ravencleveland.blogspot.com

Poetry Analysis

Friday, March 21, 2014. Her brown falcon perches above the sink. As steaming water forks over my hands. Below the wrists they shrivel and turn pink. I am in exile in my own land. Her half-grown cats scuffle across the floor. Trailing a slime of blood from where they fed. I lock the door. They claw under the door. I am an exile in my own bed. Her spotted mongrel, bristling with red mange,. Sleeps on the threshold of the Third Street bar. Where I drink brandy as the couples change. Framed like a photograph...

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Poetry Analysis | ravencleveland.blogspot.com Reviews

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Friday, March 21, 2014. Her brown falcon perches above the sink. As steaming water forks over my hands. Below the wrists they shrivel and turn pink. I am in exile in my own land. Her half-grown cats scuffle across the floor. Trailing a slime of blood from where they fed. I lock the door. They claw under the door. I am an exile in my own bed. Her spotted mongrel, bristling with red mange,. Sleeps on the threshold of the Third Street bar. Where I drink brandy as the couples change. Framed like a photograph...

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Poetry Analysis | ravencleveland.blogspot.com Reviews

https://ravencleveland.blogspot.com

Friday, March 21, 2014. Her brown falcon perches above the sink. As steaming water forks over my hands. Below the wrists they shrivel and turn pink. I am in exile in my own land. Her half-grown cats scuffle across the floor. Trailing a slime of blood from where they fed. I lock the door. They claw under the door. I am an exile in my own bed. Her spotted mongrel, bristling with red mange,. Sleeps on the threshold of the Third Street bar. Where I drink brandy as the couples change. Framed like a photograph...

INTERNAL PAGES

ravencleveland.blogspot.com

1

Poetry Analysis : Marilyn Hacker: Winter Numbers

http://ravencleveland.blogspot.com/2014/03/marilyn-hacker-winter-numbers.html

Friday, March 21, 2014. Marilyn Hacker: Winter Numbers. 8220;Lovely and unremarkable, the clutter. Of mugs and books, the almost-empty Fig. Newtons box, thick dishes in a big. Tin tray, the knife still standing in the butter,. Change like the color of river water. In the delicate shift to day. Thin fog. Veils the hedges, where a neighbor dog. Makes rounds. 'Go to bed. It doesn't matter. About the washing-up. Take this book along.'. Whatever it was we said that night is gone,. View my complete profile.

2

Poetry Analysis : Marilyn Hacker:The Bus Driver

http://ravencleveland.blogspot.com/2014/03/marilyn-hackerthe-bus-driver.html

Friday, March 21, 2014. Marilyn Hacker:The Bus Driver. What has gotten into the bus driver. Who has left his bus, who has sat down. On a curb on the Place de l'Opéra. Where he slips into the ease of being. Nothing more than his own tears? Who bend over such a shared and. Presentable sorrow would like him. To tell them that the wind used to know. How to come out of the woods towards a woman's dress,. Or that one day his brother said to him. Even your shadow wants nothing to do with you.

3

Poetry Analysis : Marilyn Hacker: Morning News

http://ravencleveland.blogspot.com/2014/03/marilyn-hacker-morning-news.html

Friday, March 21, 2014. Marilyn Hacker: Morning News. Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread. And fried potatoes, tips green on the branches,. Repeats old news: arrogance, ignorance, war. A cinder-block wall shared by two houses. Is new rubble. On one side was a kitchen. Sink and a cupboard, on the other was. A bed, a bookshelf, three framed photographs. Glass is shattered across the photographs;. Two half-circles of hardened pocket bread. Sit on the cupboard. There provisionally was. Whose f...

4

Poetry Analysis : March 2014

http://ravencleveland.blogspot.com/2014/03

Friday, March 21, 2014. Her brown falcon perches above the sink. As steaming water forks over my hands. Below the wrists they shrivel and turn pink. I am in exile in my own land. Her half-grown cats scuffle across the floor. Trailing a slime of blood from where they fed. I lock the door. They claw under the door. I am an exile in my own bed. Her spotted mongrel, bristling with red mange,. Sleeps on the threshold of the Third Street bar. Where I drink brandy as the couples change. Framed like a photograph...

5

Poetry Analysis : Marilyn Hacker: Nearly A Valediction

http://ravencleveland.blogspot.com/2014/03/marilyn-brooks-nearly-valediction.html

Friday, March 21, 2014. Marilyn Hacker: Nearly A Valediction. You happened to me. I was happened to. Like an abandoned building by a bull-. Dozer, like the van that missed my skull. Happened a two-inch gash across my chin. You were as deep down as I've ever been. You were inside me like my pulse. A new-. Born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through. The shock of cold and glare: when you were gone,. Swaddled in strange air I was that alone. Again, inventing life left after you. The whole globed swellin...

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Poetry Analysis

Friday, March 21, 2014. Her brown falcon perches above the sink. As steaming water forks over my hands. Below the wrists they shrivel and turn pink. I am in exile in my own land. Her half-grown cats scuffle across the floor. Trailing a slime of blood from where they fed. I lock the door. They claw under the door. I am an exile in my own bed. Her spotted mongrel, bristling with red mange,. Sleeps on the threshold of the Third Street bar. Where I drink brandy as the couples change. Framed like a photograph...

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