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The Fury of Sunsets by Anne Sexton | Poems Rethabile Likes

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The Fury of Sunsets by Anne Sexton | Poems Rethabile Likes The Fury of Sunsets by Anne Sexton Something cold is in the air, an aura of ice and phlegm. All day I’ve built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it. The horizon bleeds and sucks its thumb. The little red thumb goes out of sight. And I wonder about this lifetime with myself, this dream I’m living. I could eat the sky like an apple but I’d rather ask the first star: why am I here? why do I live in this house? who’s responsible? eh? ...
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Blood Feud by Elinor Wylie | Poems Rethabile Likes

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Blood Feud by Elinor Wylie | Poems Rethabile Likes Blood Feud by Elinor Wylie Once, when my husband was a child, there came To his father's table, one who called him kin, In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin. His look was grave and kind; he bore the name Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile. Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke; "I've been in the laurel since the winter broke; Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while." He'd killed a score of foemen in the past, In some blood feud, a dark and monstrous thing; To him it seemed his duty. At the last His enemies found him...
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L'Origine du Monde by Rethabile Masilo | Poems Rethabile Likes

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L'Origine du Monde by Rethabile Masilo | Poems Rethabile Likes L'Origine du Monde by Rethabile Masilo 1866. Who can’t like the way Courbet painted women? Jo on the bed with her head thrown back, as Gustave fiddles with brush and palette. That is how it ought to be, for heaven told us to call the sun when in trouble, call the wind, raise rivers off their floors. But is this iron lung mine? Plastic heart mine? My face can no longer be stretched. Am I wearing plastic boobs or a rubber crotch? High over mountains, above a hawk that stares with beady eye, above the stratosphere and beyond, no distinct air can breathe. The ozone layer has even fashioned a funne...
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