  Poetry
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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To A Blossoming Pear Tree
by James Wright
Beautiful natural blossoms,
Pure delicate body,
You stand without trembling.
Little mist of fallen starlight,
Perfect, beyond my reach,
How I envy you.
For if you could only listen,
I would tell you something,
Something human.
An old man
Appeared to me once
In the unendurable snow.
He had a singe of white
Beard on his face.
He paused on a street in Minneapolis
And stroked my face.
Give it to me, he begged.
I'll pay you anything.
I flinched. Both terrified,
We slunk away,
Each in his own way dodging
The cruel darts of the cold.
Beautiful natural blossoms,
How could you possibly
Worry or bother or care
About the ashamed, hopeless
Old man? He was so near death
He was willing to take
Any love he could get,
Even at the risk
Of some mocking policeman
Or some cute young wiseacre
Smashing his dentures,
Perhaps leading him on
To a dark place and there
Kicking him in his dead groin
Just for the fun of it.
Young tree, unburdened
By anything but your beautiful natural blossoms
And dew, the dark
Blood in my body drags me
Down with my brother.
The Jewel by
James Wright
There is this cave
In the air behind my body
That nobodyt is going to touch:
A cloister, a silence
Closing around a blossom of fire.
When I stand upright in the wind,
My bones turn to dark emeralds.
James Wright was born on December 13, 1927. His family lived in Marthins Ferry, Ohio a small steel town along the Ohio River. His father worked in a glass factory and his mother left school at fourteen to work doing laundry. Neither of his parents had any schooling beyond the eighth grade. Early on Wright excelled at school. He enjoyed public speaking and started writing in high school. While he was attending high school Wright suffered a mental breakdown and missed a year of school. He graduated in 1946 and then he joined the Army. Wright was stationed in Japan during WWII.
Wright took full advantage of his G.I. bill and attended Kenyon College where he graduated cum laude in 1952. He was also a member of the Phi Beta Kappa. In 1953 he married Liberty Kardules and the couple had two sons, Franz and Marshall before the two separated in 1959. Wright went to the University of Washington where he earned his master's and doctoral degrees. While studding at the University Wright wrote The Green Wall that was published after he graduated in 1957. The book won him the Yale Series of Younger Poets award. He then went on to teach at The University of Minnesota. His second collection was Saint Judas published in 1959.
Wright left University of Minnesota to teach at Macalester College. His third book The Lion’s Tail and Eyes: Poems Written Out of Laziness and Silence written with William Duffy and Robert Bly was published in 1962. Followed by The Branch Shall Not Break in 1963. In 1967 Wright married his second wife Edith Anne Crunk. She was the “Annie” mentioned in several of his poems. In 1968 he published Shall We Gather at the River followed by Collected Poems in 1971, which received the Pulitzer Prize in poetry. Wright was also elected a fellow of The Academy of American Poets that same year.
In the years that followed Wright taught New York City's Hunter College and continued his writing. He published Two Citizensin 1973, Moments of the Italian Summer in 1976 and To a Blossoming Pear Tree in 1977. Wright was diagnosed with cancer of the tongue in 1979. He died on March 25, 1980. Wright’s last two books were published after his death, Collected Prose in 1983 and Above the River - the Complete Poems with the introduction by Donald Hall, published in 1992.
On the Skeleton of a Hound
By James Wright
Nightfall, that saw the morning-glories float
Tendril and string against the crumbling wall,
Nurses him now, his skeleton for grief,
His locks for comfort curled among the leaf.
Shuttles of moonlight weave his shadow tall,
Milkweed and dew flow upward to his throat.
Now catbird feathers plume the apple mound,
And starlings drowse to winter up the ground.
thickened away from speech by fear, I move
Around the body. Over his forepaws, steep
Declivities darken down the moonlight now,
And the long throat that bayed a year ago
Declines from summer. Flies would love to leap
Between his eyes and hum away the space
Between the ears, the hollow where a hare
Could hide; another jealous dog would tumble
The bones apart, angry, the shining crumble
Of a great body gleaming in the air;
Quivering pigeons foul his broken face.
I can imagine men who search the earth
For handy resurrections, overturn
The body of a beetle in its grave;
Whispering men digging for gods might delve
A pocket for these bones, then slowly burn
Twigs in the leaves, pray for another birth.
