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Tag: poetry and art

The Day’s Catch

The Day’s Catch by John Neville Day’s Catch If I were a bird flying above  If I were a bird watching the waves ripple like a girl’s hair that falls over her shoulders blue and black and silver in regular ripples thick and thin— If I was a bird...

The Shelton with Sunspots

The Shelton with Sunspots by Georgia O’Keeffe Like a bride bedecked with her jewels she arises With the sun as her diadem, soars into the skies, Clouds as her veil, face obscured by the radiance That shines through her dark solidity As if it...

Garrowby Hill

Garrowby Hill Down from the hills the purple road flows twisting and leaping like a girl who has a new twirl dress down into the patchwork valley between fields fearfully tiger-striped with new-plowed furrows and the rows of sentinel trees standing...

Motherhood

Motherhood The way the mother’s fingers lift and squish her breast to help the baby latch. The way the baby’s hand clutches his mother’s finger as he nurses. The way the baby’s eye looks up, trustingly, at his mother’s face. The way the mother looks...

Mother and Child

Mother and Child 
I
 In the red cradle she is finally asleep— innocent, serene— as if she’s always been. The hand clutching the cradle tells a different story, resting, limp, protective, above the upturned head.
 The baby now quiet, 
mother has...

Translation Blues (Ekphrastic Challenge)

  Ekphrasis: “Description” in Greek. An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify...

Little Brother

Little Brother In the late afternoon the blue room fills with languid light. Three little girls stand round while in Mother’s arms the new baby stills his little cries, that new strange squalling sound. Mother gazes down at her well-wrapped son He’s...

Room in Brooklyn

Room in Brooklyn High above the world, where the street sounds can’t hardly reach, her window with its lopsided shades looks over the rooftops where the clustered chimneys gaze back at the woman who sits so cozy in her wooden chair, now looking at...

Winter’s Night in the Mountains

Winter’s Night in the Mountains Just after sunset the sky is the perfect shade of heart-aching blue that you only see when the firmament yearns between daylight and dark. There isn’t a word for that color. And in the sky a silver star blazes...

Wrestling with the Angel

Wrestling with the Angel When I was ten (or was I six? or eight?) I had an infection in my right hip. Walking was agony, the joint inflamed. It was long ago, but I remember struggling to limp across the yard, stiff-legged in my plaid school jumper...

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