Poems Rethabile Likes

Hibernal by Babette Deutsch | Poems Rethabile Likes Hibernal by Babette Deutsch The park is winter-plucked. The sky and the grey pavement show a sheeted face: the covered stare of one who had to die. Now, when men sweat, shoveling muddy snow or heaving ice, they know the helpless sweat that will not wet them twice, they know the staggering heart, the smothered breath that stand between this knowing and the end. Though they must drag a net of heavy hours about their straining limbs, though they behold love like a pillar of cloud, a pillar of fire— this net will break before they tire, this cloud, this ...

THE OTHER OPTION by Antonia Alexandra Klimenko | Poems Rethabile Likes The Other Option by Antonia Alexandra Klimenko No No thank you No thank you     No thank you! Just no Just not feeling it Just not not     not not no     No!     NO!! What part of no     DON'T you understand? N     O Please remove your hand Please remove your hand No None of that     None     Nada Nada thing     Nothing Silence     The Unspoken...

The Word That Is a Prayer by Ellery Akers | Poems Rethabile Likes The Word That Is a Prayer by Ellery Akers One thing you know when you say it: all over the earth people are saying it with you; a child blurting it out as the seizures take her, a woman reciting it on a cot in a hospital. What if you take a cab through the Tenderloin: at a street light, a man in a wool cap, yarn unraveling across his face, knocks at the window; he says, Please. By the time you hear what he's saying, the light changes, the cab pulls away, and you don't go back, though you know someone just prayed to you the way you pray. P...

The First Water Is the Body by Natalie Diaz | Poems Rethabile Likes The First Water Is the Body by Natalie Diaz The Colorado River is the most endangered river in the United States—also, it is a part of my body. I carry a river. It is who I am: ‘Aha Makav. This is not metaphor. When a Mojave says, Inyech ‘Aha Makavch ithuum , we are saying our name. We are telling a story of our existence. The river runs through the middle of my body. So far, I have said the word river in every stanza. I don't want to waste water. I must preserve the river in my body. In future stanzas, I will try to be more conservative. ↠ ...

Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden | Poems Rethabile Likes Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last...