Ekphrasis on Elizabeth Catlett Mora's Homage to Black Women Poets

Ekphrasis

"Elizabeth Catlett Mora (April 15, 1915 – April 2, 2012) was an American born Mexican sculptor and printmaker." Catlett is best known for the black, expressionistic sculptures and prints she produced during the 1960s and 1970s.

Homage to Black Women Poets

You know us as we are you

creating because impelled

by earth oath and bird cry

womb tie and navel mark

as sure as our parents’ pain

our inherited hurt and strength

always Forged by fire, ever constrained

and free, if we understand the certainty 

of exclusion from power palaces to which we

will never belong,  how our pegs are shaped

differently always, and so ever denied,

there Is  much to Affirm and ever excluded,

there is much to Gather and the Raised fist

asserts and the arm over head protects

and the sturdy big legs, wide columns below

globe-spanning hips, are Rooted

as eyes large with want and wonder, look

sky ward, searching for what over arches,

for all that transcends

yes, the weather has been freaky

yes, the weather has been freaky


waiting for the school bus
at 1:10 pm hail was flung
fast furious and melted
in my wide  exposed lap
ice pinged and leapt off the metal
striking me again and again

lost 5 teeth today
at the end of the  needles,
the prying and yanking
the sun came out bright strong
a big tad da, now you are a crone
my lovely, be glad you can still
see that big knotted tree
ancient, filling the window

they'd made improvements: a wide screen tv
touted gorilla glass above the gas flame fireplace
my appointment could be made right by the chair
with a remind card printed there
i could sign electronically
they had obtained a transfer board for
so i could slide without fear

my five teeth included my last wisdom
the youngest of them all
bleached and wiped
this was illegal but my
grief was indulged

today my 92 year old cousin
will be buried and i can't be
there

as soon as the driver
rolled me down the long 
steep  perilous ramp,
the hail pelted me again as i waited
for the platform to be lowered

at home the cat lept from
the shelter of the front porch
bounded  across the new grass
before i was deposited
on my sidewalk.

purple

 Purple

blueberries cooked with apples,
maple syrup, a dash of cinnamon
a trace of mace

errant echinacea
reclaiming their color
refusing those planted white

what the blue bruise becomes
before it heals

favorite jumpsuit worn
for performance, power, strength

the cape mommy made me
with a bright blood lining

the long hour awaiting night's end

Outside

Outside

Even though the grass thickens

fills up with juice, darkens

mounds willfull, turns my small yard

into mystery for the cat, into meadow

even if I could mow,

I wouldn’t, not yet.

So the stupid buzzing

on Easter Sunday don’t know

to wait until after the last snow.

Night Light

Night Light

2 am you fly into the frigid night
as i post archaic mail

fool thing, you are an african cat
Obi, the  heat has gone until tomorrow

for all the things you teach me
what is it that you know?

i will return to open light onto darkness
and beg you home, again

Haiku

robin waits above chain link
ice winged narcissus dazzle
this bright spring moment

Blues prompt

I pad Blues

love me like an ipad, baby
love me all night long
love me like an i pad, baby
love me deep and strong
and when the night is over, baby
keep on turning me on

stroke me with your fingers baby
touch me  soft and slow
stroke me with your fingers baby
swipe and swoosh and flow
tap whatever you want opened, baby
and i'll put on a show


love me like an ipad, baby
love me all night long
love me like an i pad, baby
love me deep and strong
and when the night is over, baby
be sure to carry me along

TV Advice

TV Advice


I didn’t leave,  I let you go.
Dr. Phil did not yet exist
as the one to tell me so
nor did Judges Judy or Milian
Each day i watch others
break and make mistakes
on versions of you
and at last, I’m glad
you’re long past, gone.


apology prompt

when can i stop crying for the gone? 
never and again
when can i stop singing
for the gone?
never and again
when will i stop praising the gone?
never and again
when can i stop remembering
the gone?
never and again.

Adrienne Cecile Rich
May 16, 1929 Baltimore, Maryland to March 27, 2012, Santa Cruz, California

April 1, 2012

This blog was created for National Poetry Month 2012.
I'm still finishing work created in March for International Crochet Month.
I'm interested in merging my poetry and my crocheting --- crocheting poems
as well as writing poems about crocheting.

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hands, hungry for hook and fiber
want to taste again the twirl of frame
wrapping, upside down, turn around
the satisfaction of feeling full
and dextrous, holding the big red needle
as you dress it, thread by thread
lifting over its width to make
rows of loops, another lace,
a fabric of figured connections,
script in space, document of motion.



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by his fetid breath
heavy with petulance and
the unfulfilled hunt
i know the cat sits next to me