Not Tarzan’s Missus

Lilith Rocha from All Her Glorious Forms

In olden days when I was a little girl
superheros lived in paper comix, men
in unlikely tights and dubious powers.
Where were the wonderful women
and what did Tarzan’s wife do
– dust the jungle?

Then along came…

Ah aint no missus T
Dont confuse me
with Jane whatsername
stuck inna grass hut
pickin nits offa Boy while T-man
wrestles pythons for the cameras
in his big ol’ leather laplap.

Talk to the animals?  Sheesh!
Ah slide right insidem,
thunder-dusting the savannah
slashing deadly mamba venom
flashing flamingo pink against heaven
grieving great baby greys
screeching hyena hysterics
skittering many-legged along a leaf.

Kinga the apes?
Big chief orangutan-man
bossin rounda buncha monkeys…
Ah rather lie with my fang family inna
cheetah bikini chewin’ springbok thigh.
Hell, I’m Sheena
Queena the whole goddam jungle.
Aint that the truth.

Janice Bostok

still morning

the click of a dragonfly

turning in flight.


From Furiously Knocking

Kathryn Boorman
1973, London.

Velvet was the thing.
Open marriage was the thing.
Jamaican men,
dark velvet skin,
I had to find out what that was like.
Dalton lived above Portobello market—
again and again I climbed those stairs.
Saturday Reggae night,
toddlers asleep at home with my husband,
it’s my turn to go out.
My body aches to dance with Dalton.
Eyes lined with kohl,
I pull on my mini dress,
thigh high pink suede boots.
He’s dancing with a plump woman—
stringy hair, faded purple maxi.
Is this love, is this love, is this love,
is this love that I’m feeling?
I shimmy over to Dalton.
He pulls me in
to dance with him and the woman
his hips putty loose, he swings
an arm around each of us.
On her left hand, a wedding ring,
she leans into my ear,
‘Oh, are you his lover, too?’

Nathalie Buckland

empty dam

the farmer casts

a long shadow.

Wedding Dress

From Always the River

Trish Reynolds

I consider the vacated space
I don’t know
how my wedding
dress made it down
the aisle.

Becoming She

Sand Between the Toes- Haiku
Kerry Petherbridge

I am travelling
fast moving fast
my eyes closed
against wave-form velocity
of water and wind
twinned in this instant
as gale force and tsunami
they roar through me
(as I through them)
a virulent turbulent mass
and I surrender
flattened, on the sand
(breathing only breathing)
as those waves
of water and wind
wash over
my sandblasted face
they sculpt a perseverance
my very own
watch me and know
I am She
oceanic and astonishing.