Sisters by Judith Wright
In the vine-shadows on the veranda;
under the yellow leaves, in the cooling sun,
sit two sisters. Their slow voices run
like little winter creeks, dwindled by frost and wind,
and the square of sunlight moves on the veranda.
They remember the gay young men on their tall horses
who came courting; the dancing and the smells of leather
and wine, the girls whispering by the fire together;
even their dolls and ponies, all they have left behind
moves in the yellow shadows on the veranda.
Thinking of their lives apart and the men they married
thinking of the marriage-bed and the birth of their first child,
they look down smiling. “My life was wide and wild,
and who can know my heart? There in that golden jungle
I walk alone,” say the old sisters on the veranda.
The Home I Love by Kay Hoffman
Some homes are quiet, polished, neat
But one I know is far more sweet
Where tiny smudges on the wall
Tell of fingers dear and small.
Where toys are sometimes strewn about
And doors are banging in and out.
Where little children play and sing,
And laughter's often heard to ring...
The home I love is filled with noise
Of happy little girls and boys!
Kayla DuPrey
Poetry Anthology
13 March 2014
Family
The topic I chose for my anthology is family. While the poems are not all directly about the
word family itself, they focus on members of families and the issues that families deal with.
Some are happy endings; others are not, but each poem is very real and relatable to students. I
chose this topic because I recently read many of these in a literature class and the topic of
family stood out to me. These are some of my favorite poems, especially Sisters. It means a lot
to me because I have one sister who I am very close to and I can only imagine what we will be
like when we are old.
Terminal Resemblance by Louise Gluck
When I saw my father for the last time, we both did the same thing.
He was standing in the doorway of the living room,
waiting for me to get off the telephone.
That he wasn't also pointing to his watch
was a signal he wanted to talk.
Talk for us always meant the same thing.
He'd say a few words. I'd say a few back.
That was about it.
It was the end of August, very hot, very humid.
Next door, workmen dumped new gravel on the driveway.
My father and I avoided being alone.
We didn't know how to connect, to make small talk.
There didn't seem to be
any other possibilities.
So this was special: when a man’s dying,
He has a subject.
It must have been early morning. Up and down the street
Sprinklers started coming on. The gardener’s truck
Appeared at the end of the block,
Then stopped, parking.
My father wanted to tell me what it was like to be dying.
He told me he wasn’t suffering.
He said he kept expecting pain, waiting for it, but it never came.
All he felt was a kind of weakness.
I said I was glad for him, that I thought he was lucky.
Some husbands were getting in their cars, going to work.
Not people we knew anymore. New families,
Families with young children.
The wives stood on the steps, gesturing or calling.
We said goodbye in the usual way,
No embrace, nothing dramatic.
When the taxi came, my parents watched from the front door,
Arm in arm, my mother blowing kisses as she always does,
Because it frightens her when a hand isn’t being used.
But for a change, my father didn’t just stand there.
This time, he waved.
That’s what I did, at the door to the taxi.
Like him, waved to disguise my hand’s trembling.
Anne Bradstreet- In Reference to her Children
Or whilst on trees they sit and sing,
Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.
Or whilst allured with bell and glass,
Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
Or lest by lime-twigs they be foiled,
Mounted the trees, and learned to sing;
O would my young, ye saw my breast,
To regions far and left me quite.
Great was my pain when I you fed,
Till he return, or I do end:
And with my wings kept off all harm,
I had eight birds hatched in one nest,
I nursed them up with pain and care,
Till at the last they felt their wing,
Chief of the brood then took his flight
Some untoward boy at them do fling,
The net be spread, and caught, alas.
Or by some greedy hawks be spoiled.
And knew what thoughts there sadly rest,
My mournful chirps I after send,
Long did I keep you soft and warm,
Leave not thy nest, thy dam and sire,
My cares are more and fears than ever,
My second bird did take her flight,
Alas, my birds, you wisdom want,
Southward they both their course did bend,
Oft times in grass, on trees, in flight,
Till after blown by southern gales,
O to your safety have an eye,
A prettier bird was no where seen,
Meanwhile my days in tunes I'll spend,
I have a third of colour white,
In shady woods I'll sit and sing,
Coupled with mate loving and true,
Once young and pleasant, as are you,
And where Aurora first appears,
My age I will not once lament,
One to the academy flew
And from the top bough take my flight
Ambition moves still in his breast
Where old ones instantly grow young,
Striving for more than to do well,
No seasons cold, nor storms they see;
My fifth, whose down is yet scarce gone,
When each of you shall in your nest
Fly back and sing amidst this choir.
And with her mate flew out of sight;
And seasons twain they there did spend,
They norward steered with filled sails.
Along the beach among the treen.
On whom I placed no small delight;
Hath also bid her dam adieu;
She now hath perched to spend her years.
To chat among that learned crew;
That he might chant above the rest
My throbs such now as 'fore were never.
Of perils you are ignorant;
Sore accidents on you may light.
So happy may you live and die.
Till my weak lays with me shall end.
And things that past to mind I'll bring.
But former toys (no joys) adieu.
But sing, my time so near is spent.
Into a country beyond sight,
And there with seraphims set song;
That nightingales he might excel.
But spring lasts to eternity.
Is 'mongst the shrubs and bushes flown,
Among your young ones take your rest,
On higher boughs he'll perch at length.
You had a dam that loved you well,
Until they're grown, then as the rest,
And nursed you up till you were strong,
As is ordained, so shall they light.
She showed you joy and misery;
Let others know what are my fears
What would save life, and what would kill.
And be surprised for want of watch,
And dead, yet speak, and counsel give:
They fall un'wares in fowler's snare,
I happy am, if well with you.
And as his wings increase in strength,
My other three still with me nest,
Or here or there they'll take their flight,
If birds could weep, then would my tears
Lest this my brood some harm should catch,
Whilst pecking corn and void of care,
In chirping language, oft them tell,
That did what could be done for young,
And 'fore she once would let you fly,
Taught what was good, and what was ill,
Thus gone, amongst you I may live,
Farewell, my birds, farewell adieu,
Photograph by Mark R. Slaughter
My stare,
like a statue's not a blink,
wink
or twitch Deepened in the history.
I lifted generations to my chest,
But the frame jealously clamped itself
Around the black and white haze of
years.
Just Folks by Edgar A. Guest
I am like him, so they say,
Who was dead before I came.
Cheeks and mouth and eyes of gray
Have been fashioned much the same.
I am like her, so they say,
Who was dead ere I was born,
And I walk the self-same way
Time drifted;
On the paths her feet have worn.
Memory tears;
Wet warmth washed the venerable glass
That mothered the dulling gloss,
Kept it clean from dust of
contemplations.
Duty interjected.
I bore a smile,
Telling nod Acknowledgment Then unknowingly placed the fading
vision
Back down on the sideboard
Until another year
or so
There is that within my face
And the way I hold my head
Which seems strangely to replace
Those who long have joined the dead.
Thus across the distance far
In the body housing me
Both my great-grandparents are
Kept alive in memory