Lots Wife Poem By Wislawa Szymborska

Lot’s Wife – Poem by Wislawa Szymborska
They say I looked back out of curiosity.

But I could have had other reasons.

I looked back mourning my silver bowl.

Carelessly, while tying my sandal strap.

So I wouldn’t have to keep staring at the righteous nape

of my husband Lot’s neck.

From the sudden conviction that if I dropped dead

he wouldn’t so much as hesitate.

From the disobedience of the meek.

Checking for pursuers.

Struck by the silence, hoping God had changed his mind.

Our two daughters were already vanishing over the hilltop.

I felt age within me. Distance.

The futility of wandering. Torpor.

I looked back setting my bundle down.

I looked back not knowing where to set my foot.

Serpents appeared on my path,

spiders, field mice, baby vultures.

They were neither good nor evil now–every living thing

was simply creeping or hopping along in the mass panic.

I looked back in desolation.

In shame because we had stolen away.

Wanting to cry out, to go home.

Or only when a sudden gust of wind

unbound my hair and lifted up my robe.

It seemed to me that they were watching from the walls of Sodom

and bursting into thunderous laughter again and again.

I looked back in anger.

To savor their terrible fate.

I looked back for all the reasons given above.

I looked back involuntarily.

It was only a rock that turned underfoot, growling at me.

It was a sudden crack that stopped me in my tracks.

A hamster on its hind paws tottered on the edge.

It was then we both glanced back.

No, no. I ran on,

I crept, I flew upward

until darkness fell from the heavens

and with it scorching gravel and dead birds.

I couldn’t breathe and spun around and around.

Anyone who saw me must have thought I was dancing.

It’s not inconceivable that my eyes were open.

It’s possible I fell facing the city.

On Fitting Words in Boxes

they all want lots of words
What does the poem mean?
what is the intent of the art?
why did you write that song?

I did it because I
had no words

We have no paragraphs
no dissertations
no great explanations
no answers

What was my intent?
To paint that deer,
wtf do you think it was?
to grab existence,
throw it over the fence?

What does this poem mean?
The same as any,
that I am nearly
but I squeezed this yearning out
this yearning

I have argued too often
with others and myself
when the world gives old men boxes
in which to type
and guitars to play
and paint to throw on
cloth primed with
paint and

…..david M jackson

Janet Kuypers’ “Exploring Spring” 3/4/17 poetry feature/show with background music

    Below are writing links, video links and images from a March 4th 2017 (3/4/17, or 20170304) poetry performance of Janet Kuypers’ Austin poetry feature through “Spring Awakenings” live at the Bahá’í Faith Center in Austin Texas.

[tubepress mode=’playlist’ playlistValue=’PLYa-AZK78_hqIFppkQsALnWqzHJq7fwn-‘ ]

    The theme of the night with other features was about spring (ergo the “Spring Awakenings” title), so Janet Kuypers’ show “Exploring Spring” was also accompanied by recently recorded sounds of birds chirping outside, accompanying music by “Hotel Music” from the HA!Man of South Africa (Francois Le Roux, with “entering the ruines” from his “Hotel Music”), where she also had video of him playing his cello on a small screen joining her on stage.

Exploring Spring - poems from Janet Kuypers

    Before the show started she also released copies of a chapbook of the writings she was performing in her show (in the order they were performed), and all of the pieces from this reading were also released electronically in a “Exploring Spring” chapbook, which you can download as a PDF file for free any time.

Read the poems from the show:

Entering the War Room
Job that Only Paid the Bills
Killing the Survivor Bug
Original Snowbirds

Bonus videos in the above playlist include readings of these poems individually both before and after the feature presentation.

Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show Janet in Exploring Spring show

You Me and Forever Love | Poem by joyce bell Willie simpson

The moonlight fails            the thought prevails              to live a lie                              and yet i spy                                  through the keyhole of my being                        .      Love lies there alone          come out I say                        come out I pray                      and fill me                              so I may return your love to thee

Some People Poem By Wislawa Szymborska

Some People – Poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Some people fleeing some other people.

In some country under the sun

and some clouds.

They leave behind some of their everything,

sown fields, some chickens, dogs,

mirrors in which fire now sees itself reflected.

On their backs are pitchers and bundles,

the emptier, the heavier from one day to the next.

Taking place stealthily is somebody’s stopping,

and in the commotion, somebody’s bread somebody’s snatching

and a dead child somebody’s shaking.

In front of them some still not the right way,

nor the bridge that should be

over a river strangely rosy.

Around them, some gunfire, at times closer, at times farther off,

and, above, a plane circling somewhat.

Some invisibility would come in handy,

some grayish stoniness,

or even better, non-being

for a little or a long while.

Something else is yet to happen, only where and what?

Someone will head toward them, only when and who,

in how many shapes and with what intentions?

Given a choice,

maybe he will choose not to be the enemy and

leave them with some kind of life.

Jacy? ludzie

Jacy? ludzie w ucieczce przed jakimi? lud?mi.

W jakim? kraju pod s?o?cem

i niektórymi chmurami.

Zostawiaj? za sob? jakie? swoje wszystko,

obsiane pola, jakie? kury, psy,

lusterka, w których w?a?nie przegl?da si? ogie?.

Maj? na plecach dzbanki i tobo?ki,

im bardziej puste, tym z dnia na dzie? ci??sze.

Odbywa si? po cichu czyje? ustawanie,

a w zgie?ku czyje? komu? chleba wydzieranie

i czyje? martwym dzieckiem potrz?sanie.

Przed nimi jaka? wci?? nie t?dy droga,

nie ten, co trzeba most

nad rzek? dziwnie ró?ow?.

Doko?a jakie? strza?y, raz bli?ej, raz dalej,

w górze samolot troch? ko?uj?cy.

Przyda?aby si? jaka? niewidzialno??,

jaka? bura kamienno??,

a jeszcze lepiej nieby?o??

na pewien krótki czas albo i d?ugi.

Co? jeszcze si? wydarzy, tylko gdzie i co.

Kto? wyjdzie im naprzeciw, tylko kiedy, kto,

w ilu postaciach i w jakich zamiarach.

Je?li b?dzie mia? wybór,

mo?e nie zechce by? wrogiem

i pozostawi ich przy jakim? ?yciu.