Female Author

by Sylvia Plath

All day she plays at chess with the bones of the world:
Favored (while suddenly the rains begin
Beyond the window) she lies on cushions curled
And nibbles an occasional bonbon of sin.

Prim, pink-breasted, feminine, she nurses
Chocolate fancies in rose-papered rooms
Where polished higboys whisper creaking curses
And hothouse roses shed immortal blooms.

The garnets on her fingers twinkle quick
And blood reflects across the manuscript;
She muses on the odor, sweet and sick,
Of festering gardenias in a crypt,

And lost in subtle metaphor, retreats
From gray child faces crying in the streets.

We Real Cool

by Gwendolyn Brooks

THE POOL PLAYERS.

SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We

Left school. We

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We

Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We

Die soon.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15433
Click this link and listen to Brooks herself read the poem; it's a great treat, and I say it's required listening.

Sylvia Plath reads Lady Lazarus

Lady Lazarus

by Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart--
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

23-29 October 1962
(Scroll to the bottom of the page to hear Plath herself read the poem -- it's wonderful!

Any More

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

--Sylvia Plath
first stanza of "Daddy"

White Plastic Box

Because she is so
linda.
My best friend
ever.

Oh, God
I love her.
Why
did she have to die?

She's just a dog
they all said; just get another one.
Bury the body. In any old back yard;
now she's just a pile of bones, soon forgotten.
Alone, numb, weeping mutely, I lifted her stiff body. Her once-warm heart
no longer beating. One final trip in the car. This last, a misadventure.

Would you bury your mom
in any old back yard?
A small, white plastic box,
its neatly typed label: Lindie Beller.
Renews my river of sorrow. Hot, salty tears, torrents,
sting my cheeks; impossible heartache crushes my chest. Just bones. Now ashes.

Oh, dear God! the pain, its weight
unbearable. My heart, warm only from the blood still pulsing through it,
has cracked, ripped, fractured: tiny pebbles of glass
from a vandalized car. My heart, now a black hole
never-ending. Black as coal, dark and dense, and rough-edged.
My grief is fatal, hopeless, beyond recall. Please, God, bring her back. please.

When all other friends desert,
he remains. When riches take wings and reputation
falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love
as the sun in its journey through the heavens.
If misfortune drives the master forth an outcast
in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks
no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard
against danger, to fight against his enemies… faithful and true even to death.

--From a speech given by the late Senator Vest of Missouri,
in the trial of a man at Warrensburg, who had killed a dog
belonging to his neighbor. Mr. Vest represented the plaintiff; he won.
The speech is inscribed on the Old Drum Memorial, Warrensburg, Missouri, 1870.

Dearest Lindie:
I found you at the pound,
we busted you out of prison.
Quicker than 5-Second Nail Glue, fast friends instantly.
You defined loyalty. In a New York minute.

Like a child, you innately distilled
the purest meaning of love. Love so pure
it hurt. You wet-kissed me
when I cried. I kissed you gratefully
every night.

You were my little Sugar Bear, my Sweet-pea, my
Belinda-bear. My Mama's Girl,
my Sister. I still save you
my sandwich half. Still save room
in the back seat of the car for you, ever ready for our next adventure.

We were partners: you and me. The endless azure skies and sage-filled canyons
of John Muir's wilderness knew our song by heart,
our blissful freedom treks
where you chased summer, the shadows of golden monarchs,
then frolicked, in winter's fluffy snow.

Fearlessly rough-and-ready, emboldened
by the Gypsy Kings in Dolby, we zigzagged cross-country,
Texas to Cali and back again, encore performances. Sacked out in our green 4Runner,
at the gray rest-stops. You protected me, ever ardent,
from the gray rest-stop gangsters.

How I long to inhale your perfumed sweetness again,
and nuzzle your coat, your velvety-grayness, and kiss your ears, your satiny-tenderness.
That certain way you reclined, paws delicately crossed, betrayed a certain sovereign mien.
I sometimes called you
my regal-beagle

as if you wore a sparkling citrine-encrusted crown of the finest, purest gold,
befitting your noble status as Queen of Weimaraners.
Your soulful eyes, exotic jewels of haunting yellow,
spoke erudite, scholarly volumes. My very own
William Wegman masterpiece.

You melted my heart, as deliciously
as Paula Deen melts buckets of butter
with your goofy ill-docked propeller-tail, and your cute little ski-slope nose. As brightly
as the sunshine, when it shimmies across the end of a gray rain, you delighted me
with your Alvin Ailey happy-dance and your irresistible, toothy dog-smile.

Lickety-split, I was your reason for living;
imminently, you were mine.
After fifteen quixotic years,
you surely ceased to be
Just a Dog.

You suffered in your love for me
until the very end.
I suffer
still.

I love you, little mama
I miss you.
Goodbye, Lindie Girl
goodbye.

Lindie is my BFF; my best friend forever; after a while I found myself wondering, who rescued whom? Click here http://www.weimrescue.org/ if you want to find out about rescuing one of these deliciously loyal, erudite souls. Lindie thanks you from heaven.

Randomly Inspired Smartassness

No doubt you are lurking here, reading this, looking at the name of this blog, and thinking, why ever the silly name? First, if you must know, it is pretty descriptive of the way my brain works; ask my family, they're still wondering when I'll grow up. (Never.) But there is a better inspiration for the cheekiness, besides my random smartassness. Well then, without further ado, here is my inspiration. Hope you enjoy; don't bother trying to understand it unless your name is Sydney Louise.



For Sydney Louise
random thoughts, from a random aunt

By Michele Beller

Purple-pink teddy bears
are cordially invited, to a birthday tea.
With Ariel, Tinker Bell, and little brother Kevin.

And don’t forget a special guest
our favorite cupcake Hello Kitty!
Dressed to eat in pretty pink frosting.

She is six going on sixteen
such a beauty, such a Queen.
And she’s much, much, more: she's sassy, she’s smart, and oh! so sexy.

Shiny head of curli-cues
sweet, sweet voice of Minnie Mouse
or, Girl on Helium.

A Fashionista Dee-vine!
In lovely groovy bell-bottoms
and matching sequined purple purses.

When I die, I’m going to leave you
all my high-heeled shoes
and, all my books.

Multi-colored crayons draw
kaleidoscopic rainbows
all by my niece Sydney, a most gifted artist.

I collect them all, to some day make
a great big, giant rainbow.
So that I can climb, into the sky, with diamonds.

It’s all in the mind y’know, that’s what Ringo says
and I’m in back, head in the clouds
then I’m gone!

Oh, yes, and by the way
thank-you for the flowers, and the lovely sea-shells
adorning Lindie's resting-place, in the purple sky.

Alice, in Wonderland, a very silly girl
says in honor of your grandma and the color pink
I'm going to call you Squeezie! Just because.

Go to bed! It’s very late
the Princess looks like Grumpy Bear, early in the morning.
Oh! Thank goodness! There is no need to dress for school.

But my, oh, my, what do I smell? Rebelliousness
brewing, in the coffee-pot.
Please watch out, mama! This coffee can be hot.

And oh, this pink and purple flower’s
blossoming so fast. Like O'Keefe: so beautiful!
A passionate Purple Petunia.

In the beautiful Garden, of Strawberry Fields, with Strawberry Shortcake
everyone smiles, as they drift past the Petunia
that grows so incredibly high.

She's growing up, yes she is, and soon, she’ll either be: One,
a high-class Burlesque dancer;
Two, even higher! The first female President.