Category Archives: WOMEN

Obviously, you’ve never seen a woman skydiving in a hoop skirt. Chris A. Bridges.

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“Until the sixteenth century, men–priests, academics, judges, merchants, princes, and many others–wore skirts, or robes. For men, the skirt was a ‘sign of leisure and a symbol of dignity,’ writes Quentin Bell. This is still true for men in high positions. After all, can you imagine the Pope, or Professor Dumbledore, wearing trousers? Have you ever seen a depiction of God wearing pants?”

Tim Gunn, Tim Gunn’s Fashion Bible: The Fascinating History of Everything in Your Closet

I have ridden in your cart, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor

Her Kind

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“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
― Anaïs Nin

“Variability is one of the virtues of a woman. It avoids the crude requirement of polygamy. So long as you have one good wife you are sure to have a spiritual harem”.” ― G.K. Chesterton

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She Hare

Jan 17, 2013
The Sultan

A Sultan set out on a journey one week,
when back to his harem he did sneak.
It startled his wives,
who scrambled for their lives
and let out a terrified sheik.

“I don’t buy temporary insanity as a murder defense. Breaking into someone’s home and ironing all their clothes is temporary insanity.” Sue Kolinsky

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Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with them.
-Carrie Bradshaw” 

― Candace Bushnell

“An intelligent, energetic, educated woman cannot be kept in four walls — even satin-lined, diamond-studded walls — without discovering sooner or later that they are still a prison cell.” ― Pearl S. Buck



 (America’s Medieval Women, Harper’s Magazine, August 1938)”  2 bulletinreciterc00sydnrich_0115


1 1 1  1 1a3irbrushinphotog00stin_0099The Darling Downs Gazette and General Advertiser (Toowoomba, Qld. : 1858 – 1880), Wednesday 9 June 18 80

2 The Darling Downs Gazette and General Advertiser (Toowoomba, Qld. - 1858 - 1880), Wednesday 9 June 18

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Advice from a Tree ~ stand tall and proud go out on a limb remember your roots drink plenty of water be content with your natural beauty enjoy the view

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An Australian Girl

by Ethel Castilla (1861- ?)

Australian writer

She’s pretty to walk with,
And witty to talk with,
And pleasant, too, to think on.”
Sir John Suckling.

She has a beauty of her own,
A beauty of a paler tone
Than English belles;
Yet southern sun and southern air
Have kissed her cheeks, until they wear
The dainty tints that oft appear
On rosy shells.

Her frank, clear eyes bespeak a mind
Old-world traditions fail to bind.
She is not shy
Or bold, but simply self-possessed;
Her independence adds a zest
Unto her speech, her piquant jest,
Her quaint reply.

O’er classic volumes she will pore
With joy; and true scholastic lore
Will often gain.
In sports she bears away the bell,
Nor, under music’s siren spell,
To dance divinely, flirt as well,
Does she disdain.

1 1 1 1 1 1 dr4awameric00kent_01071 1 1 1 1 1 Bunyip (Gawler, SA - 1863 - 1954), Friday 8 March 1935,Bunyip (Gawler, SA : 1863 – 1954), Friday 8 March 1935,1 1 1 1 1 1 dr5awameric00kent_0107DARK GIRLS


Soft brown eyes fringed in lashes black as jet,

Dark girls are so mysterious,

I thinkThey are fit subject for a triolet.

Soft brown eyes hinged in lashes black as jet.

Bright blondes, maybe,are fruit flowers pink and white;

But secret as a dim magnolia night.

Soft brown eyes hinged in lashes black as jet,

Dark girls are so mysterious I think.


DARK GIRLS. (1938, December 12). The Sydney Morning Herald

1 1 1 1 1 1 drawameric00kent_0107What a Polish Folk Song really means 

“Hej, górale, nie bijcie sie.
Ma góralka dwa warkocze podzielicie sie!”

“Hey hillbilly boys, don’t fight.
The girl will dance with both of you!”

Literally: The girl has two pigtails, and she will share!

Break the rules. Find your freedom. Live your life.

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“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

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Sunday Times (Sydney, NSW : 1895 – 1930), Sunday 22 November 1903,

1 1 1 1 Sunday Times (Sydney, NSW - 1895 - 1930), Sunday 22 November 1903,

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Emancipate yourself from mental slavery

A quote from Bob Marley, which means that in order for you to be truly free, you must not let others get inside your head and dictate how to live your life.