But I will turn my face away from this
Ruin of summer, collapse of fur and bone.
For once a white hare huddled up the grass,
The sparrows flocked away to see the race.
I stood on darkness, clinging to a stone,
I saw the two leaping alive on ice,
On earth, on leaf, humus and withered vine:
The rabbit splendid in a shroud of shade,
The dog carved on the sunlight, on the air,
Fierce and magnificent his rippled hair,
The cockleburs shaking around his head.
Then, suddenly, the hare leaped beyond pain
Out of the open meadow, and the hound
Followed the voiceless dancer to the moon,
To dark, to death, to other meadows where
Singing young women dance around a fire,
Where love reveres the living.
I alone
Scatter this hulk about the dampened ground;
And while the moon rises beyond me, throw
The ribs and spine out of their perfect shape.
For a last charm to the dead, I lift the skull
And toss it over the maples like a ball.
Strewn to the woods, now may that spirit sleep
That flamed over the ground a year ago.
I know the mole will heave a shinbone over,
The earthworm snuggle for a nap on paws,
The honest bees build honey in the head;
The earth knows how to handle the great dead
Who lived the body out, and broke its laws,
Knocked down a fence, tore up a field of clover.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winners of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] are:
| |  | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1530574 by Not Available. |
PORTRAIT OF WOMAN IN GARDEN
The lovely tall woman
Stood in her garden
Dream-like in her
Soft cotton dress.
The chill wind whipped
The cherry patterned skirt
And made it float in waving
Billows of color --
Colors of white and faded red --
Cherries and cream tossed together.
She leaned back her head
And watched without expression
The storm clouds gathering
Swiftly and dauntingly.
She knew her woolen coat
Hung just inside the door,
But she made no move
To collect it --
She turned and touched
The last of the pink roses
Climbing the trellis
Against the shed wall.
She bent and breathed in
The sweet honeyed fragrance,
Then looked at the sky
Once more.
The clouds had come low
And grown black as coal;
Oppressive and menacing
A shroud in her eyes.
The ominous effect brought
A change to the woman --
A change to her blank countenance --
As her eyes slowly melted
Into dark sadness,
And soon swam in tears
That were long overdue.
She dropped to her knees
In her garden there,
Burying her face in her hands.
She sobbed, then,
With total abandon.
For life to her had become
As the dying clinging roses,
And bleak, sodden sky,
And she wished
To no longer
Go on.
Second Place:
If all the world where indeed a stage
I would trade it for cotton candy clouds
and laying on my back under cherry trees.
The old sky wears a coal-color coat.
I would trade it for a warm blue robe
If all the world where indeed a stage.
I stand silhouetted at the top of barren hill
and look to the last hill I have left to climb.
I would trade it for cotton candy clouds.
I shiver at the unfairness of rain and wind-chill.
wishing for the warmth of love and compassion,
and laying on my back under cherry trees.
Third Place:
| | | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1532060 by Not Available. |
Answered Prayer
…you don’t always know how it will come…
Her cheeks were red like cherries in the misty morning chill,
Cotton coat tight around her, she began to climb the hill.
Her coal black eyes were shining with a multitude of tears
Dark clouds of degradation had aged her beyond her years.
But on that day in December, she’d finally found her voice.
She would tell him she was leaving, he had left her no choice.
Tired of being beaten, worn from the fear and lies he told;
her hands and knees were trembling as her wedding ring she sold.
She put the few dollars into the lining of her coat;
she sat down with pen and paper and here is what she wrote:
“Dear Michael, I am leaving – I can’t take it any more
I’m weary of feeling fear each time you come through our door.
“I’ve lied to my friends until they no longer come around.”
Then she paused in her writing; she thought she’d heard a sound.
Her face lost all its color, when hours early he came home.
Would this time it be bumps and bruises or more broken bones?
She tried to hide the paper, but his hands were much too fast
As his hateful eyes read her words, she gave a little gasp.
It was too late, no where to run and nothing she could do;
but in a few moments, her dearest wishes all came true.
On that day in December, when she knew she could not stay;
she did not feel the blow that finally took her far away,
Warm, loving arms surrounded her – like she had never known.
Angels came to carry her to her safe and final home.
Copyright © February 19, 2009 by Karen M. Crump
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Poetry: March 18, 2009 Issue [#2945]
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