Ancient Eve is, once again
offering apples:
red lips and golden tresses.
Beautiful,
but not divine.
If my face has color
it’s just makeup, a deceit.
But in my chest a heart
beats its wings wild with desire,
every seventy of its heartbeats
multiplied by two.
Love and shame and my body
warm with lust. I burn
with fever, a fever
past any physician’s cure.
But at my side is bliss,
my lover
kind and faithful
and as long as he is here
I dwell in heaven.
I can’t breathe a word;
my mouth’s sealed
shut with your kisses,
their tongues of flame.
Oh, my thirsty lover!
Look at my happy fortune:
You, I, us tonight.
with a wine so delightful
where’s the room for restraint?
Adam! Come see the spectacle.
Leave behind your denial and conceits
and watch as the Eve of eighty
rivals the twenty-year-old she.
Where shall we go for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year,
When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad,
When the boughs are yellow and sere?
Where are the old ones that once we had,
And when are the new ones near?
What shall we do for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year?
Child! can I tell where the garlands go?
Can I say where the lost leaves veer
On the brown-burnt banks, when the wild winds blow,
When they drift through the dead-wood drear?
Girl! when the garlands of next year glow,
You may gather again, my dear—
But I go where the last year’s lost leaves go
At the falling of the year.
Work! for the night is coming;
Work! through the morning hours;
Work! while the dew is sparkling;
Work! ‘mid the springing flowers;
Work! while the day grows brighter,
Under the glowing sun;
Work! for the night is coming,—
Night, when man’s work is done.
Work! for the night is coming;
Work! through the sunny noon;
Fill the bright hours with labour,
Rest cometh sure and soon.
Give to each flying minute
Something to keep in store;
Work! for the night is coming,—
Night, when man works no more.
Work! for the night is coming;
Under the sunset skies,
While their bright tints are glowing,
Work! for the daylight flies;
Work! till the last beam fadeth,
Fadeth to shine no more;
Work! while the night is darkening,—
Night, when man’s work is o’er.
The wine that courses through my vein
Has drowned my heart and in its train
I navigate the endless blue
I am a ship without a crew
Forgetfulness descends like rain.
I am a just discovered star
That floats across the empyrean —
How new and strange its contours are!
O voyage taken to the sun
An unfamiliar yet persistent hum
The background to my night’s become.
My heart has left my life behind,
The world of Shape and
Form I’ve crossed,
I am saved I am lost
Into the unknown am tossed,
A name without a past to find.
Alas what am I? What use has my life?
I am but a body whose heart’s torn away,
A vain shadow, an object of misery
Who has nothing left but death-in-life.
O my enemies, set your envy all aside;
I’ve no more eagerness for high domain;
I’ve borne too long the burden of my pain
To see your anger swiftly satisfied.
And you, my friends who have loved me so true,
Remember, lacking health and heart and peace,
There is nothing worthwhile that I can do;
Ask only that my misery should cease
And that, being punished in a world like this,
I have my portion in eternal bliss.
Nothing is sweeter than love; all other bliss comes second.
And compared to it, even honey is too bitter to hold in my mouth.
This I say: Whom Kypris has not kissed
Does not know her flowers, what kinds of things roses are.
Rise up and look at the mountain, from
where the wind, the sun, the water arrive.
Thou, who determines the course of
rivers, thou who scatters the flight of
your soul.
Rise up. Look at your hands. Join
hands with your brothers, together
in blood we go. Now is the time that
can be tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Deliver us from the men of
misery. Take us to your kingdom of justice and
justice. Blow like the wind the gorge’s flower.
Clean the fire
in the barrel of my gun.
Thy will be done
Here on Earth. Give us your strength and
your courage in combat.
Blow like the wind the field’s daffodil.
Clean fire in the barrel of my gun.
Rise up and look at your hands. Join
hands with your brothers, together
in blood we live,
now and at the hour of
our death. Amen. We live. Amen.
We present this work in honor of the International Day of the Girl.
Audre Lorde American 1934 – 1992
I am fourteen
and my skin has betrayed me
the boy I cannot live without
still sucks his thumb
in secret
how come my knees are
always so ashy
what if I die
before morning
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
I have to learn how to dance
in time for the next party
my room is too small for me
suppose I die before graduation
they will sing sad melodies
but finally
tell the truth about me
There is nothing I want to do
and too much
that has to be done
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
Nobody even stops to think
about my side of it
I should have been on Math Team
my marks were better than his
why do I have to be
the one
wearing braces
I have nothing to wear tomorrow
will I live long enough
to grow up
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
When yellow-lock’d and crystal ey’d
I dream’d green woods among;
Where tall trees wav’d from side to side,
And in their green breasts deep and wide,
I saw the building blue jay hide,
O, then the earth was young!
The winds were fresh and brave and bold,
The red sun round and strong;
No prophet voice chill, loud and cold,
Across my woodland dreamings roll’d,
‘The green earth waxeth sere and old,
That once was fair and young!’
I saw in scarr’d and knotty bole,
The fresh’ning of the sap;
When timid spring gave first small dole,
Of sunbeams thro’ bare boughs that stole,
I saw the bright’ning blossoms roll,
From summer’s high pil’d lap.
And where an ancient oak tree lay
The forest stream across,
I mus’d above the sweet shrill spray,
I watch’d the speckl’d trout at play,
I saw the shadows dance and sway
On ripple and on moss.
I pull’d the chestnut branches low,
As o’er the stream they hung,
To see their bursting buds of snow—
I heard the sweet spring waters flow—
My heart and I we did not know
But that the earth was young!
I joy’d in solemn woods to see,
Where sudden sunbeams clung,
On open space of mossy lea,
The violet and anemone,
Wave their frail heads and beckon me—
Sure then the earth was young!
I heard the fresh wild breezes birr,
New budded boughs among,
I saw the deeper tinting stir
In the green tassels of the fir,
I heard the pheasant rise and whirr,
Above her callow young.
I saw the tall fresh ferns prest,
By scudding doe and fawn;
I say the grey dove’s swelling breast,
Above the margin of her nest;
When north and south and east and west
Roll’d all the red of dawn.
At eventide at length I lay,
On grassy pillow flung;
I saw the parting bark of day,
With crimson sails and shrouds all gay,
With golden fires drift away,
The billowy clouds among.
I saw the stately planets sail
On that blue ocean wide;
I saw blown by some mystic gale,
Like silver ship in elfin tale,
That bore some damsel rare and pale,
The moon’s slim crescent glide.
And ev’ry throb of spring
The rust’ling boughs among,
That filled the silver vein of brook,
That lit with bloom the mossy nook,
Cried to my boyish bosom: ‘Look!
How fresh the earth and young!’
The winds were fresh, the days as clear
As crystals set in gold.
No shape, with prophet-mantle drear,
Thro’ those old woods came drifting near,
To whisper in my wond’ring ear,
‘The green earth waxeth old.’
Poets Corner 