Mookychick is on hiatus
Mookychick
by Mookychick Hivemind
3y ago
As of 2021, Mookychick is on hiatus! Since our inception in 2005, Mookychick has been a pioneering and progressive community that has been more than the sum of its parts. We are so proud of our community of people and writers, and as of this year we are on hiatus. We hope you’ll agree that our team deserves a well-earned rest! In over 15 years, we have achieved so much together. Mookychick was probably the very first magazine to combine feminism and magic. In the days before Twitter, Instagram and most other social platforms, the Mookychick forum was a safe space for people to come together an ..read more
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Poetry by Lisa Creech Bledsoe : Toadskin
Mookychick
by Lisa Creech Bledsoe
3y ago
Toadskin i. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood on the bridge to throw stones, every one landing in the mud, burying itself slowly beneath watercress and wood nettles It seems aimless I know and the crows have taken to gathering to cheer or cackle— We watch each other warily and though I have a few secret tricks they know I am no threat I wish I could dance and make swans flush from my sleeves, a carpet so marvelous it can only be told in a poem or bread with stories carved in its clever crust There are things which must be done and I cannot seem to do them my pockets empty of fortunes ..read more
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Poetry by Kate J Wilson : OCD
Mookychick
by Kate J Wilson
3y ago
OCD   Obsessive compulsive disorder  is a whisper you can’t hear in the clutter of papered thoughts  you laboured over all day  pinned silence as you record  minute by minute minutiae  threads of script you try and try  to straighten out Obsessive compulsive disorder  is three hours of peak time beats as we probe memories, break words on each other, struggle to dig up that quote from that movie at that time stringent spirited brain, relentless restless until it is found a relic of yesterday Obsessive compulsive disorder is how the wardrobe vomits  p ..read more
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Poetry by Amanda McLeod : Old Growth
Mookychick
by Amanda McLeod
3y ago
Old Growth Twilight hums around me as I step outside. The air is crisp and nibbles my fingertips as I hug myself against the gathering dusk. The hay crushes sweet beneath my bare feet, wandering towards the orchard. The trees sing to me, old songs with forgotten words, wind and leaves their voices. Memories stir, of something hovering at the edge of light, waiting A solitary crow alights upon a withered branch, shrieking its harsh call, a warning. I shake my head, as if the very action might dislodge the ghosts afloat in my head, among the shadows lengthening at bases of trunks. Blue-purple bl ..read more
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Poetry by Frances Boyle: Evoking Awen
Mookychick
by Frances Boyle
3y ago
Evoking Awen Your stream is anything  but shallow and clear —it is deep     muddy a current churns      strong  below unruffled surface. Eager meaninglessness like wolfsbane may repel one you want to run with. Word-seeds     invisible among tangle of weeds. Think what you wish to find  and forget about finding it. Look at what you stumble over     eyes on ground,  that bit of grass.  Dowse deeper    a fresh spring less eager more meaningful. Why do you want to know? —my child     in response  to an e ..read more
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Poetry by Sam Gennett :Our World
Mookychick
by Sam Gennett
3y ago
Our World & it seems we are now glowing green  succulents stuck in ceramic pots growing into the light like anti-vampires one day we’ll escape, become part of a machine that hardly works & create our own tableau  in a stranger’s living room, maybe in Vermont, maybe inside of an empty snail shell & we’ll eat sunflakes for breakfast in vineyards just like we always talked about in our potholes beside the window wishing we can carry the world in our leaves. The post Poetry by Sam Gennett :Our World appeared first on Mookychick ..read more
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Poetry by Gerry Stewart: The Cailleach Wakes in Finland
Mookychick
by Gerry Stewart
3y ago
The Cailleach Wakes in Finland Samhain’s drum rattles me from my stone sleep. Gone are my cauldron and plaid, yet a deep-cast cloak of snow crunches beneath my boots. Old Hag. I could be at home here, welcome the bite of cold air, cracking my icy joints on the bones of it. Veiled One. The sand-dry snow tears my skin. My heroes have vanished, our stories unknown. I am wandering, fateless, banished. Queen of Winter. Even my blessed deer differ here, herded and tamed to pull sledges, not wandering free. Turning their furred noses from my protection, they run to the slaughter. Grey Eyebrows. My sl ..read more
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Poetry by Jaya Avendel : Dawn
Mookychick
by Jaya Avendel
3y ago
Dawn When I was born Too many stars winked in the sky and The ocean almost drowned in moons. I was born  Between the twelve houses Belonging to all the constellations And none. I heard a butterfly Flutter in the night Watched a raindrop slide down a hemp leaf Saw a honeybee proudly guarding its hive. When I was born The sun was angry Ready to burn the planets constantly Pinching him. I was born  To appease him To gentle his attack on the world To freeze him. The post Poetry by Jaya Avendel : Dawn appeared first on Mookychick ..read more
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A Yuletide Folk Horror Short – The Cutty Wren by Shullie H Porter
Mookychick
by Shullie H Porter
3y ago
The deserted carpark sits precariously perched on top of the cliff.  ‘Are you sure it’s wise to be so close?’  Jenny says as Robin brings the car to a stop.  He laughs.  The dark-haired man, who has been sat in her seat at the front, watches amused at the domestic altercation. Reluctantly she climbs out of the back seat, followed by the red-haired woman, whose name she can’t remember. Robin starts down the path, insisting they can make it to the beach and back before the light recedes. The spineless sand puts up no resistance when they arrive. Several standing stones monito ..read more
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Poetry by Alison Jones : Kindling
Mookychick
by Alison Jones
3y ago
Kindling Light as a bird bone, she settles herself around nested scraps,  at dusk, she make paper caves, with curling pages of old news. Stories seep, infinite, as though the whole swell of words might engulf her, never to return. She begins in red,  then a rainbow symphony, through quicksilver, the wholeness of flames burns a path between the wood and the trees. The flicker pulls you deeper, into the heartwood,  like something you were always looking for, arriving, out of darkness on a windswept evening. In her eyes,  the past’s ashes, in her womb, fire stories,  bles ..read more
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