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Nothing but tolerance would change the course of her winds … Freedom, to unlock denial; freedom, that incorrigible weapon.

Vicki Viidikas

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“When a man gives his opinion, he’s a man. When a woman gives her opinion, she’s a bitch.” ― Bette Davis



Chagrah v’oz motneiha vat’ametz zro’oteiha

She girds her loins in strength, and makes her arms strong.
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The Women of the West

by George Essex Evans

They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill,
The houses in the busy streets where life is never still,
The pleasures of the city, and the friends they cherished best:
For love, they faced the wilderness – the Women of the West.

The roar, the rush, and fever of the city died away,
And the old-time joys and faces – they were gone for many a day;
In their place the lurching coach-wheel, or the creaking bullock chains,
O’er the everlasting sameness of the everlasting plains.

In the slab-built, zinc-roofed homestead of some lately taken run,
In the tent beside the bankment of the railway just begun,
In the huts on new selections, in the camps of man’s unrest,
On the frontiers of the Nation, live the Women of the West.

The red sun robs their beauty, and, in weariness and pain,
The slow years steal the nameless grace that never comes again;
And there are hours men cannot soothe, and words men cannot say-
The nearest woman’s face may be a hundred miles away

The wide Bush holds the secrets of their longings and desires,
When the white stars in reverence light their holy altar-fires,
And silence, like the touch of God, sinks deep into the breast-
Perchance He hears and understands, the Women of the West.

For them no trumpet sounds the call, no poet plies his arts-
They only hear the beating of their gallant, loving hearts.
But they have sung with silent lives the song all songs above-
The holiness of sacrifice, the dignity of love.

Well have we held our father’s creed. No call has passed us by.
We faced and fought the wilderness, we sent our sons to die.
And we have hearts to do and dare, and yet, o’er all the rest,
The hearts that made the Nation were the Women of the West.


With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.


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Fear not, we are of the nature of the lion, and cannot descend to the destruction of mice and such small beasts.

Elizabeth I



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In making your escape, where is it you’re going to?

Do you plan to creep back in here where you emerged from?
Opening her robe to expose her virgina, a mother confronts her son who had fled from a battle.

I’m hairy on the inside. Angela Carter, Company of Wolves.


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I am not one of those weak-spirited, sappy Americans who want to be liked by all the people around them. I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. My affections, being concentrated over a few people, are not spread all over Hell in a vile attempt to placate sulky, worthless shits.”

― William S. Burroughs

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The Vocal Vamp by C.J. Dennis

By Perry Middlemiss on November 1, 2013 7:11 AM | No TrackBacks
Say, kid, I used you like you some
When you were beautiful, but dumb.
   Them pearly teeth, them rollin’ eyes —
   Dreamy and of amazin’ size —
That leak large tears of glycerine,
When you got mushy on the screen,
   They set my feelin’s all awhirl,
   An’ made me go all goofy, girl.
Cutie, I fell for you, I did.
I thought you were a reel nice kid,
   Them close-ups! Say! Them cunning’ curls!
   You seemed the niftiest of girls.
Them swishy looks you slung about
When villainy was winning’ out
   An’ you was suffering’ the jars
   Of bad men chewing’ big seegars!
Aw, kid, my heart was wrung with woe
To see my baby treated so.
   In agony I watched the screen,
   An’ when I seen ’em treat you mean
I longed to leap from out my chair
An’ be your champeen then an’ there.
   Yes, all het up I was each night.
   You sure vamped me, all right, all right.
Why couldn’t I be well content
With gifts that Hollywood had sent
   Of old — the sight of you so cute
   Without no vocal attribute?
But, sweetie, man ain’t built that way.
I craved to hear them sweet lips say
   One little sentence, soft an’ sweet,
   To make my happiness complete.
Honey, you said … Oh, that night!
When my great love, conceived at sight,
   Was buried in the cold, cold ground
   Because the films took to sound.
A buzz-saw, Babe, believe me true,
Ain’t got one single thing on you;
   For you sure spoke a noseful, kid,
   I’ll tell the cock-eyed world you did.
First published in Stead’s Review, 1 November 1929
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Nakedness reveals itself. Nudity is placed on display. The nude is condemned to never being naked. Nudity is a form of dress. John Berger 1926 British Actor, Critic


