By Tina
Unseen
Yet unforgotten
A tale of two sisters
Unified in many dimensions
A trail,
a webbed
disentanglement
Portrayed and Relayed
Suffice endearment
sacrificial growth
multiplied and earthed
Shed tears of blood
healed strength
Shimmering rays
basking our souls
Follow that glow
To the abundance of light
Love is the light
The Way
Tina is a new writer. This is her first appearance in Sisters Of The Page. Please give her a warm welcome. She can be found at http://www.myspace.com/tinakatt
Sisters of the Page is now accepting submissions by women for women. Hit the contact box for more info!
Pages
Welcome
Sisters of the Page has been on the web since 2007. We have featured the works of Misti Rainwater-Lites, MK Chavez, Judy Brekke and Craig Sernotti.
SOTP is a place where we promote female writers, artists, and photographers. This is our goal and our emphasis however, from time to time, we will open the page to everyone in order to showcase some of their works.
Please feel free to click on our archive for past works. It is located at the bottom of each page. If you have comments, please post them under the artist's work, General comments may be directed to the editor at midulcevida66@gmail.com.
Abusive and deragatory comments will not be tolerated and will be immediately removed.
We hope you enjoy your visit. Thanks for stopping by.
Juliana Vargas
Editor-Sisters of the Page
SOTP is a place where we promote female writers, artists, and photographers. This is our goal and our emphasis however, from time to time, we will open the page to everyone in order to showcase some of their works.
Please feel free to click on our archive for past works. It is located at the bottom of each page. If you have comments, please post them under the artist's work, General comments may be directed to the editor at midulcevida66@gmail.com.
Abusive and deragatory comments will not be tolerated and will be immediately removed.
We hope you enjoy your visit. Thanks for stopping by.
Juliana Vargas
Editor-Sisters of the Page
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Covetous November
By Misti Rainwater-Lites
Covetous November
I want the moon’s blank immunity
the night’s crisp immensity
the easiness of the shadows
how they fall and splay
without a thought.
I desire the deep sleep of the dead
a slumber without itchy dreams
no lotion can soothe.
I am a witch
endlessly burning.
Every day is at stake.
Every second a stake
in my raw hamburger heart.
I bleat for blessings,
beseech the God of the Howling Wind
for some solid
to stand on.
The candy skulls on the altar
mock me in their sugar and sequins
as the crimson candles glow.
No one is eating
my offerings.
Covetous November
I want the moon’s blank immunity
the night’s crisp immensity
the easiness of the shadows
how they fall and splay
without a thought.
I desire the deep sleep of the dead
a slumber without itchy dreams
no lotion can soothe.
I am a witch
endlessly burning.
Every day is at stake.
Every second a stake
in my raw hamburger heart.
I bleat for blessings,
beseech the God of the Howling Wind
for some solid
to stand on.
The candy skulls on the altar
mock me in their sugar and sequins
as the crimson candles glow.
No one is eating
my offerings.
Untitled
By Gloriane Conover
Dented heartsick hurting heart bursts
Causing
Woebegone water to gush out of eye's aqueduct
Saturating
Full frazzled face
Severe multiple chest spasms stab
All 32 partial-white whites vibrating
While
Limp arms fumble through kitchen cabinet toward
The non-doctor recommended necessary remedy
I gulp Pro-meth-a-zine-MD
To immerse this fickle downtrodden mind
Firmly packed with regrets
A bulky anchor of regrets
Weighing my neck down
Assisting the Cervical Vertebrae
In forming a permanent bow
Toward the spiritless soil
Toward your new home
The home that causes
Weeping words to become wordless
Because vocal cords are laminated in lament
Unrestrained yelps are all I can offer
Plunging to my knees
Pounding on the carpet
Surrounded in a plethora of photos
A measly mosaic of memories
Coming to really realize that there is
No actual skin to grip
No hair to pin back
No oxygen left
And you are not coming back
You can tell Gloriane how much you love her work by visiting her on Myspace at http://www.myspace.com/88917299
Dented heartsick hurting heart bursts
Causing
Woebegone water to gush out of eye's aqueduct
Saturating
Full frazzled face
Severe multiple chest spasms stab
All 32 partial-white whites vibrating
While
Limp arms fumble through kitchen cabinet toward
The non-doctor recommended necessary remedy
I gulp Pro-meth-a-zine-MD
To immerse this fickle downtrodden mind
Firmly packed with regrets
A bulky anchor of regrets
Weighing my neck down
Assisting the Cervical Vertebrae
In forming a permanent bow
Toward the spiritless soil
Toward your new home
The home that causes
Weeping words to become wordless
Because vocal cords are laminated in lament
Unrestrained yelps are all I can offer
Plunging to my knees
Pounding on the carpet
Surrounded in a plethora of photos
A measly mosaic of memories
Coming to really realize that there is
No actual skin to grip
No hair to pin back
No oxygen left
And you are not coming back
You can tell Gloriane how much you love her work by visiting her on Myspace at http://www.myspace.com/88917299
Father Of Mine
By Nicole Z Lilly
He sat there, bottle in hand
salivating for relief
selfishly escaping
the worlds crumbling crutches.
