Standing Proud 2021

Marianne Below the cockloft in my house Hangs a velvet haunted blouse That once was worn before a Queen But now inspires a poor girl’s dream Of Royal fleas so broken hearted Now their owner has departed And so there home belongs to me Seized by the hand of “LIBERTÉ!” This flea infested velvet host Adorns its dreamer like a ghost A life cut short and so aristocratic Is held aloof, beneath a roof, within an icon’s attic. STANDING PROUD 51

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CORINNE (AND DAISY) (She/They) Corinne is a disabled self-portrait artist creating photography as a form of therapy for her ongoing struggles with mental illness. Corinne’s currently bed bound and creates both art and poems from bed. Corinne believes her poems are a collaborative effort with Daisy, her imaginary and only childhood friend. Both Corinne and Daisy identify as genderfluid and switch between the pronouns of she and they. Instagram @corinnesdiary https://outsidein.org.uk/galleries/corinne/ STANDING PROUD 53

Out Of Order Sorry for the inconvenience – I’m out of order Please do not use. Unworthy of love? Look but do not touch. I’m the China doll Granny, told you about. Men at work? Not today thank you. Kiss me. Spit out my porcelain. I’ll self-destruct, before I let you in. This forest; of flesh Self-loathing Scarred and bruised. Every inch; mine. To tend or leave wild It’s my right of way. Small but perfect; my boobs. Tiny mountains Never yours to climb. Raised waves. Of pink and white I wear the sea on my inner thigh. 54 STANDING PROUD

Your assumption; a sick tripping hazard. Aim for my heart; I dare you. Sweep me up, discard me. Tell me I’m worthless. My legs broken, twisted from the fall. (But then again this body, my body never has been straight). STANDING PROUD 55

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RACHEL BURGIN (BURGS) (She/Her) Rachel Burgin (Burgs) is a Sheffield born writer currently residing in Tewkesbury. For this anthology she has chosen to write about all things Queer! Some works are personal, and others are with a twist... Rachel runs a monthly LGBTQ Reading Group and enjoys writing creatively on the side, especially around queer topics, feminism and feelings of ‘otherness.’ Please e-mail [email protected] if you have any questions about the reading group or her writing. STANDING PROUD 57

Looking For A Fe(male) A girl that likes girls… What does that mean? Will people see me as obscene? Can I take it to the extreme? Cut my hair short, wear men’s clothes throw away my girly robes. Sit with my legs wide open on the bus be a pig, treat women like dirt… ………………………………………no, I’ve fallen too far down that rabbit hole. Now my masculinity ebbs and flows I wear make up one day, the next its baggy clothes. I am a wo(man) through and through even when they call me Sir, then apologise and call me ‘Ma’am’ - not ‘Mister’ but I’m not quite that – either I’m an Amazonian King crossed with a Goddess the clothes that I wear don’t make that any less. People pay too much attention to the way we like to dress. 58 STANDING PROUD

Ode To The Lost Lesbian Bars Of The 1980s Don’t call me a‘Lesbian’please, it makes me feel old, like a‘Sister of Sappho’ that reads women’s poetry and prose. If you like, I’ll be a Dyke! Leather-clad and riding a motorbike I’ll repurpose that word that still strikes fear, you can call me a‘FUCKING QUEER’- I like how angry that sounds As I paraglide into parliament to make my point known, with Labrys bracelets on my wrists, I’m your worst nightmare: A lavender menace that enjoys women’s tennis! Check out my Billy Jean king tattoo as I kick you with my industrial boots and get mud all over your lovely suits. And after that to unwind I’ll haunt the gay girl bars where they treat me kind. I don’t want no boring straight pub give me the Ace of Clubs! I’ll chew the fat at Ginger and Spats, Glide into The Gateways and other watering holes I’ll hang out at The Fallen Angel, For me they always have a table to rest my weary feet and escape from a world where abuse and slurs are hurled at girls who like girls, don’t call me a‘Lesbian’, please? STANDING PROUD 59

Daffy Screwball when it was okay to say Screwball Your exaggerated lisp and camp mannerisms Suicidal tendencies and dramatic flair Cross dressing before the hysteria I only found out last week that you are now a ‘Queer Icon’ You and your boyfriend Bugs have been together now how long? 60 STANDING PROUD

A Nonet for Nanette I remember when I saw Nanette In Soho for my birthday spent excited with my family sat down in this queer space watched Gadsby’s face change from happiness to a sad angry stare STANDING PROUD 61

A Nonet on Harassment We walked together holding hands tight The streets were quite empty until We saw four men loitering Drunk and sweaty they stared At us as we walked I let go of Her hand when I heard ‘Dykes’ 62 STANDING PROUD

