We are old souls.
We don’t have children.
The Earth is changing.
God bless,
it will wipe us all away.
We’ve had many children before.
They will live elsewhere.
Somewhere else
in the Stars.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Poetry from Nova Martin – America's favorite transwoman feminist lesbian druidess poet
We are old souls.
We don’t have children.
The Earth is changing.
God bless,
it will wipe us all away.
We’ve had many children before.
They will live elsewhere.
Somewhere else
in the Stars.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I’m wrong.
I’m full of mortality.
Portions of me
were an orange from Valencia.
Portions of me
spoke to my classmates
in an auditorium in college.
Portions of me
walked through the Agora
at midday
with pieces of billion year old
dust all around.
I’m wrong.
I’m full of mortality.
You turn your eyes away from
these words.
You’re wrong too,
opps, wrong again.
The evening sky burns pink
and orange
turning carbon particulates
into our lungs.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
We call it an all-in-one.
It brings the world to me;
to ME.
It alters my view.
The world is now.
The world is now me.
It helps me see this.
This is what I see.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I will love you with your
genital herpes.
I promise I am valiant
and cannot find
the likes of such a woman
during any of the decades
before disease,
cannot find the man that makes
the machine
that makes disease,
but I understand the CIA
is hiring the best,
my dear lady, J. Edgar Hoover.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I see the inhumane shapes
of women in shop windows.
I know that God exists.
I have to know that God exists
. . . as I see the inhumane shapes
of women in the shop windows.
Things cannot be made,
such as the shapes of women
in the shop windows.
These are of infinity,
burned perfectly in neurons,
and they are not agenda.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
She lived
while other women
in her church
died,
got breast cancer,
had heart attacks,
grew old.
Her arms stayed thin
on the bone
while others got fat
and flabby,
marbled with vericose veins
and their breath grew
stale and sour.
She felt the fallen masculinity
in the men around her,
their loss of heroism,
though she loved her husband
nonetheless.
She knows this is what
our way of life offers,
so she lived in the moments in between,
the trips to
the nursing home
to visit friends
and the turning of the
Bible pages.