I blew out my sixteen candles
wishing I could step into
Cinderella chariot
with him by my side.
Guilt clutched his heart
attacking his mentality.
I was an anchor to
his last breath of life.
See Daddy was never there,
never real, not part
of the birthday scene.
It weighed on him like
a lead suit to the soul,
More like a straight jacket
keeping himself safe from himself.
As I turned sixteen,
he turned his back on life.
Bottle of Jack,
his gunshot goodbye.
Robbing me of a chance to
tell him that I love him
inspite of the abandonment
more importantly that
I forgive him.
He sat there, bottle in hand
salivating for relief
selfishly escaping
the worlds crumbling crutches.
I blew out my sixteen candles
wishing I could step into
Cinderella chariot
with him by my side.
Guilt clutched his heart
attacking his mentality.
I was an anchor to
his last breath of life.
See Daddy was never there,
never real, not part
of the birthday scene.
It weighed on him like
a lead suit to the soul,
More like a straight jacket
keeping himself safe from himself.
As I turned sixteen,
he turned his back on life.
Bottle of Jack,
his gunshot goodbye.
Robbing me of a chance to
tell him that I love him
inspite of the abandonment
more importantly that
I forgive him.
Decomposition
By KM Sutton
Decomposition is nothing more
Then the dissolution of a complex being
To its most simplistic essence
The rotting decay is a buffet for
Parasites and insects
Devoured by bacteria living off the death
Festering above or below ground
Does it really matter?
Nothing is more
Disgusting or incomprehensible
As the vile odor
Of the putrefaction
Of my soul
The de-evolution of a relationship
Is always
Nothing less
Than a very personal
Death
Decomposition is nothing more
Then the dissolution of a complex being
To its most simplistic essence
The rotting decay is a buffet for
Parasites and insects
Devoured by bacteria living off the death
Festering above or below ground
Does it really matter?
Nothing is more
Disgusting or incomprehensible
As the vile odor
Of the putrefaction
Of my soul
The de-evolution of a relationship
Is always
Nothing less
Than a very personal
Death
Ryden's Girl
By M.K. Chavez
I will bleed during commute hours,
on the buses, on the trains,
while watching movies,
over buttered popcorn
and bon bons, everything melting
together, all leaking
slowly onto the floor. The soles
of my shoes will make sticky noise
when I leave and walk down the street,
picking up good men
for money, bleeding on paper
and white linen.
I'll bleed spirals
when we make love, I'll decorate
strangers.
I'll sit next to you.
Next to you.
Next to you.
And next to you
I'll bleed.
I'll cook dinner, fold laundry
blood flowing and bubbling,
bleed blossoms for fancier functions.
Arrange all of my flowers
for you.
