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Poems of Woman Scream 2013 New Zealand

Woman Scream 2013 at New Zealand, coordinated by Catalyst Road Show

Kimberley Holmes

Shoo Fly, Don't Bother Me

At three cat call requests endured already
The girl turns her body language away
She starts to pray into the holy water and gin in her glass
“Please dear God... Let him take the hint”
The eyes of the man land again on the girl
Like hungry, unwelcome flies
But if she has the nerve to say
“Shoo fly, don't bother me”
He'll most likely just call her a Bitch
For not appreciating the 'compliment'
So she says nothing and laughs sadly to herself
That the fly spray, bug zapper equivalent for men
Is pepper spray and a Taser
But while insects have no means to understand their trespass
Men do not possess that excuse


She wrote her maybes all over my bed and my body
and I still smack myself awake each time
I catch myself resting in them
I miss her like everyone's Gods miss the simplicity
That existed before we had the audacity
To cry ourselves Human
Evolution, is just millions of years of fucking
That birthed way too much feeling
The noise is worth it.
But sometimes, just barely
Neither of us meant for all this stardust to make something so complicated
I fell in love with her bravery,
The way she held up her heavy smile for all the world to see
I wish my poems were pretty enough for her to stay
I woke every hour for the first night
Convinced I could wake from it
Only to sleep again, convinced I could dream her back
I loved her name and how she didn't shorten it to make it easier for other people to say
Language always meant something new with her
I read novels from her hesitations
Tripped over her misleading eyelashes and fell for her again
So I am grateful,
She did me the courtesy of disappearing
She knows,
I'd hold onto hope
Like a flame ballerina clings to the candle wick stage
If the flame lets go, she will die
If I let go, what will I

Marisa Cappetta

The Water Gleaners

I am Titania.
Water filled me when I was young
and my husband loved me.
We have acres of rich aquifers,
skilled water carriers grow lilies
on our river bank estate
for the orange pollen I dust on my sex.
Because of his suspicion fresh water
has become the leachate of legal wrangling.
My husband hates children.
He cleanses them from in-stream islands
and measures their dry weight against alimony.
He split the basket carrying shingle
to the breeding ground, damming the flow.
Only driftwood remains for anglers to fillet.
He claims river, lake and sea,
sucks on water segments
and leaves me to dry birth.
I hide his child, my mustard seed.
She and I eke out a living gathering
the remains of rain.

Knitting Lessons

My mother’s left hand
is an anarchist.
My mother’s left hand
holds a cigarette
like a movie star.
My mother’s left hand
teaches a stroke patient
to button her shirt.
My mother’s left hand
peels an orange
for her daughter.
My left hand is a goat
useless except for
the subversive underground
knitting my mother’s
left hand taught me.
Rosa Hughes-Currie

I Am Trying My Best

I often think about how Emmy Noether
would not approve of me.
Her visions, Her wild hair,
she who was kept out of universities
for that terrible crime
of having a uterus and not using it.
What would she think of me
strolling into laboratory
at ten thirty leaving early
 for a community meeting?
No, no and my head
like a bowl of porridge that needs
to have her theorem
explained over and over.
When I am strong
I know it is good
that now a woman like me
 is allowed even paid!
To look hard at the universe
a woman like me
that is not so single-minded one that,
if expelled from a German university
for enjoying bagels,
would not shrug
and invite students to talk about maths
at her house even if they wore Nazi uniforms.
Emmy you are wonderful,
but you are not my hero.
You are just someone
I am very glad existed.

The Other Woman

I am scared of you
when you drink spirulina smoothies
and talk about yoga.
I am an ogre
eating grease single and hideous
do you think so?
Crying myself to sleep.
I am scared of you
when you tell me you have never gotten yourself off!
Jesus Christ
You say It means you can't be single
for more than 6 months
Jesus Christ
I feel like I am going to be alone forever
now not with dread just me
and my hand in my double bed.

Rebecca Nash
Calm Down
And you,
What I would like to say to you
Is try not to fret
And also,
I’d like to hold you while you are sleeping
But all you do is repeat like a barking dog
What are we to do?
What are we to do?
And I have to say
Hire a clown
Throw money and candy
And stamp our feet in the amoral rain
And open our mouths wide
And let it all in
The cocks of all the men
And the pain of all the world
And all the right wing news
Until we gag
And we can lie small and screaming
Like a clitoris
Ready for the asking.
But you brewed beer in the kitchen
And told me, husky and broken
God I love a fresh breeze breathing down my neck
It’s much better than you.
Sweating and panting,
And trying to paint words when it is too dark to see.

Kimberley Holmes is a Christchurch Poet who loves to spend her time weaving words into imaginary worlds. Recently competing in both the Christchurch Writer's Festival Survivor Poetry and in the Christchurch Poetry Slam, as well as being a feature at Dr Sketchy's Christchurch's literary themed event, already she has made a place for herself in the local scene. She is known to many as both a contributor and passionate supporter of poetry throughout New Zealand. In August Kimberley released her chapbook of poetry titled, 'There is no rehab for poetry addicts'. Detailing the wonderful, woeful and sometimes ridiculous art of being a poet-heart.

Rosa Hughes-Currie is studying at the university of life but also at the University of Canterbury. She is learning to become a scientist and a good person. If you are in a pinch, she will lend you her deodorant. She will help you or your children with their maths homework.

Rebecca Nash was born in Auckland in 1988. She relocated to Lyttelton via Dunedin and Dublin for the love of the chilled empty sea. She divides her time between writing, baking cakes obsessively, and drinking whiskey with Lyttelton's mottled madmen. Samuel Beckett is her favourite writer though she has a very soft spot for Keats, presumably due to her Grandfather's repeated and emphatic quotation of his works. So far she has had two poems published in the first issue of a journal called Minarets, one in the paper, and one on a Phantom Billstickers poster. Things are looking up.

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Compilación virtual del Festival Grito de Mujer. Aquí podrás leer desde nuestra selección destacada, hasta algunos de los poemas presentados en el festival Grito de Mujer, aportados por hombres y mujeres solidarios, en homenaje a la mujer y contra la violencia. Este blog tiene el fin de dar las gracias a toda la gente que nos ha apoyado. Quienes siendo o no poetas, han sumado su grito. Podrás conseguir lo mejor de nuestra causa en nuestras antologías impresas.

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