Herstory Poems - Poems about Herstory

HerStory HerStory YourStory MyStory Somehow always ends up being the same It's a blessing To be a woman Let me explain We are so unique Eloquently made We are a demand in stock No one wants to trade We come from strong backgrounds Even when we are lost We somehow get found We are the sound To...

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Herstory from Battlefields to Laboratories - Daniel Henry Rodgers Beneath stardust's scattered gleam, Her-story, a comet’s tail, blazing across time. Through seasons it molds ...Once hushed now bold We rise like a chorus harmonizing ...In this vast of an eternal fold. For I am Harriet Tubman ...leading souls unseen. A beacon blazing hope, through history's mainstream. Through the tranquil, moonlit ...I had a lucid dream. From...

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The End of Herstories It used to be called senility now Alzheimer’s, or dementia but in Agatha’s case I’d choose primary progressive aphasia in which her language capabilities slowly and progressively became impaired as the author of more than eighty novels lost the ability to swim in the Alphabet Soup. Postmortem textual analysis suggests her vocabulary decreased by fifteen to thirty percent. And was her last mystery “Elephants Can...

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As ancient matriarchal polytheism of local, domestic economic circles gave way to patriarchal elite empire-builders, Transcendent monotheism not only overwhelmed immanent herstoric polytheism but this had the further historical effect of secularizing nature's evolving narrative and desecrating anthro-exceptionalist verbal nature LeftBrain Powers of persuasive speech fallen from an original co-animated experience of indigenously wise win/win resonant sounds harmonic songs spoken legends inspired myths of polytheistic GoldenRule Paradise Lost disharmonious...

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(for Virginia Woolf) She wanted to buy some flowers but drowned Herself instead, drifting along the ebbing flow of time, with warm water cracking Her slim figure and airless lungs. ‘will I freeze the river?’ She thought, wondering if the trees would still rustle in the wind if She wasn’t alive to notice it, thinking if Her man’s heart would still...

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slithering through a suffragette smattering the serpentine has no shoulder on which to give or have taken piggyback rides through pantsuit criterion so certainly lacks the same of which to dry witch salt tears with whirling up and around then down up her ankle thick thick thigh deliciously dry coconut shunt lipstick cracking open pistachio shells bravo to the mercenaries! ...

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