Poems Rethabile Likes

Manenburg by Abigail George | Poems Rethabile Likes Manenburg by Abigail George There're people living there Grandmothers and aunties, young men, uncles, ou toppies Their bodies need seawater, they hunger for it Men who need employment and not the old sores of apartheid Children who need parental supervision They're all soldiers, aren't they, in a way? Some do not know that action is the antidote to hardship, struggle Some go to bed with a gun under their pillow The children play at shooting each other This country is in need of spiritual warfare, not mass hallucination, not reckless endan...

Eating Poetry by Mark Strand | Poems Rethabile Likes Eating Poetry by Mark Strand Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry. The librarian does not believe what she sees. Her eyes are sad and she walks with her hands in her dress. The poems are gone. The light is dim. The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up. Their eyeballs roll, their blond legs burn like brush. The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep. She does not understand. When I get on my knees and lick her hand, she screams. ...

The Discovery Of Sex by Debra Spencer | Poems Rethabile Likes The Discovery Of Sex by Debra Spencer We try to be discreet standing in the dark hallway by the front door. He gets his hands up inside the front of my shirt and I put mine down inside the back of his jeans. We are crazy for skin, each other's skin, warm silky skin. Our tongues are in each other's mouths, where they belong, home at last. At first we hope my mother won't see us, but later we don't care, we forget her. Suddenly she makes a noise like a game show alarm and says Hey! Stop that! and we put our hands out where she can see them. Our m...

Meanwhile by Jack Gilbert | Poems Rethabile Likes Meanwhile by Jack Gilbert It waits. While I am walking through the pine trees along the river, it is waiting. It has waited a long time. In southern France, in Belgium, and even Alabama. Now it waits in New England while I say grace over almost everything: for a possum dead on someone's lawn, the sing light on a levee while Northampton sleeps, and because the lanes between houses in Greek hamlets are exactly the width of a donkey loaded on each side with barley. Loneliness is the mother's milk of America. The heart is a foreign country whose language none of us is good at. Winter lin...

After Midnight by Louis Simpson | Poems Rethabile Likes After Midnight by Louis Simpson The dark streets are deserted, With only a drugstore glowing Softly, like a sleeping body; With one white, naked bulb In the back, that shines On suicides and abortions. Who lives in these dark houses? I am suddenly aware I might live here myself. The garage man returns And puts the change in my hand, Counting the singles carefully. Poet: @LouisSimpson Online: @Everseradio Book(s): @ThriftBooks ...

A Secret Life by Stephen Dunn | Poems Rethabile Likes A Secret Life by Stephen Dunn Why you need to have one is not much more mysterious than why you don't say what you think at the birth of an ugly baby. Or, you've just made love and feel you'd rather have been in a dark booth where your partner was nodding, whispering yes, yes, you're brilliant. The secret life begins early, is kept alive by all that's unpopular in you, all that you know a Baptist, say, or some other accountant would object to. It becomes what you'd most protect if the government said you ...