Your Favorite Poems

Hollylane · 08-06-2012, 08:17 PM

French Lesson

by Rosemary Okun

I wanted to know
the language of my ancestors
I wanted to know what they said
when they made love
and when they spoke to the neighbors
I wanted to know how
they spoke to their children
and what my great-great-grandfather said
when he stubbed his toe

But ancestry is who your mother was
and mine came from Brooklyn
with a grandmother from Syracuse
who said Glory be to God
when someone dropped a cup
and Bless me Father
when she confessed

My ancestors went by shanks mare
and shouted give him the hook
if they were displeased
They ate apple pie and
their potatoes were Idahos

Hollylane · 08-06-2012, 08:21 PM

At the intersection: burnt August fields
by Jennifer Wallace

At the intersection: burnt August fields and blistered streets.
The city readies for summer's last fling.
Vendors circle the band shell
with curried goat and Red Stripe beer. The sound man
"check, checks" his mics and Marley's wail unites
with insect wings and chicken smoke and air.

Where is Jamaica? Baltimore? Where?
Tonight they reside on music's continent —
behind the chain link, where holstered cops
keep peace between the races
who don't appear to need much help...
they boogie bum to bum under the moon
and all the colored lights and everyone singing One Love.

Hollylane · 08-08-2012, 01:15 AM

In the Moment
by Maxine Kumin

Some days the pond
wears a glaze of yellow pollen.

Some days it is clean-swept.
The trout leap up, feasting on insects.

A modest size, it sits
like a soup tureen in a surround of white

pine where Rosie, 14 lbs., some sort
of rescued terrier, part bat

(the ears), part anteater (the nose),
shyly paddles in the shallows

for salamanders, frogs
and little painted turtles. She logged

ten years down south in a kennel, secured
in a crate at night. Her heart murmur

will carry her off, no one can say when.
Meanwhile she is rapt in

the moment, our hearts leap up observing.
Dogs live in the moment, pursuing

that brilliant dragonfly called pleasure.
Only we, sunstruck in this azure

day, must drag along the backpacks
of our past, must peer into the bottom muck

of what's to come, scanning the plot
for words that say another year, or not.

08-06-2012, 08:17 PM	#1
Hollylane Practically Lives Here How Do You Identify?: . Preferred Pronoun?: . Relationship Status: . Join Date: Jun 2011 Location: . Posts: 11,495 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 34,694 Thanked 26,362 Times in 5,875 Posts Rep Power: 21474862	French Lesson by Rosemary Okun I wanted to know the language of my ancestors I wanted to know what they said when they made love and when they spoke to the neighbors I wanted to know how they spoke to their children and what my great-great-grandfather said when he stubbed his toe But ancestry is who your mother was and mine came from Brooklyn with a grandmother from Syracuse who said Glory be to God when someone dropped a cup and Bless me Father when she confessed My ancestors went by shanks mare and shouted give him the hook if they were displeased They ate apple pie and their potatoes were Idahos

08-06-2012, 08:21 PM	#2
Hollylane Practically Lives Here How Do You Identify?: . Preferred Pronoun?: . Relationship Status: . Join Date: Jun 2011 Location: . Posts: 11,495 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 34,694 Thanked 26,362 Times in 5,875 Posts Rep Power: 21474862	At the intersection: burnt August fields by Jennifer Wallace At the intersection: burnt August fields and blistered streets. The city readies for summer's last fling. Vendors circle the band shell with curried goat and Red Stripe beer. The sound man "check, checks" his mics and Marley's wail unites with insect wings and chicken smoke and air. Where is Jamaica? Baltimore? Where? Tonight they reside on music's continent — behind the chain link, where holstered cops keep peace between the races who don't appear to need much help... they boogie bum to bum under the moon and all the colored lights and everyone singing One Love.

08-08-2012, 01:15 AM	#3
Hollylane Practically Lives Here How Do You Identify?: . Preferred Pronoun?: . Relationship Status: . Join Date: Jun 2011 Location: . Posts: 11,495 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 34,694 Thanked 26,362 Times in 5,875 Posts Rep Power: 21474862	In the Moment by Maxine Kumin Some days the pond wears a glaze of yellow pollen. Some days it is clean-swept. The trout leap up, feasting on insects. A modest size, it sits like a soup tureen in a surround of white pine where Rosie, 14 lbs., some sort of rescued terrier, part bat (the ears), part anteater (the nose), shyly paddles in the shallows for salamanders, frogs and little painted turtles. She logged ten years down south in a kennel, secured in a crate at night. Her heart murmur will carry her off, no one can say when. Meanwhile she is rapt in the moment, our hearts leap up observing. Dogs live in the moment, pursuing that brilliant dragonfly called pleasure. Only we, sunstruck in this azure day, must drag along the backpacks of our past, must peer into the bottom muck of what's to come, scanning the plot for words that say another year, or not.