3 Poems by Cathleen Davies

From Balconies

While bodies still lie stiff in morgues,

And cannot yet be burned for change,

Their ash cannot blow onto tree roots

Will not feed a dawning age,

But people will get restless

And they’ll sing

From balconies


While governments still hide the facts

With masturbatory façade

Of staying strong and saving face,

With cries of truth and protest barred,

The people will get restless

And they’ll sing

From balconies,


And here,

With empty, barren shelves,

And mugs of English breakfast tea,

And vacant office carparks left

To our optional quarantine,

Our isolation leads to love

And building up communities

And anger gets directed at

Authorities with hands unclean,

When clapping means far less to us

Than taxes spent responsibly,

And we have time to strike and fight,

For those who suffer mercilessly

And all of them will realise

These dead will not be burned unseen

‘Cause people will get restless.

Yes, us people will get restless

They can fight, kill and arrest us

But we’ll scream

From balconies.


Medusa

They didn’t like her dreadlocks

Or the way she wore

Red lipstick

The same colour

As a canine dick

But still refused to smile.

Medusa bared her teeth only to growl.


She held power in the way,

She stressed each syllable,

As though she had no time

To discriminate with words.

She had no time

For those who would

Discriminate with words.


Medusa’s voice was not like summer rain


Daring to be ugly

To be traumatised and strong.

Daring them to face her straight,

Head on.

‘Come on,’

Because they’d only get to try it

Once.


Spider

Spider, don’t build your home on me.

I’m only bathing in the sun.

I came outside to catch some rays.

An hour or so and I’ll be done.


Spider, don’t build your home on me.

Don’t waste your web on fickle skin.

This scaffolding is bound to move.

My world’s too hash for bricks so thin.


Spider, I wish I could lie still

So you could take your time and spin

A dress of sticky, silver silk,

A veil to hide my nose and chin.


But Spides, you’re not the first to try

To weave your permanence on me.

For some they span a web of lies.

For others sheer sincerity.


Spider, don’t build your home on me.

I’m only bathing in the sun.

I came outside to catch some rays.

An hour or so, and I’ll be done.


Bionote

Cathleen Davies is a writer, teacher, and researcher from East Yorkshire, currently completing her Creative Writing PhD at the University of East Anglia. Their work has appeared in various magazines and anthologies including books Queer Life, Queer Love; Love Bites; and The Wire Dream. Their debut collection of short-stories Cheeky, Bloody Articles will be released August '22.
https://linktr.ee/cathleendavieswriter