Inspiration: Simone White

Photo of Simone White by Pat Cassidy Mollach via the Poetry Foundation.

This summer, I will be posting some of the poems that inspired us this past semester.  Chanelle Bergeron chose this poem by Simone White: 

It Must Be Shameless 

         by Simone White

Apart disclaimed wicked pea, split soft skin

of the principle princess, who writhes,

a little blood passes her perineum every night,

grey linen sheets flax talisman plot luxe

to strip and scrub all gore

a plain bar of secret white soap

it is a pine tree, it is an orange blossom, is it a rose hip

under a baby tongue, blood cuts

punisher, swear it closed, closes it

 

Here's another one by White that I loved, ["Hour in which I consider hydrangea"]. You can listen to White read the poem at the link, which I highly recommend. It's such a compelling and lovely poem about motherhood. Thanks for pointing us to this wonderful poet, Chanelle! 

The Bridge on the Neretva

 by Julia Brent 

 

There it was -- the bridge on the Neretva. 

The town of Mostar on the river Neretva.

 

To the rushing, engulfing, cold blue below

We jumped off of the bridge on the Neretva. 

 

Once a city of peace now caught in an ethnic war 

deep seeded division at the bridge on the Neretva. 

 

Croat nationalists in 1993

forced relocation across the bridge on the Neretva.

 

The call to prayer resounding, 

mosques on the east of the bridge on the Neretva. 

 

Icons of popes and saints in rising steeples, 

churches on the west of the bridge on the Neretva. 

 

Bloody Sunday, brother betrayed brother, 

Resurrected cross on a hill by the bridge on the Neretva. 

 

A family sits at a cafe on the  river Neretva

and a naive Julia crosses the bridge on the Neretva. 

 

Someday

by Julia Langenderfer

 

Someday his love would find him, that's what his mother always said.

But finding that special person seemed like looking for a needle in quicksilver. 

By the time Caleb found him, he was broken beyond fixing and he felt as if he was standing at the edge of a cliff staring down at an abyss filled with stormy black clouds.

Though there were licks of sunlight piercing through. It was the prince's light, shining brighter than anything he had ever seen.

But the darkness dragged him down and he wasn't sure if his prince could help but then a clawed purple hand reaches, pulling him slowly towards the light and through the storm.

The Prince's voice reaches him, lightly accented and filled with joy and he thinks maybe he can be happy but then in an instant his love is snatched away and he falls into darkness again but there was pinpricks of light as his friends support him. 

His love was their friend and they miss him too. His Mollymauk, gone but never ever forgotten.

And maybe, just maybe, if perhaps he's very lucky he can find him again. 

Through the dark that clouds him, the tiny blackberry center that his love still remains hidden under the corruption and darkness of another. 

The other is the one who had the body before his love did but his love filled and brought a life to it that the other never can. When the other, Lucien smiles, it is dark and filled with a viciousness that his Mollymauk never had. 

Even in his darkest, worst moments, Molly was bright and mischievous, his smiles were wicked but filled with kindness and his red eyes always lit with a spark of curiosity and zest for life. 

He was outrageous and the most ostentatious person Caleb had ever met but yet he had found himself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. There had been a pull he'd had a hard time resisting towards Molly's light and brightness and his way of trying to leave every place better than he found it. 

Mollymauk was someone who had brought light, colour and happiness to anyone and everyone he met and even though he would never admit it to anyone, Caleb had been no exception. 

Wind Chimes

by Angelina Morin

A pastel store with chimes and decor meant to be strung to a tree or in a garden

She had wind chimes hanging from her ceiling in the first room you entered 

They harmonized together with the wind of every visitor 

Japanese beetles that are commonly mistaken for ladybugs

All they were missing was that red coat 

Roses, she loved roses

And hummingbirds  

Her home was warmed by her grandchildren and creatures 

Sweet strawberry hard candy, and warm milk with our fruit loops 

She’d take you in, if you wandered to her doorstep

The longer I look the more I see her 

But not her,  

Just the memory of her that I breathe into

To become the wind to 

Her immortal chime

Pink Ghazal

by Megan Eason 

 

I never was too fond of the color, pink,

until I saw it deeply painted in your cheeks, pink. 

 

I found myself noticing it in more places then,

Like how your lips were also that nice deep color, pink. 

 

I could spot it all over town when I least expected to,

in cherry blossoms, children's sundresses, sunsets, all with the color, pink. 

 

I sit back and wonder about how it comes in all shades,

and how all of the variants reflect you in my mind, pink. 

 

Even the meaning of my name in Hebrew, pearl,

has bits and flecks of you inside it, pink.  

This Is Not a Fairytale

by Erin Wendorf

This is not a fairytale.

There is no princess in danger

or a servant girl

who wishes for freedom;

there is just an ordinary girl

living an ordinary life.

There is no castle,

or evil stepmother,

or magic mirror;

this girl has two parents

who love her

and only want the best for her.

There is no curse,

whether by poisoned apple

or spinning wheel,

or animal companions

who help the girl get ready for prom.

There are no fairies,

good or evil;

no dragons,

no dwarves,

no thorn bushes,

and no glass casket.

In this world,

women are wary

and don't marry

men they have only known

for three days.

In this world,

women have their voices stifled

by something far more powerful than a sea witch.

In this world,

women intentionally freeze their own hearts.

We are trapped in a society

that isolates us,

even more so than a stone tower

What are we waiting for?

Prince Charming?

No.

Our perceptions of the men we meet

are distorted by our rose-colored

glass slippers.

Adam is nothing but a beast.

In this world,

we save ourselves,

and if that makes us less feminine,

so be it.

 

Heights

by Kayleen Pacheco 

“Better safe than sorry”
I have always stuck to this
No matter my age.

When I was 7
I would never jump off
The pretend frightful,
Fragile cliffs
Surrounded by wispy,
White clouds 
My friends and I imagined.

We imagined
That foxes were chasing us,
Through the dark woods.
The only way to safety
Was taking a leap of faith,
Down the cliff.
Funny I know,
We were 7.

In reality, we were
Jumping off 
A big, solid, bulky,
Gray rock,
Buried on a small,
Green grassy hill,
Just enough height 
For our imaginations
To go wild.

I can still hear their 
Little voices
Running and cheering
Me on, 
“C’mon Kayleen, 
Jump, You got this!”

Truth be told
I was actually 
Afraid of heights.