behind the couch. TRAPPED!

She struggles within the confines of the ropey mop

now shaken onto the porch where our heroine hits

the silk to safety, spies her next snack magnet:

a ceiling lamp she camouflages with filigreed radial

lines, graceful orbs, urgent gossamer touches like a

painter hurrying to finish before the oncoming rain.

© 2020 Diana Rosen

"night spinner" by marie c lecrivain

Bio: DIANA ROSEN’s forthcoming publications include an essay in the anthology, “Far Villages,” and poems in The Reform Jewish Quarterly, Existere Journal of Art & Literature, Words for the Wild (UK), the art and poetry anthology, “Book of Sighs,” and her hybrid of prose and poetry will be published by Redbird Chapbooks as "Love & Irony". Recent publications include a flash fiction in The Jewish Literary Journal and poems in Poesis Journal and As It Ought To Be Magazine. You can view both her fiction and nonfiction work on www.authorty.com/dianarosen

Wednesday, March 11, 2020: National Women's Month: Annette Marie Smith's poem "Of Course They Got The Story Wrong"

Of Course They Got The Story Wrong

Of course they got the story wrong

painted me as tempted by an outside force

when every woman knows

that all temptation

comes from within

and is usually prompted

by curiosity and whim.

Where and when does a piece of fruit become

a metaphor

for everything that has ever been desired

and denied? And who am I to know?

At the beginning, some call it Eden, the place AND the time

and some call me Eve.

Here is the real story

or as close an approximation as you'll get

peering through the mists of myth and time.

I am a shapeshifter

and carry coils in me

of snakes to charm

as well as harm.

Sometimes I wear my snakes as long locks

and then I am called Medusa, among other things.

I am more than one woman

I am all women and I was never taken from rib or side or hide

I was already threading my way through antediluvian trees

before the man came to be.

I am snake and woman both

and am remembered so in humanity's

racial memory as Cihuacōātl, Angitia, and more.

I have worn bell skirts and bare breasts,

gleaming scales and undress

always I am the seductress

with persimmons, blood oranges, and nectar heavy peaches

up my sleeves (when I wear them).

So, about Adam. I met him first when I was going by Lilith

at which time his naivety offended me.

Later I took pity (and take note that pity can be a most

motivating factor) on him and used what simple signs

and means that he would understand to strike out on his own

and not be rooted by intimidation of knowing

the obtaining of which most often results in growing

and swayed him to be ready for such

for there was a spoken agreement (an unwritten law)

that he should remain infantalized

I merely exercised

my nurturing nature in helping him mature.

Some see disobedience in what we did

but I say it was the first real act of bravery

long before the king of Tyre led his rebellion

against the very root of authoritarian tyranny.

I am Eve, mother of all rebellion and keeper of the seeds.

© 2020 Annette Marie Smith

Bio: Annette Marie Smith is a freelance journalist, an author, artist, and poet. She is

the founder and curator of the international feminist project, Facing Feminism. Her

articles have appeared in print throughout the United States and internationally and

her poetry has been translated into German, French, and Italian. Her poetry has

been nominated for a Pushcart prize and has been featured on the trains and buses

of Minnesota's Metro Transit. She's performed as Featured Poet at the famed

Spoken Word Paris, in Paris, France (and longs to do so again!). She is currently

happily at work on a novel of magical realism.