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Lady Makeover First line from Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 22
My glass shall not persuade me I am old when with tinting subtle and color bold I can a decade or thrice erase from the canvas of my face.
Be gone, thou frowning lines of doom that seem to drag me towards the tomb. Away, thou lizardly patches of pelt sired of all sunshine I’ve ever felt.
The mousy gray from my hair I chase with pomades powerful and full of grace. Those blemishes and moles I do espry From my pots and potions fly.
As for the rest: the soggy sinews, the belly flab, the scraggly hairs upon my chin, the lumps, the bumps, the or’all drab, the hard time-fight no one can win; these larger miseries I’ll put away, to remedy another day.
Lisa James
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In the Midst
Tumbled, sand-scoured, wave-heaved with the seaweed and debris, the breaks and ebbs upend my heart, silt the connection to that greater Ocean, the one where walking on water is like breathing air. I can’t ptonounce the drowning woman’s name, not when sea and sky and land break boundaries and shift shapes. I nag my hope on stalled tides, stilled seas, flecks of foam glinting rainbows in the sunlight.
Lisa James Poetry master class participant, winner of the 2002 Northport Poetry Contest. |
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On Reading 50 year old Poems
Paper with edges crumbled and brown neatly typed words formed long ago
written for a poetry class taught by a poet I did not know was famous
words flash and burn tearing away years a young and troubled me emerges
beating against blackness drowning in self hate sad and young and very alone
I’m touched by this other me glad not to be her now
Evelyn Kandel Pronter, formalist poet, dramatic performance poet
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Wearing Something Silly
I see a young girl wearing something silly tears fill my throat I’m not sure why
It’s not as if my youth was all so wonderful though I do remember wearing something silly
a polka-dot hat with gloves to match a full Dior skirt with pinched waist
I was young and could wear silly hats and bright lipstick drive in a convertible with wind blowing my hair
and not care and not care
I sae a young girl wearing something silly my throat filed with tears
Evelyn Kandel |
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She Was Seven
She walked like a princess in disguise, her limp, striungy hair held with a string. The stale dampness of her clothes hung loosely, with uneven hems that swayed as she walked. At school no one would sit near her or include her in their games.
She sat like sphinx in the desert, on a throne of her own, happy, warm, smiling. She tucked her soiled sock behind her worn shoe keeping her best shoe and sock forward.
The day went quickly. After school she lingered, picking up treasure of paper and sorted things. She held her books closely, wearing them like jewels. She ran, leaped, and skipped to a car in a maze of rubble: home.
Her books, her fantasy, her first day.
Jeanette Klimszewski Teacher , coach, clown, Taproot writer’s group member, many publishing credits, one book published |
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Performance Poets Association® |