issue 12: about her


- a.g. (bio)

She walks,
Smile wide,
Eyes alight.

A laugh,
Charming phrase,
And a warmth in her skin.

No darkness clouds her,
Sorrow accepted,
And released.

Her voice is rough,
And beautiful,
A diamond uncut.

Honeyed words and honeyed hair,
To coat any wounded heart,
But never cloying the wings,
Which carry her elegant soul.


- anon

gender is a woman —
child-bearing cretin —
made of meat sacks
and the poison of vermin.

to suffocate is a human right;
birth is the punishment
of thighs that are sin and painted,
like sex is made of split lips.

if god is a man,
why taste the age of cardiac arteries
entangling together - choking;
puberty is a death sentence.

adults cannot see divinity
but they envision non-lines;
barriers of he, she, and god,
appearing as order. not fetish

The Maiden No More

- j.h. (bio)

The cold embrace of the chill air,
Clung tightly to the maiden fair.
But it was for her knight's embrace she waited.

For himself honor he had purloined,
From battles raging, lately joined.
But his glory lust remained unabated

In their hearts a longing stirred,
For stories that they both had heard.
But the tales were quite divergent.

In winter's wane they sought to meet,
The season of all war's retreat.
But the meeting was averted.

For from his side his glory seeped,
And for her loneliness she did weep.
But the fates were uninspired.

So on this mound with stone adorned,
She fought the chill as she mourned,
Until the day that she expired.


- terrence bull (bio)


Your love is like a Fantail. Flitting around my head just out of reach. Your petite
beauty and flirting, darting mystery enraptures me and captures me.
Just knowing you are with me comforts me in the dark forest. Your chittering keeps
me company and tells me I am not alone. The steel hard Rimu is aloof in its majesty.
The Kauri’s warm arms are unreachable as they cradle and guard the favoured few.
The Pepper Tree’s five fingered leaves provide spice, but no lasting comfort. The Ferns
and Ponga Trees with their Koru promise an exotic life. Yet to touch them is sharp and
rough. None of these, your silent cousins, can comfort me as you do my tiny love. Only
in their destruction can they be used by me.
But why destroy such ancient wonders? Their cold presence may keep me in the
dark, but they are your home. This is where you dwell. This dark glade of beauty and
timelessness, a habitat both of wonder and strangeness, is your native land. And even if
I am only permitted for a small time to enter your world. Gladly I would endure their hard
stares and rough barks of impenetrable exclusion to spend time with you my Fantail.
I long to hold you and make you mine, but I know this would corrupt what you are. A
tame Fantail would no longer be a Fantail. It would be a sad parody. A stuffed toy in the
cruel hands of a child. Dragged from room to room as they search out new pleasures.
Your presence being enough; your inactive participation sufficient to calm their
Once you alighted on my shoulder. You even sat in my hand and took the gifts I
offered. Your touch was exquisite. It electrified and thrilled me. For a moment I had
hope. I imagined a world with you always with me. Us forever together. But then you
danced away again. Tantalisingly close. A tiny star of light flickering around my head.
An act of God that changed me forever. Freeing me, yet binding and taunting me to the
knowledge of my ungainly difference.
My feet tread in the dirt. I cannot fly like you my Fantail. You dart to and fro; I stamp
along, slogging to keep up. You stay with me, yet constantly flit ahead. Are you showing
me the way, or showing me how slow and awkward I am?
I know you think my love is not real. The song of the Tui may sometimes entice me, I
may even glance as a Kererū thunders by, but my constant delight is in you my Fantail.
No other could ever take your place in my heart.
I am not so stupid that I do not know that this journey must end. I will reach a
clearing and you will dart out to me then retreat back into the delights of your world. We
will regard each other across the chasm of inches as I move further away to the light
and you remain in the comforting arms of giants.
But for now, stay with me my little wonder. Let me know you are near. For you are

my only comfort in this strange world. You make the shadows bearable and the journey
through the forest light. I would skip along to show you my joy if I was not so tired and
my boots so heavy.
Come inside my Bivouac. It is warm in here. Do not fear that I will trap you. For your
beauty is in your freedom and I am sworn to keep you free. I will keep my lusts in check
as I watch your tantalising dance. Know that you are in control and I am your willing
Just let me be with you my Fantail. Let me dream for a little longer that you are mine.

As Easy As

- terrence bull (bio)


I saw the danger, it was plain to see.
A slimy log, greased in green.
But it was the only way to cross the stream.
With care and balance I could make it work.

Slow and steady, that’s the trick.
Step one was not so bad.
A little dodgy, but I made it stick.

I rubbed a little, scrubbed away the moss.
It coloured my shoes, but no great loss.
I just had to concentrate to get across.

Besides, you’d already made it there.
Calling to me with a wicked smile.
I know now what you did:
your smile growing as I slid.

I stumbled on: step two and three,
as you beckoned me;
step three and four,
just one step more.

But then my knee went out, it took a turn.
I heard it pop, but I didn’t stop.
I tried to hop: my one last hope,
as I reached out to grab the rope.

Then I saw your face and I knew it was over.
You went quite calm as you looked down
at the twine wrapped around your palm.

My only hope was dragged away.
I could see it now, you never intended to stay.
Our love was over yesterday.
This walk in the park was just your way

to lead me astray.

You always meant to leave today.

As once I’d fallen for you,
hopelessly in love, now I was in a stew.
Standing here with nothing left to do,
except finish the job:
surrender to gravity; just give in;
accept the end was here.

In the end,
letting go of you was not a slog.
It was as easy as
falling off a log.

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her spirit lives here (a series)

- anon

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- anon

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god is a woman

- anon

end of issue 12. go back to issues page.

the poetry juicebox
an international poetry & art publication
the poetry juicebox