Poems Rethabile Likes

A Winter Twilight by Angelina Weld Grimké A Winter Twilight A silence slipping around like death, Yet chased by a whisper, a sigh, a breath; One group of trees, lean, naked and cold, Inking their cress ’gainst a sky green-gold; One path that knows where the corn flowers were; Lonely, apart, unyielding, one fir; And over it softly leaning down, One star that I loved ere the fields went brown. Poet: Angelina Weld Grimké Source: best-poems.net Books: @AbeBooks One star that I loved ere the fields went brown.

My Sister’s Boy by Rethabile Masilo My Sister’s Boy The day my sister’s boy was born she poured honey and whiskey into a pan, stirred warmed palm oil in, mixed them with her hands several times, then smeared it all over the boy’s body. ‘This is how I will love you’, she said, as if to herself, her hands rubbing his groin and buttocks. He studied her awhile and giggled, then stuck a thumb into his pink mouth and sucked it with his eyes closed. ‘It’s exactly how I will love you, baby’. Someone ran outside and fixed a white flag onto the roof to announce the birth. Women came with pails of home brew. Someone sacrificed a bull. Still we had to wait and wait for rain in order to place the infant out and leave him there till he toughened, enough to take the name the tribe wo...

Way to Go by A.R. Ammons Deep out in blue glass West light flat on trees: bird flying deep out in blue glass: uncertain wind stirring the leaves: this is the world we have: take it Poet: A.R. Ammons Source: apoemaday.tumblr.com Books: @AbeBooks The world we have... take it

When Death Comes by Mary Oliver When Death Comes When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness? And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence, and each body a lion of ...

Back from Vacation by John Updike Back from Vacation “Back from vacation,” the barber announces, or the postman, or the girl at the drugstore, now tan. They are amazed to find the workaday world still in place, their absence having slipped no cogs, their customers having hardly missed them, and how sparse an audience to tell of the wonders, the pyramids they have seen, the silken warm seas, the nighttimes of marimbas, the purchases achieved in foreign languages, the beggars, the flies, the hotel luxury, the grandeur of marble cities. But at Customs the humdrum pressed its claims. Gray days clicked shut around them; the yoke still fit, warm as if never shucked. The world is still so small, the evidence says, though their hearts cry, “Not so!” ...

January by W. S. Merwin January So after weeks of rain at night the winter stars that much farther in heaven without our having seen them in far light are still forming the heavy elements that when the stars are gone fly up as dust finer by many times than a hair and recognize each other in the dark traveling at great speed and becoming our bodies in our time looking up after rain in the cold night together Poet: W. S. Merwin Source: @Silver Birch Press Books: @AbeBooks Looking up after rain in the cold night together Do take a moment...

First Lesson by Philip Booth First Lesson Lie back daughter, let your head be tipped back in the cup of my hand. Gently, and I will hold you. Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream and look high at the gulls. A dead- man’s float is face down. You will dive and swim soon enough where this tidewater ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe me, when you tire on the long thrash to your island, lie up, and survive. As you float now, where I held you and let go, remember when fear cramps your heart what I told you: lie gently and wide to the light-year stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you. Poet: Philip Booth Source: @TheDewdrop Books: @AbeBooks Let your head be tipped b...

This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin This Be The Verse They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their turn By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one another’s throats. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don’t have any kids yourself. Poet: Philip Larkin Source: @HuckGutMan Books: @AbeBooks But they were fucked up in their turn by fools. ...

why some people be mad at me sometimes by Lucille Clifton why some people be mad at me sometimes they ask me to remember but they want me to remember their memories and i keep on remembering mine. Poet: Lucille Clifton Source: @TheDewDrop Books: @AbeBooks they want me to remember their memories. Do take a moment to read the guidelines . Use this form to sign up and receive poems. Check out my latest book "Mbera", available at Canopic Publishing and other equally, extremely very finest book nooks. This blog us...

Dusk by Rethabile Masilo Dusk The plane goes where Icarus could not go after the last time he tried that stunt, its aisles grief pews to the few who know the terminus. Jesus recedes like my father’s hair when I last saw him, and he clutched my hands like one does a prayer book. Flying to him in Lesotho now changes roles, the hour commissions me to his day, a day and time that, like everything, cannot grasp that it too shall pass away. When the plane lands I have his heart in me as I walk through customs into the day. At the clinic I do not know who I am; summer dries up, and the sun dies too. Poet: Rethabile Masilo Source: @Qoaling Books: @AbeBooks When the plane lands I ha...

Instead of Depression by Andrea Gibson Instead of Depression try calling it hibernation. Imagine the darkness is a cave in which you will be nurtured by doing absolutely nothing. Hibernating animals don’t even dream. It’s okay if you can’t imagine Spring. Sleep through the alarm of the world. Name your hopelessness a quiet hollow, a place you go to heal, a den you dug, Sweetheart, instead of a grave. Poet: Andrea Gibson Source: @PoetsDotOrg Books: @AbeBooks It's okay if you can't imagine Spring.

When We Are Weak by R. S. Thomas When We Are Weak When we are weak, we are strong. When our eyes close on the world, then somewhere within us the bush burns. When we are poor and aware of the inadequacy of our table, it is to that uninvited the guest comes Poet: R. S. Thomas Source: @RoundHousePoetryCircle Books: @Abebooks It is to that uninvited the guest comes Do take a moment to read the guidelines . Use this form to sign up and receive poems. Check out my latest book "Mbera", available at ...