My Favourite Stereotypes Lesbians that U-Haul and get matching tattoos Gay men on Grindr that pick out great shoes Bisexuals that brag about not having to choose Trans folk just trying to live out their truths + rainbows and glitter, is it time for a cruise? Butches with axes, plaid, and sturdy boots Femmes drinking cocktails and not giving a hoot These are a few of my favourite stereotypes Non-binaries in wineries off the coast of France Bears dancing in tents with paws on their pants Pansexuals in bistros listening to disco… in San Francisco Straights filled with hate, eating a steak bake by Greggs Queens strut the scene, their walks turning heads This poem’s too long, now get thee to a nunnery – I mean bed! STANDING PROUD 63

Friducha Scrawny Polio legged Tomboy free as a bird till the great crash of 1925. Body speared like San Sebastian you became the saint of Socialism. You wear your Zapatista star proudly, limping and body scarred surrounded by a hundred lovers, they kneel but you would crush them under your prosthetic heel for a baby of your own. But you are stuck with the man child Diego: Womaniser, muralist, this ugly genius communist. He holds you totally beguiled. You paint a strong moustache and brow. You hide your plaster casts under silks and bows. Your corsets hold your crumbling spinal column. You mark the days, your face stone-set and solemn. Brandy drinker, a bottle a day to numb you pain with barbiturates. Lenin, Mao and Stalin now your only bed mates grasping at your hands, pulling off your rings. Your hair alight, a halo of fire around your face as you sit up in the furnace after you die, with a grin. 64 STANDING PROUD

Sister Suffragette Cardboard corsets, hat pins clasped in hands where the gloves came off a long time ago. No ladies here, just women to be had at, punched and strangled, hauled off. Children taken away, muddy stays, sore throats from feeding tubes. Banners made and hoisted high, embroidered handkerchiefs. Custom medals for the brave, purple, white and green. Bombers, vandalists, arsonists – you attacked male buildings but not male bodies Whilst your bodies are battered and bruised by life determined by your sex. Take the train, fight, return ticket safe to the King’s horse you take your letter of complaint. Knocked down, your hat flies high in the air as your soul leaves your ‘weak female body’ your memory gives strength to those that remain. Female tears enough to fill the Thames, spill as we mourn. Never forget our Sister Suffragette. STANDING PROUD 65

Larger Than Life You cannot avoid me I never just slip by I don’t fade into the wallpaper, unless its jungle print My voice doesn’t become lost in the babble of a crowd, it’s clear and can cut through pleasant nothings like a hot knife through warm butter. I don’t gracefully glide in between small tables of dainties murmuring sweet whispers under my breath as I decline a French Fancy. I push past, stop and block entrances, laugh as I accept another piece of cake, or shout loud enough for you to stop what you’re saying and turn around. I will gasp at your shocking news and sob loudly and awkwardly, no silent tears here. Sometimes I want to disappear, shave my head, starve myself. Wear all beige in a bakery or camouflage in woodland canopy. I used to shrink in photos, stoop my head, take a step back to fix my larger proportions, to blend in with the other women. I’d sit down at the front or stand hiding at the back. Now it’s more of a – Let me step down the curb and we can walk side by side looking directly into each other’s eyes, what am I like at this angle? Without you looking up at me and me looking down? You’ll always spot me in a crowd You’ll always hear me before you see me I’ll always smile at you when I take a bow. 66 STANDING PROUD

Villanelle I’m in love with Sandra Oh But I’m not a villanelle I’ll never let this love go She makes my heart beat to and fro These feelings have me in sheer hell I’m in love with Sandra Oh These sleepless nights and restless moans How long this lasts only time will tell I’ll never let this love go My thoughts of her do undertow My mind, my brain that swells I’m in love with Sandra Oh And for my sins try to condone Her black hair has cast its spell I’m in love with Sandra Oh I’ll never let this love go STANDING PROUD 67

Valentine’s Day Clinton’s sale on the 15th of Feb ignites your rage. A London bus takes you away to an old theatre, its worn velvet seats hold you as you watch Dorothy’s slippers dance on screen Garland’s lips sing ‘Somewhere...’ Chinatown celebrates the year of The Ox. Roxanne’s light glows dully by a butcher’s window. This dressed up devil makes your cheeks blush. Ignore this type of herring her watermelon flesh a warning sign: Danger, STOP. Your card is overdrawn The tissue paper from Ann Summers litters the floor. Period-stained bed sheets the colour of your nail polish and pomegranate juice. A screaming alarm wakes you you’re having open heart surgery. Roses are red Happy Valentine’s Day. 68 STANDING PROUD

