That Woman
LightNews LightNews
banner
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
That Woman
@angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
150 followers 350 following 84 posts
🏳️‍🌈 A fractious midult of unpredictable temperament with strong feminist leanings and an uncontrollable poetry habit. I share what I’m reading.
Day job is science and medicine. Cis-bi, she/her
Posts Replies Media Videos
Reposted by That Woman
tracepeterson.bsky.social
It is that time again for the yearly repost of my trans Valentine's Day poem: poets.org/poem/exclusi...
Exclusively on Venus
Roses are red / violets are transsexual / welcome to womanhood / now get to work honey
poets.org
February 15, 2025 at 1:35 AM
Reposted by That Woman
womensartbluesky.bsky.social
New York City, 1959 by US photographer Vivian Maier #womensart
February 15, 2025 at 7:43 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
On the road right now to Birmingham for
@vervepoetryfest.bsky.social and super super excited!!
February 15, 2025 at 11:50 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
The most gorgeous of love poems, the absolute number one in my #Valentine’s countdown, mid-air from The Air Year by @carolinebirduk.bsky.social

#poem #poetry #lgbtq
Mid-air There is a corner of the city where the air is soft resin. Step in and it hardens around you. Suspended in amber. We made the mistake of kissing there. I mean, here. Our mouths midway across the same inhalation like robbers mid-leap between rooftops. If kisses were scored by composers they'd place the breath on the upbeat. Oh God. Music preceded by mid-air, when the baton lifts, the orchestra tightens: 'And' before the 'one two three.' And the sunlight is meticulous. And the river holds its tongue. And your silver earring steels like an aerialist's hoop, caught mid-spin. A note almost sung. Locked in the amber of the and. We just want to land or be landed on.
February 14, 2025 at 5:49 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
No. 7 in my unconventional love poems countdown is this gentle and hopeful passage; from Bright Fear by Mary Jean Chan @faberbooks.bsky.social
XVI Home, my therapist suggests, is where you don't have to explain yourself. Where is that place? Perhaps here is home, in the long poem of our lives. Where she offers me a cup of freshly brewed oolong tea, and I am moved by the scent of something bittersweet. Where our thoughts spill over as I adore the warmth in your voice. Where the afternoon light is so kind, and the corgi lies fast asleep at our feet. Where I begin to speak, and you hear me, unequivocally. Cover of Bright Fear. Plain yellow with blue and orange lettering.
February 12, 2025 at 3:02 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
No. 8 in my #Valentine’s poetry countdown. I was looking mainly for unconventional poems/poets, but this one reminded me of when I first came across Philippe Jaccottet, late at night in a the uni library, when I was homesick and supposed to be writing science essays… Distances, transl. Derek Mahon.
Distances Swifts turn in the heights of the air; higher still turn the invisible stars. When day withdraws to the ends of the earth their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand. We live in a world of motion and distance. The heart flies from tree to bird, from bird to distant star, from star to love; and love grows in the quiet house, turning and working, servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand. PHILIPPE JACCOTTET translated from the French by Derek Mahon Tournent les martinets dans les hauteurs de l'air : plus haut encore tournent les astres invisibles. Que le jour se retire aux extrémités de la terre, apparaîtront ces feux sur l'étendue de sombre sable... Ainsi nous habitons un domaine de mouvements et de distances; ainsi le cœur va de l'arbre à l'oiseau, de l'oiseau aux astres lointains, de l'astre à son amour. Ainsi l'amour dans la maison fermée s'accroît, tourne et travaille, serviteur des soucieux portant une lampe à la main.
February 11, 2025 at 9:32 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Very behind on my Valentine’s poetry countdown but here is no. 9 in my unconventional love poems search: One Life is Brief, from Singular Bodies (Anhinga Press) by Ruth L. Schwartz

