Tag: woman

“Little Red-Cap” by CAROL ANN DUFFY

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 15, 2018
2 Comments on “Little Red-Cap” by CAROL ANN DUFFY

Little Red-Cap

BY CAROL ANN DUFFY | 2 MINS

(Read Carol Ann Duffy‘s Biography)

At childhood’s end, the houses petered out

into playing fields, the factory, allotments

kept, like mistresses, by kneeling married men,

the silent railway line, the hermit’s caravan,

till you came at last to the edge of the woods.

It was there that I first clapped eyes on the wolf.

He stood in a clearing, reading his verse out loud

in his wolfy drawl, a paperback in his hairy paw,

red wine staining his bearded jaw. What big ears

he had! What big eyes he had! What teeth!

In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me,

sweet sixteen, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink,

my first. You might ask why. Here’s why. Poetry.

The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods,

away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place

lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake,

my stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer

snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes

but got there, wolf’s lair, better beware. Lesson one that night,

breath of the wolf in my ear, was the love poem.

I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, for

what little girl doesn’t dearly love a wolf?

Then I slid from between his heavy matted paws

and went in search of a living bird – white dove –

which flew, straight, from my hands to his open mouth.

One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said,

licking his chops. As soon as he slept, I crept to the back

of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books.

Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head,

warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.

But then I was young – and it took ten years

in the woods to tell that a mushroom

stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds

are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf

howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out,

season after season, same rhyme, same reason. I took an axe

to a willow to see how it wept. I took an axe to a salmon

to see how it leapt. I took an axe to the wolf

as he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw

the glistening, virgin white of my grandmother’s bones.

I filled his old belly with stones. I stitched him up.

Out of the forest I come with my flowers, singing, all alone.

Tags Carol Ann Duffy, Carol Duffy, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Poets, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer, writers

21st Century European Poetry Poetry Uncategorized United Kingdom women women poets

“Differences of Opinion” by WENDY COPE

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 14, 2018
No Comments on “Differences of Opinion” by WENDY COPE

Differences of Opinion

BY WENDY COPE

HE TELLS HER

He tells her that the earth is flat —
He knows the facts, and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong.
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.

The planet goes on being round.

Tags Lucille Clifton, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Poets, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer, writers

21st Century American American Poetry Uncategorized United States women women poets

“What Kind of Times Are These” by ADRIENNE RICH (1929 – 2012)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 13, 2018
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What Kind of Times Are These

BY ADRIENNE RICH

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill

and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows

near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted

who disappeared into those shadows.

I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled

this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,

our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,

its own ways of making people disappear.

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods

meeting the unmarked strip of light—

ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:

I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you

anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these

to have you listen at all, it’s necessary

to talk about trees.

Tags Adrienne Rich, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Poets, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer, writers

20th century American American Poetry Poetry Uncategorized women women poets

“Instruction” by HAZEL HALL (1886 – 1924)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 12, 2018
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Instruction

By HAZEL HALL

My hands that guide a needle
In their turn are led
Relentlessly and deftly
As a needle leads a thread.

Other hands are teaching
My needle: when I sew
I feel the cool, thin fingers
Of hands I do not know.

They urge my needle onward.
They smooth my seams. until
The worry of my stitches
Smothers in their skill.

All the tired women.
Who sewed their lives away.
Speak in my deft fingers
as I sew to-day.

Tags Hazel Hall, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Poets, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer, writers

20th century America American American Poetry Poetry Uncategorized women women poets

“White Branches” by HAZEL HALL (1886 – 1924)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 12, 2018
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White Branches

By HAZEL HALL

I had forgotten the gesture of branches
Suddenly white,
And I had forgotten the fragrance of blossoms
Filling a room at night.

In remembering the curve of branches
Who beckoned me in vain,
Remembering dark rooms of coolness
Where fragrance was like pain,
I have forgotten all else; there is nothing
That signifies –
There is only the brush of branch and white breath
Against my lips and eyes.

