Polemical Zine is a non-profit, online arts magazine which has no selection process – they publish pieces from ALL people, regardless of age, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, geographic location, and/or skill level.
Issue 14 of Polemical Mag saw me published again with a quick poem about the process of creating ‘Glamour’. This potent and powerful ritual echoes preparing for battle by applying war paint and has been a staple of pop-culture; think a sorceress adorning herself in some enchanted item and completely changing up her look. My poem reflects the everyday practice of glamour magic and how it can be used for both internal and external transformation.
- Ritual Poem
The ninth issue of Polemical Zine covered the theme of QUESTION for which I produced a short poem on questions my friend and I had asked eachother, ones that stuck with me for just a little too long.
- Untitled Poem
For the UGLY issue of Polemical I focused on my own avoidance of the concept of ugliness. Challening my usual presentation of objects as beautiful I wrote a short poem on the ugliness of being human.
Both of these poems seemed quite fresh and raw when writing, as if they were asking me for the answers themsleves.
Ritual
Rose petals, papaya skin, placed patchwork over bare face, hope and acne Here in transformations lies, with power to contort, control, conserve, confide Luster sheen and royal purple scents paint your eyes and lips with meaning Here in glamour lies, with purpose to create, and be oneself again Take wood smoke, years of love, flowers ointments, entanglements and become anew.
Untitled
What would you give up, for your soulmate, one true your voice your holy sacrament Sunday morning lazes every Tuesday's night the smell of cut grass or petrichor would you give up sweet cinnamon or old furniture loaded arms empty beds or would you keep it all anyway and hope.
Only Natural
For so long, I have refused to see it wanted no association, of any sort my hair must be tousled leaves not knotted roots and stumpy vines my teeth must be sea-worn pebbles not amber tombstones, cracking wide my lips plush fruit in taste and style not snarling bitter barbs of wire But here I am, a collection of rust, hair growth, fresh scabs and rivets Here we all are, walking in chains of wool and meat round loaded bones ugly bloody and living, for so long I refused to speak its name for fear it would drag me down too to the depths of an acid stomach whisper not our name Human
POLEMICAL // ISSUE 14 // GLAMOUR // NOVEMBER 2020
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Xandua 