Previously Published in Word Riot
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Poet MK Chavez writes about strippers, the beauty that can be found in ugliness, the mystery of feeling bad about feeling good, little birds, big consequences. Her work has been anthologized and is published online and in print. Virgin Eyes, a chapbook of poetry is being published by Zeitgeist Press, fall 2007. Most recent and upcoming publications include Poesy, Poems-for-All, Snow Monkey, Instant Pussy, and Underground Writers. You can find out more about her poetry at www.littlebrownsparrow.com
I will bleed during commute hours,
on the buses, on the trains,
while watching movies,
over buttered popcorn
and bon bons, everything melting
together, all leaking
slowly onto the floor. The soles
of my shoes will make sticky noise
when I leave and walk down the street,
picking up good men
for money, bleeding on paper
and white linen.
I'll bleed spirals
when we make love, I'll decorate
strangers.
I'll sit next to you.
Next to you.
Next to you.
And next to you
I'll bleed.
I'll cook dinner, fold laundry
blood flowing and bubbling,
bleed blossoms for fancier functions.
Arrange all of my flowers
for you.
Previously Published in Word Riot
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Poet MK Chavez writes about strippers, the beauty that can be found in ugliness, the mystery of feeling bad about feeling good, little birds, big consequences. Her work has been anthologized and is published online and in print. Virgin Eyes, a chapbook of poetry is being published by Zeitgeist Press, fall 2007. Most recent and upcoming publications include Poesy, Poems-for-All, Snow Monkey, Instant Pussy, and Underground Writers. You can find out more about her poetry at www.littlebrownsparrow.com
in memory
by judy l. brekke
she walks down the aisle
immaculate coifed hair
china doll face
lips smile curtly
she walks down the aisle
head held high
no tears
no sorrow
she walks down the aisle
behind the casket
of the husband
she left a year ago
she walks down the aisle
no pain or agony
for the loss
of the man who forgave her
she walks down the aisle
children shuffling behind
whose are they
now that dad is gone
she walks down the aisle
loving wife
cheating wife
neglectful mother
she walks down the aisle
he forgave her
i cannot
today or tomorrow
she walks down the aisle
immaculate coifed hair
china doll face
lips smile curtly
she walks down the aisle
head held high
no tears
no sorrow
she walks down the aisle
behind the casket
of the husband
she left a year ago
she walks down the aisle
no pain or agony
for the loss
of the man who forgave her
she walks down the aisle
children shuffling behind
whose are they
now that dad is gone
she walks down the aisle
loving wife
cheating wife
neglectful mother
she walks down the aisle
he forgave her
i cannot
today or tomorrow
Mormon Girl
By Melissa Hansen
Pioneer woman
across the plains
polygamy blood
burstin’ veins
grandma baby
soakin’ grains
plain flour
biscuits
bacon fat
rain
singin’ songs
across the plains
pushcart shuffles
tired and maimed
pneumonia babies
hemorrhagin’ womb
pioneer woman
don’t fall too soon
follow a man
sky burnin’ bright
lost in the hills
rollin’ light
paraplegic
anemic
wagon rides
eyes behold
crimson tides
pioneer woman
tired and worn
you somehow
lived
and I am born
Bio:
Melissa Hansen is not a Mormon, but she was born one. As of now, she lives in San Francisco where she writes stories and poems and works at libraries. She has published and forthcoming work in various literary zines. Currently she is into her husband, her graphic novel, and dissecting her previously written poems, resulting in built poems and forced poems, as well as writing in her sleep poems. She also likes poems. You can visit her at www.myspace.com/quicksecret.
Pioneer woman
across the plains
polygamy blood
burstin’ veins
grandma baby
soakin’ grains
plain flour
biscuits
bacon fat
rain
singin’ songs
across the plains
pushcart shuffles
tired and maimed
pneumonia babies
hemorrhagin’ womb
pioneer woman
don’t fall too soon
follow a man
sky burnin’ bright
lost in the hills
rollin’ light
paraplegic
anemic
wagon rides
eyes behold
crimson tides
pioneer woman
tired and worn
you somehow
lived
and I am born
Bio:
Melissa Hansen is not a Mormon, but she was born one. As of now, she lives in San Francisco where she writes stories and poems and works at libraries. She has published and forthcoming work in various literary zines. Currently she is into her husband, her graphic novel, and dissecting her previously written poems, resulting in built poems and forced poems, as well as writing in her sleep poems. She also likes poems. You can visit her at www.myspace.com/quicksecret.
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