Original Poem-- Free Verse

PLEASE--

Lick my wounds,
shake my spirit...
Let me hold you,
fragile figure,
against my rain-soaked blazer.

Let me be held,
by you.
Engulf me in your leather
jacket, which reminds me
so much
of my father.

Let the patchwork green
riddled red, lined interior
bleed into the reflection
of my cheeks.

Let your beat-keeper
bruise my eardrums,
worm its steady pace,
Into my cerebral.

Let the world go warm--
Let the world go dark inside.

Original Poem- Free Verse

If You See Me, Tell Me to Come Home

Somewhere in L.A.

my ghost waits in a glass box

on the corner of Spring and 4^th.

Confined by the crystal,

it leans tipped against a garbage can,

where the beggar woman

with the hunched back,

knitted sweaters, ruddy shoes

finds her late, evening supper.

It's the same place where,

the Skid Row rascals, flying rats

reside, picking their teeth

masticating on the city carcasses

left decaying just beyond

the subway gates

and public park entrances.

And somewhere in L.A.,

a man labors towards a goal left dangling

on a string,

just out of reach
of these demons.

He works hard, hardly talks

except to the one who dreams

of his phantom,

laying still, breathing silence

holding his ghost

on the Eastern Shore.

Now, somewhere here

I’m left wondering...

The other piece of me,

sobbing, crying out for the man

whose ghost I’m not holding.

Gallery Poem

PRISCILLA PUG

She hangs crooked slightly
On a wall,
Eyes beady, bold.

She's staring
Curls primped, proper,
Just above shoulders.

She hears
The photographer
Say "Treat!"

With a tilt,
Twist of head,
Flash of bulb,

She's captured,
Developed,
Caged,
Trapped.

-Rachel Doda

Original Poem-- Imagist Poem #2

THE RABBIT IN THE BELLY

In the prison of the smiling serpent
the seventh of furry princes,
sleeps gnawing, gestating.

-Rachel Doda

Poem Analysis: "Edward Hopper and the House by the Railroad" by Edward Hirsch

Edward Hopper and the House by the Railroad

Edward Hirsch

Out here in the exact middle of the day,
This strange, gawky house has the expression
Of someone being stared at, someone holding
His breath underwater, hushed and expectant;
This house is ashamed of itself, ashamed
Of its fantastic mansard rooftop
And its pseudo-Gothic porch, ashamed
of its shoulders and large, awkward hands.
But the man behind the easel is relentless.
He is as brutal as sunlight, and believes
The house must have done something horrible
To the people who once lived here
Because now it is so desperately empty,
It must have done something to the sky
Because the sky, too, is utterly vacant
And devoid of meaning. There are no
Trees or shrubs anywhere--the house
Must have done something against the earth.
All that is present is a single pair of tracks
Straightening into the distance. No trains pass.
Now the stranger returns to this place daily
Until the house begins to suspect
That the man, too, is desolate, desolate
And even ashamed. Soon the house starts
To stare frankly at the man. And somehow
The empty white canvas slowly takes on
The expression of someone who is unnerved,
Someone holding his breath underwater.
And then one day the man simply disappears.
He is a last afternoon shadow moving
Across the tracks, making its way
Through the vast, darkening fields.
This man will paint other abandoned mansions,
And faded cafeteria windows, and poorly lettered
Storefronts on the edges of small towns.
Always they will have this same expression,
The utterly naked look of someone
Being stared at, someone American and gawky.
Someone who is about to be left alone
Again, and can no longer stand it.

Response:

In Edward Hirsch’s poem,  “Edward Hopper and the House on the Railroad”, I really enjoyed how Hirsch brought the house to life by describing how lonely it was through its actions. It’s strange, because looking at the painting, the subject it looks like an ordinary house. It is only after Hirsch describes it as being a building holding its breath underwater, and feeling shame for its exterior does the house in the painting begin to look more and more that way. Also, I really liked how Hirsch took an omninescent point of view with the painter (Hopper) and the house, rather than describing the house from the painter’s P.O.V.

Poem Analysis: "Naked Girl and Mirror" by Judith Wright

Naked Girl And Mirror

Judith Wright

This is not I. I had no body once-
only what served my need to laugh and run
and stare at stars and tentatively dance
on the fringe of foam and wave and sand and sun.
Eyes loved, hands reached for me, but I was gone
on my own currents, quicksilver, thistledown.
Can I be trapped at last in that soft face?

I stare at you in fear, dark brimming eyes.
Why do you watch me with that immoderate plea-
'Look under these curled lashes, recognize
that you were always here; know me-be me.'
Smooth once-hermaphrodite shoulders, too tenderly
your long slope runs, above those sudden shy
curves furred with light that spring below your space.

No, I have been betrayed. If I had known
that this girl waited between a year and a year,
I'd not have chosen her bough to dance upon.
Betrayed, by that little darkness here, and here
this swelling softness and that frightened stare
from eyes I will not answer; shut out here
from my own self, by its new body's grace-

for I am betrayed by someone lovely. Yes,
I see you are lovely, hateful naked girl.
Your lips in the mirror tremble as I refuse
to know or claim you. Let me go-let me be gone.
You are half of some other who may never come.
Why should I tend you? You are not my own;
you seek that other-he will be your home.

Yet I pity your eyes in the mirror, misted with tears;
I lean to your kiss. I must serve you; I will obey.
Some day we may love. I may miss your going, some day,
though I shall always resent your dumb and fruitful years.
Your lovers shall learn better, and bitterly too,
if their arrogance dares to think I am part of you.

Response:

There is a mournful and beautiful tone to Judith Wright’s poem, “Naked Girl and Mirror”. It’s a story about a woman who, after feeling years and years of being detached to her body, finds herself truly noticing it through a mirror. It’s an idea that I think most people can relate to—the concept of finding things about yourself physically that you find unattractive. This is especially true in the case of women, as most ideas of what true beauty is in advertisements are directed towards them. Anyway, while this poem isn’t my favorite, I still found it to be an interesting read—the language tends to get a bit flowery for me for some reason, but overall I enjoyed it.

Imagist -- Poem 4

THE DEER IN THE CAVE

Den swallowed in flesh
Bulking, black bear sleeps
Cuddling carnage

-Rachel Doda