#poem #LGBTQ #Valentine’s
One Life is Brief for Alison Because there is always rain, the flooding which kills certain things, transforming others, the dying woman wants chocolate halvah held to her mouth so she can lick the crumbs, you want to be a belly dancer and the mother of ten children, the body wants what it always wants, to burn like fire in the wet woods. Even its infidelities are a form of faith, a naked, thirsty flame. The rain is falling, the rain is falling and still what we want could eat up the forest, guzzling, roaring with love. Cover image of Singular Bodies
February 10, 2025 at 10:36 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Unconventional love poems, Valentine’s countdown no. 10. Yes, by Tess Gallagher.
Yes Now we are like that flat cone of sand in the garden of the Silver Pavilion in Kyoto designed to appear only in moonlight. Do you want me to mourn? Do you want me to wear black? Or like moonlight on whitest sand to use your dark, to gleam, to shimmer? I gleam. I mourn. TESS GALLAGHER
February 5, 2025 at 3:57 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Unconventional love poems, #Valentine’s countdown no. 11: Assurance, by the trailblazing Emma Lazarus. Did you know the Statue of Liberty poem, the ultimate American zeitgeist poem “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses…” was by a queer female Jewish activist 💪? I didn’t…
#poem #LGBTQ
Assurance Emma Lazarus Last night I slept, and when I woke her kiss Still floated on my lips. For we had strayed Together in my dream, through some dim glade, Where the shy moonbeams scarce dared light our bliss. The air was dank with dew, between the trees, The hidden glow-worms kindled and were spent. Cheek pressed to cheek, the cool, the hot night-breeze Mingled our hair, our breath, and came and went, As sporting with our passion. Low and deep Spake in mine ear her voice: 'And didst thou dream, This could be buried? This could be sleep? And love be thrall to death! Nay, whatso seem, Have faith, dear heart; this is the thing that is!' Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss.
February 4, 2025 at 11:33 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Unconventional love poems Valentine countdown- I’m having a jaded cynical day today so here’s ‘Casanever’ at no. 12, by @nicaubury.bsky.social
#poetry #Valentine
To most men, the notion Of 'romance and mystery' Means clearing the porn from Their Internet history.
February 3, 2025 at 2:45 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Nights draw in. I think of you,
Planting one thousand crocus bulbs
In a rented garden.

#smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
#poem #love #spring
February 2, 2025 at 4:25 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Unconventional love poems Valentine countdown: No. 13, the luminous Story of a Hotel Room.
More about the poet, Rosemary Tonks, here: www.theguardian.com/books/2014/m...
Story of a Hotel Room Rosemary Tonks Thinking we were safe - insanity! We went in to make love. All the same Idiots to trust the little hotel bedroom Then in the gloom... ... And who does not know that pair of shutters With the awkward hook on them All screeching whispers? Very well then, in the gloom We set about acquiring one another Urgently! But on a temporary basis Only as guests - just guests of one another's senses. But idiots to feel so safe you hold back nothing Because the bed of cold, electric linen Happens to be illicit ... To make love as well as that is ruinous. Londoner, Parisian, someone should have warned us That without permanent intentions You have absolutely no protection - If the act is clean, authentic, sumptuous, The concurring deep love of the heart Follows the naked work, profoundly moved by it.
February 2, 2025 at 10:19 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Unconventional love poems Valentine countdown no.14, coming in hot- look away now if you’re squeamish for this is ‘Poem while Reading Miroslav Holub in the Genito-urinary Clinic Waiting Room’ by Rich Goodson… #poem #valentine #LGBTQ+
Poem while Reading Miroslav Holub in the Genito-urinary Clinic Waiting Room Rich Goodson Live, alive-ho! These bugs! These bugs! Alive! They've leapt between us since we flapped in slime, jump ship, like pirates, to the brink of Time. We're hit. We take in water. They survive. & here we wait for test results, pretend to read. You: What Car? Me: Holub's Selected which permeates my bones till I'm infected. Does every rhyme of loins sound out the end? If you weren't such a bloke I'd hold your hand uncurl it, break it open like a tight wet waterlily bulb, there to find - stowed - the toxic larvae of angels. I'd wind the clocks back to that hot, barbaric night. I'd burn them off your palm, watch them explode.
February 1, 2025 at 9:35 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Quack!
lukelukeluke.bsky.social lukelukeluke @lukelukeluke.bsky.social · Jan 29
Wife: you better not have found the peace of wild things again. Have you been in the woods?

Me, serenely chewing on a stick: no
January 30, 2025 at 9:49 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Just to let you all know, henceforth I shall be ending all conversations with a gnomic look and the utterance ‘I think you are now covered by snow’.
SNOW PIECE Think that snow is falling. Think that snow is falling everywhere all the time. When you talk with a person, think that snow is falling between you and on the person. Stop conversing when you think the person is covered by snow. yoko ono 1963 summer
January 27, 2025 at 2:31 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
I’m on the hunt for the perfect poem for the wedding of two unconventional, strong and beautiful women. All thoughts appreciated! If only this brilliant looking anthology was out already…

www.foyles.co.uk/book/somethi...
@picadorbooks.bsky.social
#poetry #poem #queer #wedding
Something New by Caroline Bird, Rachel Long | Foyles
Buy Something New by Caroline Bird, Rachel Long from Foyles today! Click and Collect from your local Foyles.
www.foyles.co.uk
January 25, 2025 at 9:27 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
It’s the eleventy billionth of January today. FML.
January 24, 2025 at 1:37 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
I needed this today
lettersofnote.com Letters of Note @lettersofnote.com · Jan 22
"I did not answer that question, for I have no doubt that sooner or later they will find their way, free of charge."

