Poetry
by Shirley Allard
A Tribute to Edna St. Vincent Millay
February 22, 1892 - October 19, 1950
Follow
Your Heart
By Shirley Allard
Your life, an open book it seems
preserved for all to read
A quiet understanding
of flower and of seed
The perfectly constructed veil
of desire and of deed.
Your words are hidden treasures
Buried 'neath a shallow gravel
Disguising pain and pleasure
'neath this veil of scripted travel
A treasure map of loss and lust
Our hearts must now unravel.
Hyacinth
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am in love with him
To whom a hyacinth is dearer
Than I shall ever be dear.
On nights when the field-mice
Are abroad, he cannot sleep.
He hears their narrow teeth
At the bulbs of his hyacinths.
But the gnawing at my heart...
He does not hear.
Edna St. Vincent Millay (February
22, 1892 - October 19, 1950) was an American lyrical poet and
playwright and the first woman to receive the Pulitzer Prize
for Poetry. She was also known for her unconventional, bohemian
lifestyle and her many love affairs. She used the pseudonym Nancy
Boyd for her prose work.
In 1943 she was awarded the
Frost Medal for her lifetime contribution to American poetry.
She was the sixth recipient of that honor, and the second woman.
Source: Widipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edna_St._Vincent_Millay
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Immaculate Deception
Two eggs, resting side by side
One shell, in which two chicks reside
One grew strong, as cells divided
The other disappeared inside it.
Together they grew, as one, these two
Now so conjoined, that no one knew
The innocent victims of nature's flair
United, yet perfectly unaware
That when they reached maturity
The one inside, would grow to be
An equal but opposite identity.
Now the one we see, in reality
Unknown to us would share
With one inside who's been denied-
The 'one' who isn't there.
Might every rooster in life's pen
Have inside himself a hen?
Or an evil other awaiting the chance
The proper time and circumstance
To 'come out' from within?
When examined with an open mind
More of us, I'm sure would find
A truth that others simply won't
In what we see, and what we don't.
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The
Last Day
I hear the howling wind
And watch the stately maples bend
And sweep the ground.
As the unrelenting ire
Of a cyclone laced with fire
Touches down.
Where storms have raged before
I fear that something more
Is in the making.
There's an urgency that's sensed
In this summer storm pretense
That leaves one shaking.
Off to rescue sleeping babies
As new certainties quite vaguely
Settle in.
And to watch as nature's fury
The appointed Judge and Jury
Charges in.
While praying for salvation
Impending devastation
Takes its course.
But little hearts know not of fate
So I smile and underrate
This deadly force.
With equal lack of warning
The sun returns- adoring
hearts are mended
And no one anywhere
Was the slightest bit aware
The world had ended.
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MidStream
Crossing rivers to distant shores
Warm waters seep from reservoirs
standing midstream, caught up in motion
Closing my eyes, hearing the ocean
Willing waves to turn the tide
Nurturing seeds of flowers denied
Swift waters swirling 'round my feet
Foster fantasies of something sweet.
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Woods
Walking
The stately old maple embraces the sky
with arms reaching outward and upward
high, while the birches all bow to the ground
all around, and the willows continue to cry.
The solid old oak is still creaking and
bending
with branches of shade and protection
extending, while the elms simply stand with a plan
ever grand, their very existence still pending.
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Shirley Allard resides in
New Hampshire with her husband Jim. She has two grown children
and two young grandchildren who are the light in her life. She
is the founding publisher of WordCatalyst.comand writes the blog Whispers In The
Wind.
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