Monday, April 30, 2012
The Last Day of National Poetry Month
In honor of the last day of National Poetry Month, I present a handful of poems...
Ocean Altar
We must
gather up
pieces of the beach
and make an altar.
Abalone shells
and sea weed,
pieces of the boat
that wrecked
on the rocks,
nails and screws
and boards
and the engine
and the bullet
that shot the captain.
©JEF 1985
The Widow's House
The widow lives in
spidery sticks
and crab apples
split with age.
A maze of memorabilia,
music boxes that play
Irish jigs or
funeral marches
sit on hundreds of tables,
round, knee-high,
spun with ancient,
yellowed doilies.
Chipped china cups
hold brews of
pine nuts and birch bark
or fern spores and lichen.
The vultures in the basement
hide hunched and still,
leftovers of a
taxidermied marriage.
©JEF 1986
My Thing
It longs to be
in the midst of things,
to let loose its
heart-stopping vibrato
but, fearing for its safety,
I make it stay in a box.
Sometimes I hear it
crying in
the middle of the night.
On sunny days
I take it outside.
It sits quivering,
blinking and raw,
still pretty,
still pink,
still wondering.
©JEF 1993
April is National Poetry Month!
http://www.poets.org/
Ocean Altar
We must
gather up
pieces of the beach
and make an altar.
Abalone shells
and sea weed,
pieces of the boat
that wrecked
on the rocks,
nails and screws
and boards
and the engine
and the bullet
that shot the captain.
©JEF 1985
The Widow's House
The widow lives in
spidery sticks
and crab apples
split with age.
A maze of memorabilia,
music boxes that play
Irish jigs or
funeral marches
sit on hundreds of tables,
round, knee-high,
spun with ancient,
yellowed doilies.
Chipped china cups
hold brews of
pine nuts and birch bark
or fern spores and lichen.
The vultures in the basement
hide hunched and still,
leftovers of a
taxidermied marriage.
©JEF 1986
My Thing
It longs to be
in the midst of things,
to let loose its
heart-stopping vibrato
but, fearing for its safety,
I make it stay in a box.
Sometimes I hear it
crying in
the middle of the night.
On sunny days
I take it outside.
It sits quivering,
blinking and raw,
still pretty,
still pink,
still wondering.
©JEF 1993
April is National Poetry Month!
http://www.poets.org/
Labels:
JEF,
My Thing,
National Poetry Month,
Ocean Altar,
poem,
poetry,
The Widow's House
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3 comments:
Heres another book you might enjoy (well thats if you havent already read it and YES it was much better than the film)
The Lovely Bones by (cant remember the name might be Alic Seybold
But mainly wanted to say loved todays blog post about the ceramic artist Claire Pilkington (was that her name ?
of and that poem of YOURS "My Thing" absolutely exquisite !!
Have you ever published a collection of your poems ? I think you should consider it.
I have a blog and have been trying to improve on writing posts more regularly did 2 last week.
Anyway
best wishes
Aine
Heres another book you might enjoy (well thats if you havent already read it and YES it was much better than the film)
The Lovely Bones by (cant remember the name might be Alic Seybold
But mainly wanted to say loved todays blog post about the ceramic artist Claire Pilkington (was that her name ?
of and that poem of YOURS "My Thing" absolutely exquisite !!
Have you ever published a collection of your poems ? I think you should consider it.
I have a blog and have been trying to improve on writing posts more regularly did 2 last week.
Anyway
best wishes
Aine
Hi Aine,
Thank you for reading and for your very kind words. I appreciate it! I've been writing for so long now, I forget what I've written, but looking back at "My Thing," it IS one of my favorites.
I took a look at your work and your prints are lovely! Very impressive!
Keep up the good work.
Best,
JEF
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