Tanka the Elephant The small girl loves her Ivory comb. Pearlish flowers, Intricate leaves - swirl. At night she clutches her toy, A soft grey elephant – tight STANDING PROUD 69

The Daisy And The Dandelion ‘Let it go,’ said the Daisy to the Dandelion ‘I can’t,’ whispered the Dandelion, ‘I’m scared.’ ‘Come on!’ Said the Daisy. ‘You’ve been holding all these tiny seedlings up waaay past their due.’ ‘Oh… these seedlings?’ murmured the sheepish Dandelion, ‘They’re not that heavy.’ The Daisy shook their head, ‘Your stem is bowing over, if you don’t let them go you’ll snap.’ ‘I’m scared to let them go, I’ll be all light and bare and naked.’ ‘Nooooo’, said the Daisy, ‘Go on just do it!’ The Dandelion summoned up all his courage and called to The Wind, who was waiting patiently reading a book about slip streams and how to best handle an aeroplane. The roar of Dandelion cut through her reverie on turbulence, spilled mini gins and scattered peanuts, and she arrived promptly into the field . ‘Finally,’ said the Daisy, ‘Now be brave!’ The Dandelion braced himself as the wind puffed up her cheeks and blew the seedlings gently from his head and he watched them dance and laugh before scattering and vanishing into the distance. ‘See,’ said the Daisy softly, ‘the wind will take good care of them, how do you feel now?’ ‘I feel... lighter,’ said Dandelion ‘It was good to let go...’ 70 STANDING PROUD

Grin, And Bare It I ate my gay twin in the womb. I made this foetal decision that life would just be too hard for them in this big bad world. After I was born things seemed fine, at first, until it became apparent that I had the most insatiable appetite… As a baby I drank bottle after bottle of milk and cried and screamed when my mother ran out – literally – she left me in my cot to cry myself hoarse. She couldn’t cope with such a voracious infant. At 6 years old I had an x-ray due to a never ceasing stomach pain and the doctor informed my parents that I had four perfectly working kidneys… I suppose I should be grateful for that, rather than two hearts to break or two stomachs to fill, even though no matter how much I ate I was still underweight, still felt that panging loss. Eating for two is a term used often, but it was the only thing that brought me temporary release. I was eating to fill a kind of painful emptiness, like a solitary stone deep at the bottom of a well, due to the absence of someone who would have been like me, in almost every single way. My stomach pains persisted and at 16 I was put under local anaesthetic where they used an endoscope to investigate the source. I watched the screen as the metal device pushed past the pink wet flesh and tissue until I saw something white and shining. The doctor seemed puzzled. The focus was blurred but suddenly I was faced with two rows of brilliant white teeth. The doctor paled. ‘This…this is normal Miss Craven please don’t worry, its likely to be only foetal remnants and could explain the pain. Surgery should be possible to extract the teeth left over from your twin, I just need to check and see how they are attached.’ STANDING PROUD 71

As the doctor moved the endoscope towards my second set of pearly whites, this newly discovered mouth suddenly yawned, then grinned, then opened, and lunged towards the endoscope. The screen went black. I thought I could hear the mouth screaming until I realised that it was my own voice screaming long, loud shrieks of fear - then total blackness. When I woke up I was still in hospital, but it was dark. I had been moved to an overnight ward. I tried to sleep but my hunger gnawed at me, cramping my stomach. I pushed down hard onto my belly, imagining the teeth gurning, and chomping and grinding against my palms.…what else lay inside? Did the mouth have a tongue? And if it did, could it speak? And if it could speak… what would it say? 72 STANDING PROUD

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CHRIS COX (He/Him) Chris is a former engineer turned welfare benefits and housing support worker, occasional pianist, even more occasional cyclist and enjoys tinkering with dangerous voltages. When not elbow deep in obsolescent audio equipment or recovering from clumsily incurred electric shocks, he occasionally writes. STANDING PROUD 75

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Standing Proud Standing Proud Out and loud? It doesn’t come naturally I hid in the crowd It’s important to shine “To thine own self be true” Is the Bard’s famous line Easy to say, less so to do As I grow in years I grow in confidence Time to banish those fears And with them my diffidence Pride is a protest To those who deny we belong I stand up, no longer oppressed Together we are strong STANDING PROUD 77

On Identity My shifting identity A straightforward creature A gay male entity But time is a teacher Am I just gay? Add leather, poly and grey Finding serenity 78 STANDING PROUD

Leathermen At Pride Celebrated, But not in front of the children. Mustn’t frighten the horses. Or the public. Differentially acceptable, That’s life in the “plus” lane. STANDING PROUD 79