On the way to the river  

African Womens’ Poetry by Injete Chesoni

On the way to the river
We stop and catch up
On the latest village gossip
Two sisters, two girlfriends having a chat
We talk of Amadou
And how he has married wife number two
And of Seydou
And how he flew into a rage over
His wife Paige
And her horrendous cooking
He is now thinking about
kicking her out
All over cooking
We chuckle
Maybe we will give her a lesson or two
On how to prepare a meal for two
That’s sure to please and appease her man
Into letting her stay
If she wants to that is
We chat about Mama Lucy
And her cheating ways
Yesterday she was caught
In Chief Malay’s
In a compromising position
We whisper and blush
At the thought
Wishing we were as daring and free as she
But as for us
We are tied up by the chains of domesticity
And we must return to our chores
Of fetching water
And washing clothes
And all those other never-ending tasks
The daily life of a wife
Interrupted for a moment
As we live other people’s lives
In our daily gossip on the way to the river

Women, of whatever age, share secrets with each other more readily than they share them with men.

SUSANNE ALLEYN, Game of Patience



Inis do Mháire i gcógar é, is inseoidh Máire do phóbal é.

In-ish duh War-eh ih gug-ar aye, iss in-show-ig

Tell something to Mary in confidence and she will tell the whole parish.

(People can’t keep secrets.)

Just because I cut the heads off dolls doesn’t mean I hate babies, I just hate dolls.” Alice Cooper – 2003


If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend.”

― Charlotte Brontë, Shirley

Ladies who play with fire must remember that smoke gets in their eyes.” Mae West

Blind Justice

Old Auntie

spits of conversation
splatter against brown brick
urban squalor
she shambles
slowly past song
into dementia
a bottle curved fondly
into clawed arthritic shape
wasted and spare
as autumn passing
a winter’s sentence
in a bare concrete cell

I heard you screech
slurred defiance back at smug
colonial control
meet conspiracy with non-cooperation
a glaring silence eloquent
with protest
but still they took you
heart country life and mind
all gone now

she shuffles watches
liquid-memory images dissolve
in the bottom of emptiness

©Jennifer A Martiniello

Old Auntie was published in the ASA Journal (1997).


1 Sam. 1:14-15 And Eli said unto her, How long wilt thou be drunken? put away thy wine from thee. And Hannah answered and said, No, my lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit: I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have poured out my soul before the LORD.


Coming Home   Jan Oskar Hansen
© 2006

My flat was in mourning, layers of dust were veils 
of sorrow, I had been away for weeks leaving 
it in darkness and in the melancholy of confusing 
half light, not nothing whether it was dawn or 
evening. I switched on the table lamp opened 
a widow and the room breathed in relief, it was 
built to house humanity, had felt rejected and 
was beginning to take on the lifeless coldness 
museums and art galleries have after closing time.

Opened the fridge two tins of tuna fish, wasn’t 
hungry, but to the gladness of my heart a bottle 
of red wine; uncorked it, lovely aroma, filled it 
to the brim and drank. Shrugged of the nonsense 
said at the clinic, where ex drunks who had never 
enjoyed wine, tried to convert me to a sullen 
existence of meekly accepting the arid life. Took 
the bottle into the living room switched on the telly 
and we, the room and I, were great friends again.

Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation.” n

― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Ow


The man we surround, the man no one approaches
simply weeps, and does not cover it, weeps
not like a child, not like the wind, like a man
and does not declaim it, nor beat his breast, nor even
sob very loudly – yet the dignity of his weeping

An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow
Les Murray

Taking joy in living is a woman’s best cosmetic.

~ Rosalind Russell


Australian Beauty

Life is full of miracles
(you’ll often hear them say);
But that’s for other people:
your life’s drab and grey.

Familiarity breeds contempt,
Nothing lifts your heart.
No beauty in your environment;
like you it falls apart.

Yet here and there around you,
where the world is worn and frayed,
a secret life of different hue
is vibrantly displayed.

Like a careworn spouse, it is invisible:
disguised in plain view.
By some illusion of camouflage,
accessible to very few.

Great beauty is offered to willing eyes;
Like peaches to willing hand.
A secret reward without a price,
Discerned by the mind of man.
Seek out the boldly buried treasure;
the chameleon at your feet.
Seek afresh forgotten pleasure,
or else your life forfeit.


It’s teatime and all the dolls are at the table. Listen. It’s that simple.

Anne Lamott

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“If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend.”

― Charlotte Brontë, Shirley