So many uncomfortable feelings — Melita White

So many uncomfortable feelings, and my thoughts on how to deal with them, published just now at Whisper and the Roar.

Whisper and the Roar

So many uncomfortable feelings
What shall I do with them?
This one I’ll avoid, catch a bullet train away from
This one I’ll shove in a drawer, tightly, amongst my worn-out knickers
This one I’ll stuff down my throat, with a cinnamon bun to chase it
This one I’ll hide up a tree for later, amongst the ripening fruit
This one curls me up, like a newborn babe in terror
This one I’ll push high inside, right up near my cervix
This one I’ll pass on to you, contagious miasma of melancholy
This one I’ll let ignite me, set my jaw on fire
This one makes me buy things:
This thing makes me feel worthy, and that thing makes me feel loved, and this thing makes me look thin, and that thing makes me feel rich, and this one means I belong, and that one brings me peace, and this…

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New Anthology: As the World Burns

It has been an absolutely chaotic and challenging year, from the bushfires in Australia through to a terrifying and deadly global pandemic and ongoing political unrest and upheaval in the United States. Indie Blu(e) Publishing has produced an amazing anthology for these times. As the World Burns: Writers and Artists Reflect on a World Gone Mad brings together the work of 114 writers and artists reflecting on these intensely chaotic times.

It is both a story of survival and an act of resistance. “We speak with many voices, to the damage wrought in these violent, fevered months. Let us never forget or turn away, from what is just, what is necessary, to keep light alive in this world.”

(As the World Burns amazon.com product description)

Three of my poems have been published in this anthology. To read them, alongside the work of 113 other gifted writers and artists, please purchase a copy at Book Depository, or at Amazon.

iamb wave four

Photos of twenty poets featured in iamb wave four

iamb is the brainchild of poet Mark Antony Owen and is, in his own words, “part library of poets, part quarterly journal[…] ‘iamb’ is where established and emerging talents are showcased side by side. Not just their words, but their readings of them.”

November 1 saw the launch of iamb wave four, a collection of 60 poems by 20 living poets. The poems appear in both written form and as audio recordings, alongside profiles of each poet.

I was lucky enough to be included in iamb’s fourth wave, along with some very qualified, published and awarded poets. As a fledgling, self-taught poet, I feel particularly honoured to be part of wave four of iamb.

To read and listen to the recordings of my three poems and view my iamb profile, click here. You can check out the rest of wave four here, and while you’re at iamb, please do explore the previous waves of poets featured there. Mark also has a dedicated section on his SoundCloud channel of all the iamb audio recordings, if you prefer to listen to your poetry.

iamb is a wonderful poetry project and repository, and has been beautifully curated, styled and presented by Mark Antony Owen. Please do take the time to visit it.
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(iamb image courtesy of Mark Antony Owen – used with permission)

enemy debts

circled by bracken
beyond the clamour
is a sunny, bright green clearing

the doe is there
she eats sweet grass
she is working hard in her office

the hunter spots the lively doe
reaps bounty for her killing
to settle his enemy debts

his urge to slay
sweet living things
endears him to his public

his lust for blood
earns pots of gold
he doles out as their trustee

never trust a trustee
don’t turn your back on a hunter
they’d rather kill than relate
and dominate than equate

never trust a sinner
they will not care for you
don’t make them a custodian
of things important to you

your soul might be expropriated
as you become their property

Negative spaces

Why was I built so large? I feel like a monolith on the bed, my fatigue measurable in tons, my height in storeys. My flesh feels made of stone, and not the porous kind. I am immense when I’d rather float and pirouette and flitter up into the ozone like a butterfly.

I want to be the perfect woman, and only then might you love me. Unseen, unheard, unformed, uninformed. Not of the senses even, except in those moments you wish to stroke me, to extract pleasure from my negative spaces. I wear the uniform of woman.

I will do this for you because I can: make myself hollow, a vessel. Create a vacuum for you, extract your innards with my stillness, with my absence, with a winsome smile on the veneer of my mannequin face. I am your doll.