Ellery Akers

Ellery Akers - What Nature Teaches Us 

From Swerve

Tony Hoagland

 Personal

From Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty 

Lillian Morrison

Oh, To Be an Earthworm

From The Beauty of the Beast

Dorianne Laux

On the Back Porch

From Only As the Day Is Long

Izumi Shikibu

'Although the wind'

From Poetry Pharmacy

Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
   Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—
Sailed on a river of crystal light
   Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
   The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
   That live in this beautiful sea;
   Nets of silver and gold have we,"
            Said Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
   As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
   Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
   That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—
   Never afraid are we!"
   So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
   To the stars in the twinkling foam,—
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
   Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
   As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
   Of sailing that beautiful sea;
   But I shall name you the fishermen three:
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
   And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
   Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
   Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
   As you rock in the misty sea
   Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:—
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

From A Child's Anthology of Poetry

David Bottoms

The Moon My Mother Shot For

From Otherworld, Underworld, Prayer Porch

Jody Gladding

Click to enlarge.



From Rooms and Their Airs

Erica Jong

The Commandments

You don’t really want to be a poet. First of all, if you’re a woman, you have to be three times as good as any of the men. Secondly, you have to fuck everyone. And thirdly, you have to be dead. – Mark Strand

If a woman wants to be a poet,
she should sleep near the moon with her face open;
she should walk through herself studying the landscape;
she should not write her poems in menstrual blood.

If a woman wants to be a poet,
she should run backwards circling the volcano;
she should feel for the movement along her faults;
she should not get a Ph.D. in seismography.

If a woman wants to be a poet,
she should not sleep with uncircumcised manuscripts;
she should not write odes to her abortions;
she should not make stew of old unicorn meat.

If a woman wants to be a poet,
she should read French cookbooks and Chinese vegetables;
she should suck on French poets to freshen her breath;
she should not masturbate in writing seminars.

If a woman wants to be a poet,
she should peel back the hair from her eyeballs;
she should listen to the breathing of sleeping men;
she should listen to the spaces between that breathing.

If a woman wants to be a poet,
she should not write her poems with a dildo;
she should pray that her daughters are women;
she should forgive her father for his bravest sperm.