—From Sendak's book, 'Caldecott & Co.: Notes on Books and Pictures'
January 22, 2025 at 8:22 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
A lot of things happened in the world today, not all of them obviously good. This evening, let someone else look after our dreams for a moment.
THE DREAM KEEPER by LANGSTON HUGHES Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamers, Bring me all of your Heart melodies That I may wrap them In a blue cloud-cloth Away from the too-rough fingers Of the world.
January 20, 2025 at 11:00 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Are you a White-liver'd Son of a Fleet-street Bumsitter, begot upon a sedan Chair at Noonday?, or did you just walk past the wrong lady with the wrong face on you?

How to swear like an actual 18th century Billingsgate fishwife, from
Sounds & Furies by Jonathon Green (@littlebrown.bsky.social) 🤩❤️
Ward's companion pullshim away: ‘Let's seek another Apartment: These saucy Tongud old Whores will tease us to Death.’ Bad move. "Which unhappy words one of them over-heard; and starting up like a Fury, thus gave her Lungs a Breathing.” “You White-liver'd Son of a Fleet-street Bumsitter [prostitute], begot upon a [sedan] Chair at Noonday, between Ludgate and Temple-Bar. You Puppily off-Spring of a Mangy Nightwalker, who was fore'd to Play the Whore an Hour before she cryd out [i.e. in childbirth], to pay the Bawd her Midwife, for bringing you, you Bastard, into the World. Who is it that you call Whore?”
January 17, 2025 at 11:45 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Sharing a bad night’s sleep and a new morning with Anna Akhmatova, translated from the Russian by DM Thomas. From Evening, written in 1909.
from Evening The pillow hot On both sides, The second candle Dying, the ravens Crying. Haven't Slept all night, too late To dream of sleep … How unbearably white The blind on the white window. Good morning, morning! Cover of Selected Poems by Anna Akhmatova, Vintage.
January 16, 2025 at 11:16 AM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
For some reason, this is the poem that speaks to me today, in the dark, wintry weather we’re having.
Tracks, by Tomas Tranströmer,
translated from the Swedish by Robin Fulton
Tracks TOMAS TRANSTRÖMER Translated from the Swedish by Robin Fulton 2 am: moonlight. The train has stopped out in the middle of the plain. Far away, points of light in a town, flickering coldly at the horizon. As when a man has gone into a dream so deep he'll never remember having been there when he comes back to his room. As when someone has gone into an illness so deep everything his days were becomes a few flickering points, a swarm, cold and tiny at the horizon. The train is standing quite still. 2 am: bright moonlight, few stars.
January 14, 2025 at 1:54 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Heeelp! I’ve been ask to read a poem at the partnership ceremony of two amazing, beautiful, strong, spiritual but non-religious women. I am so excited and I love both them so much that my mind has gone utterly blank! Please send me ideas!!
January 11, 2025 at 8:48 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
Wrestling with taxes, but deciding to go high…
Cover image of Let the light pour in by Lemn Sissay If you don't do it today There will be no end Decompress the stress And then press send
January 8, 2025 at 2:34 PM
angryfemalepoet.bsky.social
In January 1947, the editor of The Poetry Review from @poetrysociety.bsky.social, one Hugh Wilgus Ramsaur, was in a splendid grump, accusing the older authors submitting to their competition of ‘experimenting’…
Of all the things to do with a poem!
The Premium Editor's Report F I were asked for my most outstanding impression of this Premium Competition I should say that is was a feeling of surprise, mingled with regret; at the poor showing of many of our older competitors whose poems seemed at times to be either perfunctory or to wear a tentative aspect, as though their authors had either lost their old touch or were experimenting. Human beings are much too often aflicted with a desire for change and this I suppose is natural to the spirit of man, but it remains true that change for its own sake is seldom good and one can go farther and fare much worse with nothing but regret to repay the effort. There are therefore many new names in our Honours List and many of the poems so distinguished have a character, no doubt natural to their writers, which is novel to this contest and I do not think that my preference for them is due to any change in myself. What has attracted me has been that very air of serenity or sureness which always attends things written in a manner normal to the writer.
January 6, 2025 at 10:50 AM