STANDARDS: Poetry V7 N2

STANDARDS: Poetry

Turning Points, Emmanuela Copal de León, 2001

The Breasts of White Women

by Samantha Coerbell

you gotta wanna work
and colour in the lines
cause in the mean time
my breasts do not do
a jiggly dance beneath
the cashmere of my sweater
they have mouths to feed.
unchecked

what happens to a dream deferred...
what happens to a situation unchecked...
what happens to a sister unchecked...?

A Religious Theory of Evolution

by Abou Farman

And I'm telling god,
We are contemporaries.

The Mercy F*ck Suite

by Steven Fullwood

Seventy-thousand lighted candles
saved me from killing myself
and you.
My hands no longer feel it
necessary...he squeezes his eyes
shut, no light penetrates....no
longer a goal -- right now.

To the Cage

by Rich Furman

There are men outside
fixing cars. Honest work, for meaning and money.
You write this, which might give you one,
but not the other.

To the Center

by Rich Furman

A crack splits your body,
left to right,
past to present
soul to callous shell.
Holding your camera at your waist,
you snap discolored, distorted slides.
What else would these horrible
documents reveal.

When We Come Home

by Noema Ioffe

We give so much to the Struggle,
But others sacrificed all;
Collapsing, I am always aware
Of those who do more than I ever could.

Percussive

by EA Lynch

We work hard, architect an outer shell, pearlize, become cathedrals, mollusks. Convince ourselves that this protects. Switch to herbal tea. Read about antioxidants, cling to the uneasy reconciliations which live somewhere
between truth and atomized illusion.

Plaid

by EA Lynch

Valley Forge has a certain appeal, like a moment of respite, although they spent two years in Jockey Hollow, which, apparently was much more bitter. At least death in those places was real, something which could be talked
about. Frostbite, gangrene, exposure. The other little girls are nervous of your silences, your refusal to speak. You are afraid of what you might say. You might tell them that the cinderblock walls in the basement are gently weeping blood. Be brave. This is not real.

Pay attention.

Child of Mine

by Esteban A. Martinez

What can I say even though I want to say
I didn't want no kids
The only reaon you're here is cuz of a mistake
I never wanted no kids
Cuz I never wanted to see them break
never want to see you break

Para Mis Abuelos

by Esteban A. Martinez

and of course
i would obey my grandfather's hand
because he fed me
gave me a room
a home

where my grandmother gifted me
with tortillas and coffee
salsa of chile pequin and garlic

gifts i swear i will give to my children

HuTutsi Waltz

by Amira Nuha

no aid in camouflage green
military fatigues that said
UN/US (pronounced unUs)
none to stop the Hutu machetes
from returning dead Tutsi babies to
their mothers' open wombs

Women's Places

by Amira Nuha

she went to Their courts to tell
Them about Him
she was given papers to fill out
in quadruplicate in hextuplicate
designed to discourage & confuse
by time & complexity
so that He could make her wait
before offering dispassionate patience
to another version of a familiar song

Try Some of These, They're Delicious...

by Steve Redmond

Killing is doing.

You couldn't ask for a stronger example of action than killing someone.

They even call it an action.

Like a police action.

And action movies.

Inactivity encourages war, that's for sure.

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