Billie Holiday

Stirred Feminist Collective

Ahead of tonight’s poetry event https://www.facebook.com/events/433928713479570/ 7.30pm at Three Minute Theatre open mic slots still available here are some thoughts of Anna Percy’s thoughts:

Billie Holiday, Lady Day if you don’t know her will be a voice you never had a name for, her songs are jazz standards and she transcends jazz. Whenever I meet people who make the blanket statement ‘’I hate Jazz’’ I reach for Billie Holiday and she never disappoints she makes people realise Jazz can be many things, it can be women’s voices surviving. I grew up with a mother who belted her songs and others by tough/fragile women in the car, with a step-father in love with jazz. She is part of my earliest music memories. The way Jazz perfectly melded with her voice the instruments echo the qualities in her voice each enriching the other. I have heard it mentioned that often her voice…

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Pen & Petals 4

0739_Seven(dreamy3)

Simply

To be seen
Loved
Appreciated
Challenged
Trusted
Hugged
Teased
Wanted
Needed.

In a crowd
Unconditionally
A smile shared
Ferociously
Implicitly
Without fear
With sparky mirth and integrity
Yes.
All meeting desire.

Yours.

© Kimberley Harvey
© jonathan m hughes

Pen & Petals 3

_D7H0530_nottalking

‘Smile (Coy)’

A smile can say so much, supposedly;

But a smile can sometimes be indistinguishable amongst many.

The smile benefits her,

But it’s for you.

Is it even possible for you to know, let alone notice?

If only you’d see it.

The little things,

A flicker of awareness;

A moment’s wink;

A flash of expression

Or even an outburst of hilarity.

Silliness and utter sincerity are all part of the deal.

Comparisons should not be drawn.

After all, you’re drawing from what?

A representation, an image?

But held tightly, a point of reassurance becomes a restriction;

And she will remain hidden

Until you choose to see

And she chooses to speak.

© Kimberley Harvey
© Jonathan M Hughes

Pen & Petals 2

_D7H0368_shadowhse texts

Room

Feet measure the walls,

Invisible traces about the floor

Cavorting gleefully with the shaft of light.

An unblinking stare through the double-glazed pane,

Offsetting the square stain of sun on the aged oak floor.

No furniture, geometric freedom in the oppressive emptiness

That compresses my breath and sees me flee from the walls.

Framed sunlight like a contained timeless friend.

Look away and your pupils dilate, feathered edges of momentary softness.

Porous dullness as walls resist mischief.

A corner, four in all, leads to sizing up parameters from within.

Relief in shadows,

The familiar landing place along the railroad of skirting.

Mapping our existence,

Defined by space and time.

Light illustrates like a third person, a spectator,

As it enters and exits the room.

© Kimberley Harvey
© jonathan m hughes

Pen & Petals 1

_D7H0367_editorial

Facing

How can she love it, but have no energy to do it?

Secretly she’s lonely, the smile

Translucent under finer study;

Something is missing,

A blank void

Momentarily swelling with emotion.

At first, there was calm in the bleakness

But the whir of time morphed change

The wind whistled with an eerie fervour.

Systematically beating all other life from her

So that only the dance remains.

Does the risk extend that far?

Seeping through…

Sunken twinges scar the irrational borderline.

For now, few realise

Failing to reconsider what they’ve seen.

Wearing patchwork.

Stitch upon stitch,

Building scaffolds before imminent deconstruction

Feet dangling over the precipice.

© Kimberley Harvey
© jonathan m hughes