POETRY SWAP MEET: Poetry we don't usually know about, or?

My Grandmothers eighty six birthday by Laura Gilpin

the cake at my grandmother\s birthday party
was chocolate with white icing which is her favorite
although she could not blow out all the candles
she said her wish already had come true

she is the spider woman of my nightmares
daid to be a cross between myself, my mother
and the nun at the hospital who wrapped
her black arms around me and held me

she is the  one who weaves her way
down the dark hall to find me
whose shadow creeps over me while I sleep
whose voice unwinds like a thread

she is the one who tends me
with her silent hands
touches me with her dark fingers
she is the only one who can hear me
calling out "help me, help me, hel me"
she is the only one who really cares

this is a piece\part\quote I found in a book, the quote is by Thomas Merton

<the rain surrounded the cabin
with a whole world of meaning, of scenery, of rumor.
Think of it all: all that speech pouring down
selling nothing, judging nobody, drenching the thick mulch
of dead leaves soaking the trees
filling the gullies and crannies of the wood with water
washing out the places where men have stripped the hillside
nobody started it nobody is going to stop it
it will take as long as it wants, teh rain
as long as it talks I am going to listen

https://youtu.be/EuG_DFf31Dw?si=YVa1pC5Ae3EWVaM4

Written by Nicole Story & Andrea Gibson
Performed by Andrea Gibson

Anonymous said:<< post removed >>

Excellent performance; thanks for the link.

Welcome to Poetry Swap Meet,
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Jeremy Over 🙃

The Flea, written by John Donne, probably in the 1590s..

"Mark but this flea, and mark in this,  
How little that which thou deniest me is;  
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;  
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
   Yet this enjoys before it woo,
   And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
   And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.  
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;  
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,  
And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
   Though use make you apt to kill me,
   Let not to that, self-murder added be,
   And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?  
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?  
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou  
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
   ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
   Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
   Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee."