M Christine Delea's Blog, page 15

314 by Emily Dickinson

314

by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—

That perches in the soul—

And sings the tune without the words—

And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—

And sore must be the storm—

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—

And on the strangest Sea—

Yet—never—in Extremity,

It asked a crumb—of me.

This is one of my favorite Dickinson poems (there are many). I always love teaching any of her poems, particularly in ...

You Can Quote Me on This: Prompt

I have collected quotations since I can remember. I have them in wonderful books, some with specific quotes (women, writers, women writers, etc.) and many I collected over the years. I would jot things down that I read. I'd then type sheets of these quotations. Now, of course, I corrall them onto my Mac, and from there, I put many of them here on my website.

I am always interested in lesser known quotations from famous sources, as well as quotations that people always get wrong. The second usu...

Risk by Elizabeth Appell

Risk

by Elizabeth Appell

And then the day came,

when the risk

to remain tight

in a bud

was more painful

than the risk

it took

to blossom.

This short poem is usually attributed to Anaïs Nin, and I was going to do that myself. But it did not seem right to me--I had my doubts (perhaps because I wrote today's prompt that includes a bit about misapprobriated quotations?). It just didn't sound like Nin.

So I quickly searched and thanks to poet Joseph Fasano, I learned the actual person who wrote ...

A Brief History of Nakedness by Flower Conroy

A Brief History of Nakedness

by Flower Conroy

(published in Duende, Issue 2, 2015)

In the beginning was clay 

made flesh & tingle, & a tree 

akimbo.  Rosy kernel buds 

& dripping limbs, a glimpse

of petal.  A winged breeze,

breath changed into angel,

rustled the greenest green 

grass, the bride’s muff, 

& the groom’s tuft of chest hair.  

This was nakedness’ first gesture: 

not the legs, the knees 

& elbows of the descending nudes—

but that incarnation betwixt  

branches, halo-less, butterf...

Metaphor? I'd Never Even SEEN Her Afore!: Prompt

Many of the poems I have posted on my blog use metaphor (as do many poems in general). Today's poem makes the noon heat a mystic dog. Earlier poems I have posted here contain metaphors that include a brain tumor made of stars packed in a snowball, a mermaid's tongue that is as oily as seals, a newborn robin that is the memory of a lost love, a sweaty, half-naked youth as the city of Chicago, and a rotting orange that becomes many things, including chimney ash, a fist, and the hands of grandparen...

Noon by Harindranath Chattopadhyaya

Noon

by Harindranath Chattopadhyaya

The noon, a mystic dog with paws of fire,

Runs through the sky in ecstasy of drouth,

Licking the earth with tongue of golden flame

Set in a burning mouth.

It floods the forest with loud barks of light,

And chases its own shadow on the plains . . .

Its Master silently hath set it free

Awhile from silver chains.

At last, towards the cinctured end of day,

It drinks cool draughts from sunset-mellowed rills . . .

Then, chained to twilight by the Master’...

Nuestra Señora de las Maravillas Lost at Sea, 1527 by Lisa M. Bradley

Nuestra Señora de las Maravillas Lost at Sea, 1527

by Lisa M. Bradley

(published in Strange Horizons, October 3, 2016)

Nobody needs your damn armada.

Come hear the truth from me.

I'll tie you to the mast, Capitán,

kelp-tickle your beard

as you sink into the sea.

No more a mermaid

than a taxidermied monkey

neither selkie nor siren

am I

nothing so glorified.

Solamente soy una guadaña:

spindrift and ozone solidified,

fashioned human on this armature

of shipwreck splinters

and adipocere.

S...

Pen Pals: Prompt

There is something magical about getting an actual card or letter in the mail; it was wonderful when that was the only way to get mail, and it is now, when there are other, faster ways to write to people.

Today's poem on my blog, simply titled "Friendship," was written before email and texts, and conjures up the magic of a deeply felt message to a friend in pain.

This prompt asks that you read this poem for inspiration and then write a piece that describes writing to someone important to you;...

Friendship by Lucien Stryk

Friendship

by Lucien Stryk

(published in Selected Poems, 1976, The Swallow Press)

He writes again. Since his divorce

a fist has never left his chest.

He needs my words, and so I fill

a sheet--what joy it gives

to utter words to eyes that plead

from paper. I place the softest

on his cheek, his brow, a special one

upon his mouth. Sigh across

the page that he still has a friend.

Now off to do its loving work,

my scroll of bandages and kisses,

my dried and flattened heart.

Lucien Stryk wa...

Elegy for Myself by Stanley Moss

Elegy for Myself

by Stanley Moss

(published in Poetry, OCT/NOV 1987)

The ashes and dust are laughing, swaddled,

perfumed and powdered, laughing at the flowers,

the mirrors they brought to check his breath,

—and he no longer singular.

Who will carry his dust home in merriment?

These things need a pillow, a clay pot, a wife,

a dog, a friend. Plural now he is all the mourners

of his father’s house, and all the nights and mornings too.

Place him with “they love” and “they wrote,”

not he loves an...