M Christine Delea's Blog, page 34

Margaret's Moon by Jackie Kay

Margaret’s Moon

by Jackie Kay

After she died, I swear the sky

Had the most beautiful of all sunsets,

A blush of pink, then red, a glass of red,

Sudden dark and a hammock moon,

Then its faint silhouette, almost secret.

Like half-written, half unsaid.

I had kissed your head in the strange room.

Then later, I blew a kiss to the stars, to regret.

Margaret,

I imagined you lifting your head, your arms,

Loosening them, shedding skin and cells and bone

Till you became all spirit, released

Into the c...

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns

A Red, Red Rose

by Robert Burns

O my luve's like a red, red rose,That's newly sprung in June;O my luve's like the melodieThat's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,So deep in luve am I;And I will luve thee still, my dear,Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,And the rocks melt wi' the sun:O I will love thee still, my dear,While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,And fare thee weel awhile!And I will come again...

Faux Whitman: Writing Prompt

Walt Whitman has, among poetry in general, always been a comfort to me, and his poems have comforted many. More importantly, his poetry revolutionized poetry (along with the poems of Emily Dickinson); the two of them charted their own poetic voices, forms, topics, POVs, syntax, diction . . . everything. It is impossible to ignore their influence on all poetry written since they were writing.

This week's prompt asks you to look at the final section of Whitman's Song of Myself, which also happens...

Song of Myself by Walt Whitman (Section 52)

from Song of Myself

by Walt Whitman

52

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,

I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,

It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,

It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,

I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy ...

One Reason I Like Opera by Marge Piercy

One Reason I Like Opera

by Marge Piercy

from her book Colors Passing Through Us: Poems, 2004 (and here)

In movies, you can tell the heroine because she is blonder and thinner than her sidekick. The villainess is darkest. If a woman is fat, she is a joke and will probably die. In movies, the blondest are the best and in bleaching lies not only purity but victory. If two people are both extra pretty, they will end up in the final clinch. Only the flawless in face and body win. Tha...

EN: Writing Prompt

For today's prompt, choose one of the words from the list below and write about how it feels to be that or--even better--to have been that in the past. You can, of course, interpret the word in any way you wish.

Extra challenge: Include in your piece an allusion (a short and quick reference that is not explained) to another being from literature (for example, Milton's Fallen Angel in Paradise Lost, Sethe's beaten body in Morrison's Beloved, or any number of brazen goddesses found in all mytholo...

Everything We Don’t Want Them to Know by Maria Mazziotti Gillan

Everything We Don’t Want Them to Know

by Maria Mazziotti Gillan

published in her 2010 book, What We Pass On

At eleven, my granddaughter looks like my daughterdid, that slender body, that thin face, the grace

with which she moves. When she visits, she sitswith my daughter; they have hot chocolate together

and talk. The way my granddaughter moves her hands,the concentration with which she does everything,

knocks me back to the time when I sat with my daughterat this table and we talked ...

What She Was Wearing by Denver Butson

What She Was Wearing by Denver Butson published in his 2004 book, illegible address (Luquer Street Press)

this is my suicide dress

she told him

I only wear it on days

when I'm afraid

I might kill myself

if I don't wear it

you've been wearing it

every day since we met

he said

and these are my arson gloves

so you don't set fire to something?

he asked

exactly

and this is my terrorism lipstick

my assault and battery eyeliner

my armed robbery boots

I'd like to undress you he said

but would...

My First Weeks by Sharon Olds

My First Weeks

by Sharon Olds

Sometimes, when I wonder what I’m like, underneath, I think of my first two weeks, I was drenchedwith happiness. The wall openedlike liquid, my head slid through, my legs, Ipushed off, from the side, soaredgently, turned, squeezed outneatly into the cold illuminatedair and breathed it. Washed off, wrapped,I slept, and when I woke there was the breastthe size of my head, hard and full,the springy drupelets of the nipple. Sleep.Milk. Heat. Every dayshe h...

Mother's Day: Writing Prompt

I read so many wonderful poems when I went looking (in my collection of poems and poetry books and on online in journals), and am sorry I cannot share them all. Here are a few of the ones I truly adore, with links, so you can also check them out. (Others will end up in my blog in the future.)

Death of the Mother by Dorianne Laux

Lullaby With Almost All the Answers by Traci Brimhall

My Mother’s Body by Marie Howe

Mother to Son by Langston Hughes

My Mother Goes to Vote by Judith Harris

My Mo...