Whatever is essential to Female Poets


Screen Shot 09-05-15 at 12.37 PM

Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe women can be writers
And achieve fame and livelihood

Without barren men to falter their craft
Maybe ten thousand martyrs are enough?
For women poets to be read and loved

To flourish from the pen of their wombs
And not find society admitting incapability
We who live in an increasing illiterate world

Must fight the language of our times
For all those who would profit, must
In a way, abandon their love of art

Technology being mobile, is a visual parade
Where books, and sages of wordsmiths must
Write alone, or else post on very tame blogs
Imagine private authors doing social media?

And become published in niche magazines
Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe writing in elegance has been lost?
We who ornament our lives with so much skill,

The ethereal spark of creators a transient tenement
Sex is not sex, when gender is so fluid
Are we satisfied with being intelligently ignored

By a world so satiated with mass media
That we do not respect creativity in its earth
Or share a sense of reverence for the philosophical
The poetic, the artistic that requires some thought.

And, if poetry is surely dead, then become novelists
Industrial poets, digital marketers, online journalists
Geniuses of new media, invigorated by the liberty
Of online avenues, content writers on applications

Be the interface with the poetry of the past
Reincarnate your gifts for a new world’s mediums
That publick faith that women best express
In allowing the world its distinguished femininity.

Like Half the Heaven of the Blest


Screen Shot 06-25-15 at 10.20 PM

How lovely is the sacred Memory
I’m grateful you returned to me
With skin from another life, the Muse revives
And we languish with new spark and Song Divine
For Notes like transitory flowers
The tributes won’t do, experience is more necessary!

My soul extended to fountains of purer water
And in every tender strain I am to fancy nurst
Fortune elevated in a personal moment
Who shy as generous harmony must not admit
To the low ebb of sensual sense
For noblest excellence worth a scanty gratitude

And a hundred moans for sweet fruitful love
How lovely is the return of the flesh
When the soul is so renown and shaded in light
This pleasing delusion, this witchery divine
And brightest appetite of unconquerable virtue
Where nature in our heart can so persuade

That the bounds do not justify this desire
Chearer of youthful age, the mounds glow gold.

One Glorious Good Impression 


Screen Shot 06-25-15 at 08.50 PM

One Glorious Good Impression

Why is your voice like eternal musick speak!
A thousand beauties I spot in your
Triumphant air, that smiles would appear
In my gardened heart open wide

All hail illustrious daughter of the East
Who would come here so young
My muse never fail’d to obey a pure one
And new-born reasons come to my ear

And I hear the Imitation of envying fair
And all that is eloquent that I will never be
Hopeful that my noblest sense does not
Lead me astray, that my wit breaks on language
Of the finest mirth, who from a Lovely Face
Can only sigh, and give all vertues in small service

And adore, Rays of a triumphant mind
That would find a chorus in a girl’s sweetness
And awes of the most innocent affible sort
To say that Right who gains the Day

Without an Angel, and within a Saint
I’ll murmur till this great world divides
On other planets where dazzling brightness goes
Our descents will smile on our wilde Nations
And our just compliance of loving defiance.

Ravisht Girl


Screen Shot 06-24-15 at 11.54 PM
Whilst my muse in your shadows sought

The gift of the source of your nobler solitude!

Let me not retreat from your happy cleavage

Of youth and soul and merryment

For in the thick shade of your fruitful fate

I see a part of myself left there

As if the prize of our hidden stores of choice

In little choosing the ones we love

And sung to new anthems and skyes

For ladies like stars must shine the hidden shores

As brooding blooms of Spring shall in Summer blossom forth

We all have our time, our Goddess of days

And themes divine in human fortunes

That changes in perswading time

And to our glorious course we must divine

Our paths and witness and anticipate

The eyes of scattered truths and lost harmonies

And scarce winds that touched our face.

Songs of Hedonism


Screen Shot 04-12-15 at 07.17 PMScreen Shot 04-12-15 at 07.18 PM

Songs of Hedonism

In the seduction of the sense
We have a series of pleasures
That introduces us to
A desire that is never quenched

So is it worth then to chase?
What fundamentally, shall
Never be caught, like dopamine on a leash
The variety that takes the soul

Off of its beloved course?
Celibacy is perhaps the sunlit path
For virtue and those who have read history
Nothing so tranquil as a good library

However, should you find secret love
Or a scandalous substitute
Remember, there is no sinner like a saint

Nothing so good for the health
As a touch, no learning like
The end of solitude, each moment

A happy lover’s hour, is worth
An age of dull and common life
Right down sensual love, is
A language all nations understand equally.

WHITE JADE, FEMALE POET, ORANGE PITCHER


84

Heaven bless the babe
Orphaned by divinity
What queer books she will read
Granted, to be a poet isn’t easy

When she is older, she will say:
“Till the Spring, my murdered lover
Till our souls meet in another form
The language of my foolishness
Will be the bridge I swear”

Heaven bless the babe
Who suffered for the world
To make a cheerful song
That could outlast the centuries

Quiet, suavely clothed in sacrifice
Hurling, golden spears of martyrdom
Up the lines my silver runner
With a pen and a canvas
Bearing the banner of lost poets

In a siege of a dead poet’s society
Heaven bless the babe
Who became a writer
When critics were white rich men

Come now Aphra, be content
You and I have nothing to do with music
Akhmatova’s cannon is all about
Death beating the door in
For women fraught with inequality

Emily knew in her circle of white
Edna urged a certain possession of zest
For being born a woman, is a clarity
In the pulse, a sonnet gone unread.

P.S. To female poets: Aphra Behn, Anna Akhmatova, Emily Dickinson, Edna St.Vincent Millay.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sylvia-II-460402222