The Seed Which way is up? Which way is down? Somehow I know Under the ground Stretch to the surface Seeking the light Just keep me watered Gardener’s delight! 80 STANDING PROUD

Ancient And Modern Aust beach A grey day A pebbly walk Tap a rock with a hammer What wonders lie within? Malvern Common Out and about with dog A sniff here, a sniff there What’s he found this time? Peace and tranquility STANDING PROUD 81

Lost Confusion will be his epitaph As time advances, faculties Diminish, fading away. The once sharp intellect Not gone, but a ghost Of what it was. He’s still there Not quite Lost 82 STANDING PROUD

Triple Feline Haiku Eyes like dinner plates No ankle here is safe now! Wear wellies indoors Ten minutes later Strung out,Tiny lies on bed Sweet and innocent Afternoon quiz time Guaranteed cat on lap time Time for Dreamies. Now. STANDING PROUD 83

“On Poetic Forms - The Sonnet” Petrarchan sonnets are devilish hard My brain, full scrambled, doesn’t want to work My hand in spasms ‘cross the page it jerks Half an octave’s done, gracious I’m no Bard Scoop out my brain and fry it up in lard At back of classroom, hiding, safely lurk It’s just iambic pentameter, berk This poem doesn’t cut it, senses jarred But hark! A finished poem’s almost done This half-baked idea’s truly come to life Words spill out, the rhythm’s almost there* This sonnet, given life, begins to run Pentameter no trouble and no strife So publish and be damned, I do not care! * Note to self: um, that’s nine syllables not ten. 84 STANDING PROUD

“Tooth Mice From Hell In A Villanelle” Inspired by the TV show, “Tales of the Tooth Fairies” Those evil tooth mice They steal all your teeth They never think twice Tooth gone in a trice It’s beyond belief Those evil tooth mice No sugar and spice No financial relief They never think twice A castle of ice Walls studded with teeth Those evil tooth mice Gums they will slice So much pain and grief! They never think twice They’re not very nice They’re hiding beneath Those evil tooth mice They never think twice STANDING PROUD 85

Avian Remains Those avian remains Plump content cat He never explains Floor spattered with brains I don’t fancy that Those avian remains Feathers blocking the drains Cat’s getting fat He never explains Husband complains There’s blood on the mat Those avian remains I’ve gone to great pains To mop up this combat He never explains Hungry yet again Feline autocrat Those avian remains He never explains 86 STANDING PROUD

Queering The Fairytale - The Three Little Pigs Once upon a time, there were three little pigs who left home to seek their fortune. The first little pig, who wasn’t terribly good at DIY, built himself a house of straw and settled down for an evening with his favourite pastime, Grindr. Along came a big, bad catfish, who kept messaging the innocent little piggy. So the first little pig went along to the catfish’s lake, and the catfish ate him all up. The straw house fell down by itself. The second little pig was also challenged with regard to his constructional skills. He built a house out of twigs, and settled down to his favourite pastime, Scruff. Along came - predictably enough - a big bad wolf, who kept “woofing” the little piggy until he was all overcome by excitement. So the second little pig went along to the wolf’s forest, all innocent and wide-eyed. Can you guess what happened, dear reader? That’s right - it didn’t end well for the second little pig. But a friendly hedgehog moved into the twiggy house, so it wasn’t all bad. The third little pig had just finished a Level Four course in building and construction, and built himself a house of bricks, wood and concrete, compliant with all local building regulations. It took him a little longer, especially to finish the dungeon in the basement, so he didn’t get settled down to his favourite pastime for a few weeks. But at long last, the risk-aware consensual little piggy settled down for the evening with his favourite pastime, Recon. Along came any number of big bad wolves, puppies, catfishes and all kinds of scary creatures! Being a sensible little piggy, he messaged his friends so that they all knew when he was going to the catfish’s lake or the wolf’s forest. STANDING PROUD 87

In fact, it turned out that the big, bad wolf wasn’t so big or bad after all, and he ended up moving into the little piggy’s dungeon as a full time house-wolf. And so they lived kinkily ever after. The end. 88 STANDING PROUD

A Tanka for 24 July 2021 Whirring fan a-spin Summer heat taking its toll My brain is melting Clouds break, rain begins to fall Bringing life to the garden STANDING PROUD 89

Sunrise Or Sunset? A summer evening in the garden Long shadows cast in scarlet Insects hum, following the light A cat slinks by, anticipating night Morning breaks, crisp and clear Dew coats the ground far and near The air is fresh and new today Birds awake to greet the day 90 STANDING PROUD

