top of page

choose a category or scroll vertically

Mountain Poem 


to be in a mountain

submerged in a cloud 

a quiet feeling


branches give way to sky 

lavender and indigo 


(when she lets herself be seen

through the fingers of reaching 

greenery spliced overhead) 


a quilt stitched of plant matter

by wise grandmother hands 


you are cradled in the bosom of earth


a crane stalks in a stream then takes flight 

the unhurried black waterbirds roam




is spray painted on a metal barrel 

sitting confused in the organic 


layers of rock retreat into fog 

wind combs the water 

pushing the forlorn beer can 

carrying the odours of waste 


the mountains suck you in and you submit  


the fog dissolves attachments 

to past realities and selves 

there is no other way  

but in

Poems / words

poems / words

Little Sister


oh Little Sister

you will live through 

each hello and goodbye 

each ecstasy and dark night 


everything that seems impassable 

will come to pass 

and you will sustain 

each rebirth of self

all fleeting scenery 


(standing in the present,

sensing the magnitude 

of what you shall come to feel 

know you will sustain) 


change is your nature / nature is change 


Little Sister befriend yourself 

Little Sister soften your grasp 

try and believe / that inside 

you have all you need 



good morning to this body 

who carries me through honey and mud 

good morning to the bodiless 

who giggle silently  


the sun has cracked its shell 

and drops into the sky like a heavy yolk 

new life, new eyes 

to marvel at the toiling caterpillar 

and grieve for the overflowing trashcans  


the pure and the dirty 

will write treaties evermore 


I make note of 

the bulls twitching tail  

as she nestles her heavy skeleton

beneath canopies of fig and Capomo


passing the densest hours asleep 

dreaming of Food and Procreation  

Transformer of Energy


discomfort is pleasure and so is comfort 

pain doesn’t exist, only poetry



I urge the falling snow 


I beg the swelling tide


I scream to the clock 


I exclaim till I’m faint 

then I sit down to rest

. . . 


Silly sweet human creature 

soften your nerves 

its all justified

just as it is 


Including You 

your mistakes, selfishness 

the beauty you can’t manage to see 


go ahead  


Cry in the shower  

think of your mother 

of your smallness 

and how nobody will know how it feels

to be inside your brain 


Laugh on a mountaintop  

laugh at the poignancy and majesty  

until you feel 

that everything is precious 

and nothing matters

a veil is lifted 


it is both

the accumulation of a lifetime 

and jarringly sudden 


enough water has collected 

at the lip of the dam 


so a teardrop  

slipping through the crack  

between joy and sorrow 


suffices to ignite eruption



once i was nothing, now i am everything

once i was everything, now i am nothing

Swarm of Doves


The monkeys of reason 

that clamber in my brain 

were defenceless and dumb 

when the doves of grace 


and swarmed my hips 



my body is all I need

until I don’t need it anymore 

La Compostela 

The rain erupts on the highway, I am homebound. Sitting on a polyester seat, on a bus with few others. The glass pane ajar, I feed my hand through and the rain feels like Life. The sky is soft and warm like a womb, in its pinkness it swallows me. The serpentine vines encroach the road. My hand rises and falls jewelled with water as the bus follows the twisting highway. The humidity, the release of the rain, the sway of my body submitted to the rattling vehicle consumes me into trance. The hues blur together before windowpane eyes, I see the sweet pink and deep emerald, I see the skin of my hand. Nothing arises that is unjustified, each trace of matter sings its note, and falls away at the right moment. My mind craves to preserve this softness, store it in a place I can return to, when clutter and confusion bubble back to the surface.  Though I know this moment a delicate moth, and trying to possess it will kill it.

A thought asserts itself, telling me to stay on this bus forever - this timeless, thoughtless metal insect, a space where I can retreat into observation, have nothing asked of me beyond watching colours blur, and acknowledging my senses. 

Shortly my stop is called, and I disembark into the evening. 


Spacegirl is a feminist, inclusive, DIY poetry & illustration collection created by Alyssa, compiled in three booklets throughout 2018-2020

Space Girl

Mixed Media & Metaphysical Comics 

click to enlarge

Mixed Media

My Sweet Kitten

She is a twitchy pussycat with glassy eyes. Her hormones churn and she rubs up against the bed. An index finger and thumb seize the base of her neck, lifting her. The man scratches her for a while, then pitches her; surprised by the swift fang sinking into his skin. She pierces his flesh, leaving a fissure oozing thick maroon blood. Landing in her feline nature, she walks off to the sill, and licks herself clean. He watches the beautiful creature in hatred; spiteful at her mercilessness, at her deliverance of pride just to reclaim it for herself.  He is envious of her nerve to erupt and strike, just seconds after she was making him feel so good. He spits in her direction. He feels the sudden rush of blood between his thighs; stiffening, growing firm. The cat approaches him, sits between his feet. He lowers to let her lick the wound; they’re used to this routine. His mind is flushed with contradictory, deafening emotion. He struggles to find logic among his thoughts. The cat runs off to the window sill, bored and slightly bothered by his company. Laying in luxury, she dreams of mice and milk. A bird flies into the window pane above the cat, falling dead on impact. The man takes this as his sign that it is time to leave. He twists the brass knob and feels the rush of autumn wind. Taking forced mechanical steps to the edge of the property; upon impulse, he looks back hungrily. The cat has followed his trail out the door, but takes a sharp left to examine the bird that dropped in the yard. He watches with a flushed face as the cat plunges two needle fangs into the neck of the bird. He does not look away— cannot. It is the epitome of his pleasure. When she looks to him with her glass marble eyes he cannot stand it; saturated with libido and disgust and longing. She carries the bird to him, dropping its pathetic carcass at his feet. He marvels at her alluring capacity for destruction… He is pierced by overwhelming hatred and burning desire. Perplexed by the nature of his labyrinthian brain and at the strange circumstances of life. He wills his feet to walk, and he turns to leave. Another day lived in self-restraint.

bottom of page