twomarys

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

So I Too See

In Poetry on March 12, 2011 at 11:45 am

He wrote poetry after tragedy.  That stands

out.  The desire to think.  And I too

could tell someone, maybe my Mother

how 2 < 33 = ad infinitum

in life and grace.  I say

my Mother because she would be

mad too if I was suicidal

(in a poetic way) just like yours.

What is it about higher

learning, yearning that causes

violent insanity under steeples,

hallowed halls alike.  We are still

evolving with text

books full of blasphemous

hypotheses- like “races don’t mix.”

This offends me.  I wish I knew

how it would feel to be a non-member

of the group that catalyzed

racial tension and be confronted

by that phrase in a cage

of a desk of metal and wood.

On second thought I would not

because then I fear I

would understand all-too-well

insanity, have to smash an apple

against my face and scare the hell out

of people who dissect the human

race, looking for a theory that ends

any

questions?

*Note-  In this piece, I am imitating Bob Hicok, who wrote “So I Know” following the VT massacre.  His poem, which is reprinted in my textbook, is my new favorite.

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Found Poem

In Poetry on March 12, 2011 at 10:18 am

Vendors fight friends,

marketing materials

break down

gently-used views.

 

Expanding campaign

of measurement

eliminates participation

in rate of walking crashes.

Found Haiku

In Poetry on March 12, 2011 at 9:55 am

Volunteers work with

children on how to commit,

center in service.

 

Application of

required reading with child

is found on first floor.

Susan & Elizabeth Congratulating Each Other

In Poetry on March 11, 2011 at 1:58 pm

My Dear Elizabeth,

We are down and out

of our minds to

scream and wish

to land behind

each others

eyes in brave

attempts to shield

the storm, then protect

those without

the gift of grace

given freely to me

in place of weaker hearts.

Affectionately,

Susan

 

My Dear Susan,

We are cut

and sewn together

forever of brutal

beautiful cloth that wherever

we wander and lose

our minds in torment

will bear the weight of

what we meant the world

to know

the time we went

out and injured the hatred

that we knew so much about.

Affectionately,

Elizabeth

 

Villanelle

In Poetry on March 11, 2011 at 12:44 pm

“You’ve been invited, are you able?”

Eve asked Mary, in all earnestness

“I’ve set your place at Heroine’s Table.”

 

Then Mary looked, saw through the fable

and tried to warn Maggie- “Mind the mess!

You’ve been invited, are you able?”

 

Then Maggie, she screamed across all the sable

sands of time to Boudica with her orneriness

“I’ve set your place at Heroine’s Table.”

 

Then on her way in, tucked in a gable,

she found notes from Sappho on the test

“You’ve been invited, are you able?”

 

Then Alice and Lucy, who were called “unstable,”

“wanna-be men” and all the rest,

took their places at Heroine’s Table.

 

Then Modern Woman came in on a cable

asks “What right do I have?” after all the best

who were invited and able

to take their places at Heroine’s Table.

Blank Verse on Literature 2

In Poetry on March 11, 2011 at 10:33 am

The father of a prostitute is drunk

and waxing philosophical.  He knows

that he cannot redeem the sin he saw

reflected in his daughter’s eyes, he has

this circular and psychic insight, peers

down into mysteries that usually

avoid the stares of men but Marmeladov

is different because he thinks he’s not.

Sofia is his daughter’s name, a whore

the only one, besides his God, who looks

at him with sympathy.  It’s not to say

that Marm desires pity, anything

unnecessary to his self-imposed

eternal suffering, but spirits lift

him up and sing.  While he is crucified

he passes nails to angel’s hands and hopes

that they are not incapable of love.

Blank Verse on Literature

In Poetry on March 10, 2011 at 4:02 pm

The lady Jenny never understands

the awful circumstances God hands down

(to Arthur first because he was the king

that she and Lance betrayed at night, they led

him all the way to places such as lone-

liness and desperate to glorify

his God) on top of Lance’s head that dreams

of ancient men who warn poor Lance of poor

belief and evil faith.  The sin of pride

he says to Jenny causes loss of “sweets”

because sometimes he just cannot relate

to her and in a moment such as this

he wishes for some peace in which to sit

and ponder all his victories gone by,

how none of them had ever come this close

to being able to produce profound

emotions like the one he felt the time

the black knight came upon poor Lance and struck

him down with all the force of might and dark

before our Galahad became a man

completely willing to accept defeat

in murky waters near Mortoise and still

remember to say thank you God for my

one, heavenly life-time of adventure.

Formula

In Poetry on March 9, 2011 at 11:49 pm

Recall the cruelest act you’ve seen-

first knead, then cover and let rise.

Bowl overflows with your surmise

of reasons why things always seem

unfair.  Drudge up some broken dream

and torture it until it tries

to dissolve.  Mixes well with lies,

and leaves you feeling very keen

 

On starting over quietly,

stay busy by refusing hate.

Add memories especially

important to what you create.

The pan will burn you pleasantly

sit quietly and incubate.

Metaphorical Terza Rima

In Poetry on March 5, 2011 at 12:01 pm

Kill me now! she said

passing a soldier

who was thinking of the dead

 

buddies he carried, on shoulders

through hell

over bodies that smoldered

 

and his own unrung bell.

She was thinking of cigarettes

and thought she should tell

 

him that.  She bets

he wouldn’t understand;

he no longer gets

 

how cancer by hand

is worth dying over.

Self supplied reprimand

 

is now her lover

an iota of grief

under what hovers

 

over there, waiting for belief

holding folks.

The event is not brief.

 

Say nothing? Make jokes?

About how the world crashes down

when she can’t have a smoke?

 

Finding words unfound

uncovers the terrible, metaphorical

curse with which she’s crowned.

p. 119, exercise 3

In Poetry on March 5, 2011 at 10:59 am

One day

remains of sickening

air.  One day

of Breath!

of Bear!

it.  That’s your

Mantra.

it’s what you

Repeat.

 

While lying,

trying

to dream of the sea.

Wet of rain!

Whip of wind!

annoyances in light.

After dark time

done, lesson

violently learned,

the only things left

to remind

You,

the smartest boy I ever knew

that you live,

still.