Posts Tagged poetry

I Didn’t Bang the DJ: a poem

you tell me they say you have magic ears.
all you do is talk about how wonderful you are.
ego ego ego.
self-inflated value.
you played it first.

“Let’s play 20 questions.”
kiss me and flatter me.
touch my boobs.
promise me there’ll be writing for me to do.
changes to come.
harassing or confusing or harmless fun?
making out in my car because your woman’s asleep at home.
what is this high school?

magic ears.
late night texts.

“In a year I want to work A&R in New York but I don’t want to abandon my friends.”
thanksgiving drinks your place.
my lips. my tits. wandering hands.
my sexual prowess.
you don’t always get what you want.
or did you?

it’s laughable.
take away your job, the radio station. you’re nobody special.

–Amy Steele

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Spinster by Sylvia Plath

painting by Kevin Lawrence Leveque

Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious April walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds’ irregular babel
And the leaves’ litter.

By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover’s gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower.
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.

How she longed for winter then!—
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock, each sentiment within border
And heart’s frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.

But here—a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into vulgar motley—
A treason not to be borne. Let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.

And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.

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poem: EARTH by Amy Steele

The Portrait of Maud Abrantes, by Amedeo Modigliani

cool and damp
darkness surrounds me
claustrophobia engulfs me
but I don’t care anymore
I embrace it
Feeling the emptiness
my mind aches
my heart burns
my soul dissipates
Oxygen slowly escapes
this suffocating space
How did I get dirt caked under my fingernails?
Because long ago I resigned myself to loneliness
To heartache
To disappointment
To an early, bitter, painful death

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POEM: A Pony Named Easter

Shiny and black with a white star on her lovely face,
Easter knows what she wants and big horses treat her with grace.

Welsh Mountain is her breed.
Why the name Easter? She happened to be born on the holiday on April 22, 1973.

This Welsh mountain pony is rugged, sometimes stubborn, more often sweet.
She doesn’t mind being out in rain, snow and sleet.

Amy took Easter swimming, on long trail rides and to shows.
She also brushed her as kittens, a-top Easter, curled up and dosed.

Easter moved to a new barn, little bantam chickens would roost on her back.
The pony was round and comfortable and never gave the chickens any flack.

These days she lies out in the sun to nap when she gets tired.
She’s 37-years-old and retired.

Beneath Easter’s barn live a few foxes with dark cinnamon fur and bushy tails.
Many days you can see the foxes running alongside the rails.

In the paddock, the foxes and the pony sometimes stay close to each other.
Although wary of the pony, the foxes and Easter still respect one another

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