Ode to Ruby Rose

Your hair is sunlight


Illuminating your face


Strands like fingers




Sweet caresses


To your skin


Of silken lace




Mine is brittle


Whose strands betray


And belittle


The pulp that lies


Beneath my eyes


Flesh ruddy and hostile




Your breath kisses the wind


Mine is stained with the scent


Of cigarettes and sin


I have lived amongst men


But love only women


You love none


More than yourself


And display your body


For a living


I display my mind


And am a dying monument


To life upon the shelf




Your eyes shine like cerulean


And the diamonds you wear


Suggest the wealth of your talent


If only I could rest my head


Between your breast’s


Heaves of submission


And be reborn as beauty


Love, truth


And death in remission




You are an illustrated woman


Your flesh frames


Each picture you portray


So, I read you with a lascivious look


Devour your painted form


Like an open book


And then I look again


And imagine


That you have stamped


My library card of a heart


With a kiss of approval




But you are no more real


Than the love I feel


When I gaze at photographs


Of you


For you are young


And I am too old and ugly


To be loved by one


As beautiful as you



Tea at Nanna’s

By Louise M. Hart


Sit at the table girls

Remember to say, “Please,” and “Thank you”

And never use bad words

Like, “Oh God,” and, “sod,” and “bloody ‘ell”

Children should be seen but never heard

Except by those who wash their underwear


Pretend to contentedly defer

To your superiors; the vicars and doctors

Who will one day fear

The glare of your exterior

Nose studs which endear you to the great unwashed

Bovver boots yielding you to trample underfoot

The mass who speak with crap

Leaking through the cracks of their posteriors


Sterilised milk makes our guts heave

But we say, “Thank you,” when it is poured into our cups

Butter sandwiches, a slice of ham inside

Nanna watches us eating, almost pulsating with pride

Tinned peaches as slippery as brine

When eaten with butter and bread

And combined with love and twinkling blue eyes

And the cakes…


We all like a bit of what you fancy


Mine was French

And encased in perfectly pink skin

Creamy upon the touch of my tongue

And slobbering chin

But taste is subject to change

So I subsequently deferred to a bit of brown

Being slim the aim in mind

Pink became the colour of yesteryear’s mistress race

A lick of brown replaced my love heart dress and fear of clowns


Forced to nibble pink

In an exhibition of familial love

I closed my nostrils

And thanked God above

For supplying fish for supper






Louise M. Hart


Whilst I was drowning

She waved

“…you’re breaking my heart

You’re shaking my confidence



The birds on the breeze

Didn’t whisper my name

But the birds in the bar

Tweeted, “A pint please,


And I answered them

With indiscreet wheezes of

“Yesss, please”


(Help me!)


I swallowed greedily

Licking windows

And clits



For whilst I was drowning

She was charming

The baby dyke

Whose fringe

Swept me off my feet

Like gold dust

From her plump eyelashes


She was a whole number

To my oddness


Whilst I was drowning

She waved

Right out to sea

Until it took her

As I had not-

She who had washed

Her hands of me

Many years before


…and me


…always remembering

The lingering scent of her fingers

On shifting sands

Of my receding memory strands

And pubic hair

Viewed furtively on demand


20 years on

She drowned

Whilst I wobbled


On land

Dry and firm


She had drowned

Whilst I was waving


Taking the P. H. out of Love

For the only man I really loved and

the alcoholic Scottish afternoons, evenings and nights…

I loved him

Like a comfort blanket

I would wrap around me

Twice a week

But the blanket


Into my flesh

Like the cheap vodka bottles

Whose contents

We projectile vomited

Against a wall

Cracked with my spidery

Web of deceit

And all to prevent us from falling

More deeply

Into reality’s slow waves

Of unreturnable sleep

Every hug

The blanket bestowed

Represented a drink

Poured down my hoary throat

As dry

As a virgin’s quim

Or a mammary gland

No natural man

Could possibly caress

And hardwired to out queer

My more masterful

Sapphic sisters

And the screaming queens

Who were my soul brother’s

Chicken licking lovers

A comfort blanket


With the discarded nails

He plucked

From his outrageously orange

Tinted fingers tips

As he plucked me

The shallow and demanding female

Who roughly stroked his skin

And sucked his bones

Only to please

And manipulate him

I did not even feel his nails


Me inside

Rather dismissing the blood

I shed

From my womanly empty head

To the rosy pink tips

Of my inverted toes

And MY tits

With an extravagant

Swish of the hand

Of every unwanted thought

I fought to valiantly dismiss

The kisses I imparted

Were shaped

For the delectation

Of another’s lips

For, though my heart lightened

In his presence

It burned in hers

She did not break it

It was I who reached inside

My own compliant chest

And withdrew

The essential organ

Of all hope and penetrable pleasure

At the height

Of a micro second of time

When I realised

That I could never

Love his kind, again

And thus, never did

To all the Girls I have never Loved before

I dedicate this poem

To the loves

I have not known

The nights I have spent


Chastising myself

With my belt of desires

On a bed

Of moist memory foam

And sheets

That drip with sweat

And dread of exposure


I dedicate this poem

To the hearts

I have not broken

With my roaming eye

And my tongue tingling

Love tokens of longing

For the tasty pink delight

Of womanly wonders


Beneath the swooning

Fist of night

My heart thrives

On its passionate cries

But my body celebrates


With cross-legged frigidity


Though my mind is insecure

In the grasp

Of its moral duplicity

I secretly acknowledge

The tenuous tightrope

I tread

Of illusory hetero



I am as anonymous

As I was not made to be

And spread my legs

Only for the wondrous words

I create

Never under cover

Of the beds

Adorned by those

To whom I dedicate

This poem

In my head


Poems that contain a Giggle in every Line

In the early hours of this morning I thought about Morrissey and wrote the following poems. Morrissey divides humankind, like audible marmite. Are you a believer or a sinner?

Big Girls are Tasty, too

Big girls on push bikes
Whose best friends bake them buns in their barren ovens
And other sweet delights
That titivate their tongues
Like naked flames of melted butter
Are my chosen companions

But womb men who lead me south
On deep, forbidden nights
Make more appetising savouries
And satisfy my taste for spice

Morrissey is my Inspiration, I am Myself (I always protest too much)

I admire a Mancunian man
Who sings to suffer
With a giggle in his throat
And heels that bounce on stage
Like balls of rubber

But more than any other
The image I desire
My poetic importunity
And the inherent truths
Of the lies I write

For I am the words
Of a voice
Of the present
The magnificent, malevolence metaphors
And measured metrical form
Of the world
That materialised my language choices

Eating the Orange-The Aftertaste

Swallowing whole-
The orange
Touching skin
As a signifier of butch
Externally tough
But masking a tenderness within
My tongue is oiled
As though stroked by lips

The consistency
In which I forage
Warms my cockles
Like a bowl of steaming porridge
Boiled on flames
Barely containing
Restraints on its substantiality

It is as fluid
As the acquisition
Of knowledge
Like fire
My figure becomes inflamed
Thus, I coat my throat
With the fruit of exoticism
And embracing my pen
With eroticism
Sense the thrust of another me