Radium, “Periodic Table of Poetry” poem by Chicago poet Janet Kuypers

by

Radium

Janet Kuypers

from the “Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#088, Ra)

Women got jobs
painting luminescent Radium
on clock dials —
These Radium Girls
would lick the tips
of their brushes
to get a finer point
for painting the Radium
onto these clocks,
and some of these women
even painted the Radium
on their fingernails,
or even their teeth.
But before the Great Depression
began, five Radium Girls
started getting sores,
anemia, bone fractures,
necrosis of the jaw,
and even cancer,
because when it’s ingested,
the body treats Radium
like calcium, so the Radium
went straight to their bones.
They sued the Radium
Luminous Material Corporation
for damages,
because the Radium
was doing them in.

In an effort to
avoid liability,
the Radium Luminous
Material Corporation
even tried to suggest
that the Radium Girls
actually had syphilis.

Really.
That’s what they said.

So although the corporation
was very careful
to not expose themselves
to Radium,
they apparently didn’t have
the same concern
for their employees.

So, the Radium Girls
may now be known
for bringing on labor laws,
but scientists,
five years after
the cases were settled,
could still measure Radium
in the exhaling
of one of the painting employees.

I wonder if there was enough
Radium on their breath
to give these Radium Girls
a radioactive glow,
because at one point,
Radium was even added
to toothpastes and hair creams
because people believed
Radium had curative powers.
Imagine going to a spa
with Radium-rich water,
because if you tell
anything to people
in just the right way,
you’ll be amazed
at what people will believe.

The Autumn Moon Hangs, a Poem by Frances Kakugawa

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The Autumn Moon Hangs

I am a poem
And I am ageless.

When I was one and twenty
I spoke of lingering sunsets into night,
Envying that solitary bird flapping vigorously,
Racing the sinking sun at end of day.

Decades and one later
I am still poem.
I am that sunset, sinking into the sea.
That golden leaf, waiting for that last gentle breeze.
I am that Autumn moon hanging
Over crayoned fields, now free of summer harvest,
Waiting for the last flight home.

I am still poem.
I am ageless.

©Frances Kakugawa

John Berryman Poet. Dream Songs.

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John Berryman 1914-72 was a major figure in American poetry in the second half of the 20th century and was considered a key figure in the Confessional School of Poetry, his best known work is Dream Songs.

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We Could All Build Bird Nests in our Hearts by Ken Peters

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We could all open state parks

We could all open state parks

we could all build bird nests in our hearts
we could all open state parks in our souls
we could all end the suffering
just letting sunshine roll
we could all tend the garden
drink tea with friends at 4
we could all be a little kinder
that’s no stranger at your door
we could learn to listen
we could remember to breathe
love to you my brothers
may all your pangs be relieved

namaste

Daisy Sidewinder interviews Ken Peters

Ken Peter’s poetry at Motherbird

We Could All Build Bird Nests in our Hearts © 2013 Ken Peters

 

 

Letting Go Poem by Daisy Sidewinder

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I dreamed I must

let go of you, the

man I loved

with so much turbulence

and still love now

sometimes

on lonely, bluesy nights

It was as if

your soul crawled

from its sooty cave

into the light

and speaking softly

unaccustomed

these long decades

to honest speech

blinded for a moment

by long-forgotten beauty

the forest greens

beyond the field

dark and warm

amidst the sunlit

prairie grass in which

we stood.

It’s too late you

say it’s far too late

vague shapes behind

me walking talking

slow and serious

a little too impersonal

say he is right

it is too late

there will be no

reprieve.

But no, I will not

listen, I have hope

to fix your ailing liver

sweep away the virus

rearrange the neurons

in your brain with

Keep Out signs for

your addictions

and band aids

many band aids

for the pains

of your existence.

There is no hope

no hope at all

the voices say

and you agree

and look away.

You can fight

this I tell you

I will argue

your case before a

judge, St. Peter himself,

and a jury

of twelve strong angels

good and true

and we will win

I say, for I will be

so eloquent

to make the angels cry.

No no, you shake your head

no no the voices echo

those unseen figures

pacing close behind me

a little out of focus

always behind me

no matter how I

turn to try to face them.

I think you see them

and the distant forest

I see that you are

like one half asleep

and half aware

not ready yet

to run across the grass

and plunge into the trees.

You are much younger

here, the you who

lives inside

your shell of pain.

I cannot ask

that you would

stay inside

the crusted cave of

your design.

The roof becomes

too heavy with the

weight of your collections

and the uninvited bats

and barnacles of

life and age.

I fear I recognize

some barnacles and cobwebs

there, remnants of those

days of you and I

accidently forgotten or cast off

of course, I never meant

to darken your windows.

I had the best intentions.

My heart says stay

please stay

don’t brush away

the cobwebs of

our life together

grimy and heavy

as they may seem to you.

I sometimes shine

those cobwebs lovingly

and patch them up

with crazy glue.

My soul says run

into the woods

with joy, be free.

But none of this

is really up to me.

via Wordplay Poetry Blog » Blog Archive » Letting Go of Jim Poem by Daisy Sidewinder.