Tags Hazel Hall, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Poets, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer, writers

African-American American American Poetry Lucille Clifton Poetry Uncategorized United States women women poets

“blessing the boats” by LUCILLE CLIFTON (1936 – 2010)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 11, 2018
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blessing the boats

BY LUCILLE CLIFTON

(at St. Mary’s)

may the tide

that is entering even now

the lip of our understanding

carry you out

beyond the face of fear

may you kiss

the wind then turn from it

certain that it will

love your back may you

open your eyes to water

water waving forever

and may you in your innocence

sail through this to that

Tags Lucille Clifton, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Poets, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer, writers

20th century African-American America American American Poetry Celebration Lucille Clifton Uncategorized United States women women poets

“won’t you celebrate with me” by LUCILLE CLIFTON (1936 – 2010)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 11, 2018
No Comments on “won’t you celebrate with me” by LUCILLE CLIFTON (1936 – 2010)

won’t you celebrate with me

BY LUCILLE CLIFTON

won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

Tags Lucille Clifton, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Poets, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer, writers

20th century African-American American American Poetry Lucille Clifton Poetry Uncategorized women women poets

“It Was a Dream” by Lucille Clifton (1936 – 2010)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 11, 2018
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It Was a Dream

BY LUCILLE CLIFTON

in which my greater self
rose up before me
accusing me of my life
with her extra finger
whirling in a gyre of rage
at what my days had come to.
what,
i pleaded with her, could i do,
oh what could i have done?
and she twisted her wild hair
and sparked her wild eyes
and screamed as long as
i could hear her
This. This. This.

Tags Lucille Clifton, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, woman, women, women poets, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer

19th century American American Poetry Poetry Uncategorized women women poets

“The Watcher” by SARAH JOSEPHA HALE (1788 – 1879)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 9, 2018
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The Watcher

BY SARAH JOSEPHA HALE

The night was dark and fearful,
The blast swept wailing by;
A Watcher, pale and tearful,
Look’d forth with anxious eye;
How wistfully she gazes–
No gleam of morn is there!
And then her heart upraises
Its agony of prayer!

Within that dwelling lonely,
Where want and darkness reign,
Her precious child, her only,
Lay moaning in his pain;
And death alone can free him–
She feels that this must be:
“But oh! for morn to see him
Smile once again for me!”

A hundred lights are glancing
In yonder mansion fair,
And merry feet are dancing–
They heed not morning there.
Oh! young and lovely creatures,
One lamp, from out your store,
Would give that poor boy’s features
To her fond gaze once more.

The morning sun is shining–
She heedeth not its ray;
Beside her dead, reclining,
That pale, dead mother lay!
A smile her lip was wreathing,
A smile of hope and love,
As though she still were breathing–
“There’s light for us above!”

Tags poet, Poetry, Sara Josepha Hale, woman, woman poet, women, women writers, women's history, women's history month, Writer

Uncategorized

“Sleep Peacefully” by ALFONSIA STORNI (1892 – 1938)

Post author By TDarris
Post date March 8, 2018
No Comments on “Sleep Peacefully” by ALFONSIA STORNI (1892 – 1938)

Sleep Peacefully

BY ALFONSIA STORNI

You said the word that enamors
My hearing. You already forgot. Good.
Sleep peacefully. Your face should
Be serene and beautiful at all hours.

When the seductive mouth enchants
It should be fresh, your speech pleasant;
For your office as lover it’s not good
That many tears come from your face.

More glorious destinies reclaim you
That were brought, between the black wells
Of the dark circles beneath your eyes,
the seer in pain.

The bottom, summit of the beautiful victims!
The foolish spade of some barbarous king
Did more harm to the world and your statue.

Little Red-Cap

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Differences of Opinion

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What Kind of Times Are These

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Instruction

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White Branches

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blessing the boats

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won’t you celebrate with me

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It Was a Dream

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The Watcher

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Sleep Peacefully

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