WOMEN OF WIT POETRY PAGE This page honors women with powerful and unprogrammed voices, the raw and real voices of women who learned to be who they are instead of who everyone else wants them to be. Women of Wit inspire women and intrigue men. Most importantly, they express and confess the mystery of and unity in women.

Two Women of Wit are in the SPOTLIGHT this month: Rebecca Hirsch Bette O'Callaghan Enjoy the life, love, passion and freedom of their poetry (and their pictures too). All poetry and pictures are the sole property of Rebecca and Bette.

Lots of things happen at Veselka Rebecca Hirsch   Hipster couples fight, too. A girl and a boy in pinstriped pants, old Coke shirts, boots, red dresses and long string jewelry were eating 1 AM pancakes. Boy uncrosses his legs and puts his hands up in exasperation as his Girl stares resentfully. Were his pancakes disreputable? Did his pancake-eating reveal something devastating about his soul? They leave silent and hipster-boots-trotting. Meg and Chris were doing the lovers-eyes-gazing thing over Ukrainian meatballs and vegetable soup. And I ate Chris’s Il Bagatto vodka noodles because it seemed like the thing to do. They were spicy and hurt my heart. I notice similarities between people and vodka noodles.    © 2005 Rebecca Hirsch You can read Rebecca' Brief and Bizarre Bio too.   *WILL THE LAST SOLDIER TO LEAVE VIETNAM PLEASE TURN OUT THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL*   By Bette O'Callaghan Born in the forties the atomic age and me dropped like the big one there was no plan for me to make my debut nor had the Japanese planned to die at Hiroshima bombs away . . . the next year I exited the womb with a lesser bang when they still printed bastard on birth certificates born with a title, I'm no lady grew up in the fifties with Elvis, Jerry Lee and James Brown small town America, two cars in the drive and a chicken in the pot Korea was far away and television yet to be perfected life was idyllic, except for those commies who said they would bury us the sixties were a dichotomy, an oxymoron war and peace, military intelligence sex, drugs and rock n' roll love was in the air, mingled with the fetid wind of death we dined each night on steak and napalm Vietnam and San Francisco, a generation is purged of young men whilst we dropped acid and swayed, entranced, to the music of Janis, Jim and the Grateful Dead I expected to finish then but we're on the brink of the millennium so I light up another cigarette, pour another glass of red and work that death plan with determination and zest *Epilogue* never trust anyone over 30 especially me * (c) Bette O'Callaghan* This picture shows that Bette's not joking when she says:   The Evening Nothing Happened Rebecca Hirsch   Sad, sexy bartenders lean far over counters, pout and act coarse for contrast. Ex-lovers pretend and kids toast with fancy glasses and eat Polish cheese and English muffins. I had an encounter on 2nd and the Bowery that didn’t matter (and didn’t happen). Seduction wars with the braid man on the downtown 4 home. Glance, look back, leg bend, head arch, I’m not looking, why are you looking? Camaraderie with the Roxy Diner man who can’t speak English. Rebecca to attractive, melancholy soul on the elevator up: “Hey, want a wafer?” “Yeah.” “Oh, I didn’t bite it off- I just tore it.” “Cool.” ©2005 Rebecca Hirsch Rebeccca described this as her view of New York. The lights and movement of New York shine well in this photograph.   *I'M READY FOR MY CLOSEUP* * I* want to grow old like a cheap whore with a Saturday night special, nestled in the top of her ripped fishnet stockings I want to grow old like a Mickey Spillane doxy with a face like an angel and a heart colder than midnight in Siberia I want to grow old like Bette Davis spitting out her famous line Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night I want to grow old like the illegitimate love child of Barbara Stanwyck, Mae West, Greta Garbo and Tallulah Bankhead I want to grow old like there's no tomorrow pierced, tattooed, heaving bosoms, stiletto heeled, husky voiced, smoking, coughing, drinking and behaving in a manner not becoming a lady I want to grow old like a bottle of whiskey, rough yet smooth good for what ails you, even though you know it's going to kill you *(c) Bette O'Callaghan*   EPITAPH   By Bette O’Callaghan   Bette's smoked her last cigarette n' everyone said, That's the end of old Bet why it was only just a couple nights ago she was drinkin' double whiskeys after the show we all thought we'd see her one more time hear her laugh, declare, Love is just a crime It's good to live your life feelin' high n' I don't wanna to be healthy when I die she lived up to her words n' smoked n' smoked lit up one after another till she croaked so let's raise our glasses for one more round n' we'll see the old girl finally into the ground 'cause Bette's smoked her last cigarette    © Bette O'Callaghan