Today’s choice
Previous poems
Helen Ivory for International Women’s Day
34 Symptoms of the Menopause
A woman somewhere is typing on the internet
my heart wakes me up like clockwork.
Now, another woman –
my whole body feels like a bee box too small for the bees.
At 3am, a woman Googles burning tongue
another woman searches
cortisol, dying ovaries, blood sugar,
light sensitivity, vampirism, migraine.
On a message board a woman writes
Does anyone else . . .
another woman is typing
. . . yes, I can’t leave the house I’m stone tired,
my underwear is sack cloth.
A woman reads about rage
feels parts of her
skitter under the wardrobe.
Everything in the pantry wants to hurt me;
sugar is hex, coffee is a bad abracadabra.
A woman, unbidden, pictures the dress
burnt with an iron when she was nineteen;
irredeemable she writes.
I sobbed right there, in the bank.
Is it normal, a woman asks the women
is it normal to stand in a line-up of yourself
and not recognise you at all?
Is it normal to be scared of driving, the washing machine, scales?
Is it normal to wake up in a bread oven night after night;
to flush blood away like you have emergency stores;
for words to fall from your left hemisphere?
And all the women on the internet
faces blazing in the blue light of their screens, say
yes, this is normal
we are here
we can hear you now.
Helen Ivory is a poet and visual who makes collage and shadowboxes. She was awarded a Cholmondeley Award by the Society of Authors in 2024. She teaches for Arvon. Constructing a Witch (October 2024) her sixth collection with Bloodaxe Books, is a PBS Winter Recommendation. She is one of Norwich Arts Centre’s Tilted Women. This poem is published in Constructing a Witch.
Note: The theme for International Women’s Day 2025 is ‘Accelerate Action.’ The menopause is a very sharp learning curve – most women only learn about it when they are going through it. It’s still one of those taboo subjects yet according to NHS England there are thirteen million people who are currently peri or menopausal right now. So let’s talk about it! This poem goes out to all of the women reaching out to each other on social media and in internet chatrooms about everything they are going through when their bodies, and too often their own heads feel like strangers to them.
Lisa Falshaw
A mother teaches her Neurodiverse child colours
What colour is the dog?
The dog is brown.
Can you see the brown dog?
Paul Murgatroyd
I am a clown performing slapstick at a funeral,
Cassandra whispering to Narcissus,
an ant on the lawn at a posh garden party
Hayden Hyams
The rain is expected to stop in 8 minutes and start again in 29 minutes
Bryan Marshall
Look at the faint rain twisting
itself into the ground,
making dry things resign themselves
to different states of damp.
Poetry from UEA MA Scholars 2023/2024: Badriya Abdullah and Dana Collins
Oranges with Bibi
Don’t hold the knife like that!
the first love lesson
from my grandmother…
– Badriya Abdullah
*
pulp
just once I want
you sprayed over pavement
I split my knuckles swinging…
– Dana Collins
Dawn Sands
Nothing I can tell you to answer your question —
all I can muster is that
it was that production of King Lear, Edgar emerging
Christian Donovan
O celebrated bard, you should know
espresso mixed with drags of Gauloise
won’t steady your head.
Shamik Banerjee
Much like a burnt-out farmer flumping down
upon his ache-allaying, tender bed
Rose Lennard
Each year we climbed to that place high above the ruins.