Riding To Pershore On A Foggy Day I rode one day to Pershore, I broached a shallow hill Coasting down the other side, the air turns sudden still I descend into a sea of mist, the ground ahead is shrouded I see the trees and distant hills, but the lowest level’s clouded Wheels sink into the curious mist, I cannot see the road I float along, adrift, at sea, as if a river flowed In silence amplified, I find an inner peace I ride along, dumbfounded, adrift in a masterpiece STANDING PROUD 91

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KATHRYN O’CONNOR (KATHY) (She/Her) Kathryn (a genderfluid gay woman), based in the West Midlands is a documentary artist (photographer). She is working towards becoming an author of books for adults and an author and illustrator of children’s books (LGBTQ inclusive). She is interested in recording our current, living social history particularly within the LGBTQ+ community. She’s currently doing a project entitled; LGBTQ Voices West Midlands 2021-2023. Taking portraits and audio transcribed interviews with 100 participants throughout the West Midlands (Birmingham + Black Country, Shropshire, Hereford + Worcester, Coventry + Warwickshire, Stoke + Staffordshire) to create a book of the project to be used in school workshops, and will be doing art installation exhibitions throughout 2022 and 2023. It is her dream to one day see her LGBTQ Voices book on mainstream shelves and on the school curriculum – it will be ‘Our lives – told in Our words’. To join in/more info contact: [email protected] She is very much interested in authenticity. She loves all sorts of writing including poetry, storytelling, creative writing and non-fiction. Her contact for work/ collaboration: [email protected] STANDING PROUD 93

Time Passing Here we all are muddling together Time passing on like the clouds above Why are we all here at all? What is it all for here? We smile, laugh, cry, scream Communicate? Really? Same but free? 94 STANDING PROUD

At 8 Why can’t I just be me? Why has it all gotta be their way? Why pink for a girl and blue for a boy? Why do I have to choose? Why? Can’t I just be me? Why can’t they understand? I just wanna be me. Why can’t I wear my check shirt and jeans and play with my cowboy cap gun then later, on the same day; why can’t I swirl around in my bright turquoise skirt? Why do I have to not be me? Why? STANDING PROUD 95

I Am Me Boxes Some are in, some are out Some love them or loathe them Have a think Which are you? I’m in and out of several… Boxes – aren’t me I am me, as I am. 96 STANDING PROUD

Me You alright? They’d ask. Yeah I’m fine. I used to say. Though fine wasn’t really me. Fine was what I wanted to be, hoped one day to be… Alone, lost, confused, sad, was me for a long time… Rise and fall, Rise and fall – like our breaths each day Was how it was for me. Finally, I stopped – I Found me – the true me… I was still there, yearning to be free, I decided… I could just be me! Why bother trying to be what others wanted me to be – trying on so many hats, finding none that were the real me. So yes, finally, now I’m just Me. X STANDING PROUD 97

Breathing Stop Start Stop Start Stop Start and in and in and in and out and out and out now in and in and in What’s happening – where’s the out gone? Where? Where? Where? It’s there… there… there… Here Here, Where I am, Is here. Why now? Why me? Here was where I longed to escape from Here used to be my fight for freedom. My fight to be me… Now, here, is different, Here is peace and calm at last, Here I can be Here I learn who I am Like the bird I’m now free Here, where I am. 98 STANDING PROUD

Happy Me Bold, friendly, confident, dancer me when I first arrived. Silly, funny, happy me. Frozen I became – like ice, locked away, a different, quiet, sad, me arrived. Too much, too young to handle. Somehow existing, surviving… I became whatever was needed, I became polite, kind, gentle but not me. It seemed impossible to be me. There just wasn’t space for me to step forward… So, I was lost forever it seemed… A way forward arrived I thought hey Now I get to be me… Yet did I really? In part maybe. Yet still not all of me… It is only now I emerge, finally Here and free. Now I get to be me Who? Me? Yes, I re-discover my bold, friendly, confident, dancer me. I am still here, time to remember Time to BE. STANDING PROUD 99

Time It is like a wandering stream at first her eyes gleam. Transfixed am I in her magic It is her smile, her hair, her forearms, her hands To be near her seems all that matters… Long held travel plans, In an instant I change. For nothing else matters but travelling with her, Singing, laughing, loving, down this ever-lasting wandering stream. It at least, seems. Where did it change? Where did the one stream, turn into two? Both fierce and determined to carve new earth… When, did it change? Why, did I change? We say; was it me? Was it you? Or; was it her? The other woman? Maybe it was just, time. Heartbreak can feel like the worst crime. 100 STANDING PROUD