Poems Rethabile Likes

'The Earth-Child in the Grass,' by Katherine Mansfield In the very early morning Long before Dawn time I lay down in the paddock And listened to the cold song of the grass. Between my fingers the green blades, And the green blades pressed against my body. “Who is she leaning so heavily upon me?” Sang the grass. “Why does she weep on my bosom, Mingling her tears with the tears of my mystic lover? Foolish little earth child! It is not yet time. One day I shall open my bosom And you shall slip in—but not weeping. Then in the early morning Long before Dawn time Your lover will lie in the paddock. Between his f...

'Mercy,' by Tyehimba Jess the war speaks at night with its lips of shredded children, with its brow of plastique and its fighter jet breath, and then it speaks at daybreak with the soft slur of money unfolding leaf upon leaf. it speaks between the news programs in the music of commercials, then sings in the voices of a national anthem. it has a dirty coin jingle in its step, it has a hand of many lost hands, a palm of missing fingers, the stump of an arm that it lost reaching up to heaven, a foot that digs a trench for its dead. the war staggers forward, compelled, inexorable, ticking. it looks to me with its one eye of ...

'A man saw a ball of gold in the sky,' by Stephen Crane A man saw a ball of gold in the sky; He climbed for it, And eventually he achieved it— It was clay. Now this is the strange part: When the man went to the earth And looked again, Lo, there was the ball of gold. Now this is the strange part: It was a ball of gold. Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold. Stephen Crane Now this is the strange part Have a question...

For the leavingMemory of Sun, by Ana Akhmatova Memory of sun seeps from the heart. Grass grows yellower. Faintly if at all the early snowflakes Hover, hover. Water becoming ice is slowing in The narrow channels. Nothing at all will happen here again, Will ever happen. Against the sky the willow spreads a fan The silk's torn off. Maybe it's better I did not become Your wife. Memory of sun seeps from the heart. What is it?—Dark? Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us In the night. Anna Akhmatova Memory of sun seeps from the heart ...

For the leaving, by Andrea Gibson Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant d...

For the leaving, by Andrea Gibson Nobody ever thinks about the weight of a comet, how heavy something has to be to go that fast. Andrea Gibson how heavy something has to be Have a question? Please take a moment to read the guidelines first. Want to receive new poems? Enter your email in the subscription form (menu icon, top right ⇗ ). If you enjoy this blog, I'd appreciate anything listed on my wish list , or you could purchase my latest book, Mbera . This blog uses Follow.it for email subscri...