Poem of the Day: A Woman Without A Country
Mar 15th, 2017 by

As dawn breaks he enters
A room with the odor of acid.
He lays the copper plate on the table.
And reaches for the shaft of the burin.
Dublin wakes to horses and rain.
Street hawkers call.
All the news is famine and famine.
The flat graver, the round graver,
The angle tint tool wait for him.
He bends to his work and begins.
He starts with the head, cutting in
To the line of the cheek, finding
The slope of the skull, incising
The shape of a face that becomes
A foundry of shadows, rendering —
With a deeper cut into copper —
The whole woman as a skeleton,
The rags of  her skirt, her wrist
In a bony line forever
                                        severing
Her body from its native air until
She is ready for the page,
For the street vendor, for
A new inventory which now
To loss and to laissez-faire adds
The odor of acid and the little,
Pitiless tragedy of  being imagined.
He puts his tools away,
One by one; lays them out carefully
On the deal table, his work done.

Source: Poetry April 2013

Eavan Boland

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Poem of the Day: Phenomenal Woman
Mar 18th, 2016 by

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size   
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,   
The stride of my step,   
The curl of my lips.   
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,   
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,   
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.   
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.   
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,   
And the flash of my teeth,   
The swing in my waist,   
And the joy in my feet.   
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered   
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,   
They say they still can't see.   
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,   
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.   
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.   
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,   
The bend of my hair,   
the palm of my hand,   
The need for my care.   
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Maya Angelou, "Phenomenal Woman" from And Still I Rise. Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou. Used by permission of Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

Source: The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou (Random House Inc., 1994)

Maya Angelou

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Poem of the Day: Superhero Pregnant Woman
Mar 15th, 2016 by

Her sense of smell is ten times stronger.   
And so her husband smells funny;   
she rolls away from him in the bed.   
She even smells funny to herself,   
but cannot roll away from that.   

Why couldn't she get a more useful superpower?   
Like the ability to turn invisible, or fly?   

The refrigerator laughs at her from its dark corner,   
knowing she will have to open it some time   
and surrender to its villainous odors.

Poem copyright © 2007 by Jessy Randall. Reprinted from "A Day in Boyland," by Jessy Randall, published by Ghost Road Press, 2007, by permission of the author.

Jessy Randall

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Poem of the Day
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End Date: Sunday Apr-16-2017 21:23:34 PDT
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