Lovelorn? Lost Your
Job? Alcoholic?
Nearing Menopause?
Losing Your Looks?
Do You Just Need
A Little Cheering Up?


America’s leading femynist poet, Emily Norcross came to poetics following her second divorce, third miscarriage, and fifth experience with mescaline. Her transgressive work explores polyrhythmic multisyllabic parameters exceeding beyond that which of the dominant paradigm of the dominant patriarchial male hierarchy. (Women, please proceed to the bottom of this page to find my poetry. All men, fuck off.)

“It took 38 years for me to find my voice as a woman,” says Norcross. “My father sexually abused me. He was a pig. My mother was an alcoholic—a parakeet in his gilded cage, and my pet pony was hit by a freight train. We lived on a farm. I saw all the animals being born in blood. I saw them mating, grinding their hips in the mud. Life, as I saw it, was just one big grunt, grunt, soo-eee, me-ow arf, arf, arf! I saw them die under the glittering axe and under the gun. That was the phallusy of the farm.”

After her father accidentally shot and killed himself while on a hunting trip with her, Norcross bought a used Honda 450cc motorcycle and split to San Luis Obispo at the age of 16, a transcontinental journey into teenage pansexual exploration documented in her hymen-popping first work, the transgressive “Lane Ends. Merge.” (APA, 1979. Out of Print).

“I’m writing about hot flashes and death,” proclaims Norcross. “I’m writing about deceitful paternalistic hierarchical Godheads. I’m writing about being sucked dry by hordes of ticks. I’m writing about the dead white sculptor Henry Moore who carved holes in women with his Godamned chisel. I’m writing about SPF50 sunscreen, too, and stilettos, mascara, dreams, and daisies. And Clinique Bonus Days, too. All that feminine bullshit. I’m writing about doing mushrooms in the Spice Islands with my Dravidian lover Chanta, seeing thirty waterspouts undulating the warm Sri Lankan sea at midnight in an a glistening incandescent fluorescent ballet, the stars and angels singing 'round me, 'O, joy divine.' Give me and my bleeding uterus a break."

A tenured professor of Woman Studies at Clisterford College in Holyroyd, Massachusetts, Norcross is also the author of “Now NOW: Now,” the recent highly acclaimed biography of the former NOW President Eleanor Smeal (APA, 2005, Out of Print). It is the only footnoted life history of Ms. Smeal written in heroic couplets. She is also the co-author (with Klea Andron) of "Child Almighty: Hupermoiran Realities of the African-American Girl in Art." (Oova Press, 1998).

The American Poetry Alliance is also proud to have published Norcross’ other poetic volumes: ‘Hot Wrist Glass” (APA, 1989, Out of Print); "Chamomille Bondage" (APA, 1990, Out of Print); "Bad Pussy Boulevard" (APA, 2003, Out of Print); "Clorox Dawn" (APA, 1999, Out of Print); and “Fem XI”(APA, 2001, Out of Print). She is the Editor-in-Chief and Founder of "Pilot's Thumb: The Journal of Modern Women's Poetry." (For more, visit Ms. Norcross' most recent work "The Golden Hour: Poems About Death & Other Vital Matters" was published to much acclaim by Ms. and Bitch Magazines. It also got mentioned in an issue of Cosmo. (Buy it now on Amazon.)

A vegetarian, she is in a polyamorous blood-bonded relationship and has three cats—Bella, Germaine, and Maude.

Womyn are invited to correspond with Emily at


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COMING SOON: Emily has agreed to do a reading for us! It will be just great! And we'll also have a clip from her appearance on the Sally Jesse show. Tyra, too!

Plus! A NEW Emily poem every Wednesday, hopefully!!


Ask a Poet!

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Lovelorn? Lost Your Job? Alcoholic?

Nearing Menopause?

Losing Your Looks?

Do You Just Need a Little Cheering Up?

Let Professor Norcross Pour You Some Herbal Tea.

There Will Be No Charge For "Ask a Poet." It Will Be a Free Public Service of the American Poetry Alliance. That is Our Promise to You. We Keep Our Promises, Unlike Some Bald-Headed Men Who Spend $80 Thou. On Sluts.