Poems Inspired by Rita Dove
#RitaDove
Poems inspired by the American poet and essayist Rita Frances Dove. Here you'll find poetry using the style, themes or characters found in poems by Rita Dove. Along with poems about Dove herself, including praise, criticism and tributes.
AlisVolatPropriis8
Poem Published
18th Dec 2021 12:32pm
18th Dec 2021 12:32pm
The armour.
She saw her Lil sis playing
With pretty dolls none to her game
So when I grow up I'll shall make
You have dolls by the peppery cheddar potato rolls.
To-Fort
With pretty dolls none to her game
So when I grow up I'll shall make
You have dolls by the peppery cheddar potato rolls.
To-Fort
#RitaDove
266 reads
0 Comments
eswaller
Poem Published
29th Jan 2021 11:41pm
29th Jan 2021 11:41pm
There Goes My Heart
Pitter patter
goes my heart
every time I see you.
Take what belongs
to you - the heart
moving with
every breath
and word spoken
So eloquently.
All I yearned for
was simplicity
and easiness.
The heart never
loses its shape
nor its color
as it never stops
its birdlike or drum
like consistency.
It never stops its
path to freedom.
goes my heart
every time I see you.
Take what belongs
to you - the heart
moving with
every breath
and word spoken
So eloquently.
All I yearned for
was simplicity
and easiness.
The heart never
loses its shape
nor its color
as it never stops
its birdlike or drum
like consistency.
It never stops its
path to freedom.
#freedom
#RitaDove
357 reads
5 Comments
slipalong
Poem Published
28th Jan 2021 8:50am
28th Jan 2021 8:50am
The Gavotte
Was I so disgraced?- I bowed,
she curtseyed low.
In two lines like troops would be
bedecked, alive with pageantry.
Like marionettes, in straightjackets
spinning to the harpsichord.
Fiddle's bow that courts a maid.
Music of tittle-tattle, behind fans
Rules of engagement,
the long drawn battle plans.
Drawn, by tight strung corsetry
Swords ever keen,
ready for the action.
Bouncing, skipping,
shaped romance, in relief.
Paper cut out courtisanes.
Plagiarised, a work by Edgar Degas
Dizziness...
she curtseyed low.
In two lines like troops would be
bedecked, alive with pageantry.
Like marionettes, in straightjackets
spinning to the harpsichord.
Fiddle's bow that courts a maid.
Music of tittle-tattle, behind fans
Rules of engagement,
the long drawn battle plans.
Drawn, by tight strung corsetry
Swords ever keen,
ready for the action.
Bouncing, skipping,
shaped romance, in relief.
Paper cut out courtisanes.
Plagiarised, a work by Edgar Degas
Dizziness...
#Romanticism
#RitaDove
348 reads
2 Comments
wallyroo92
Poem Published
29th Nov 2020 7:48am
29th Nov 2020 7:48am
Breakfast at Wally's
The sun gets up later in winter
but in my bedroom, a light softly penetrates
through the blinds and curtains,
I think “should I go for a run?”
but I’m only half awake.
The house is quiet
it’s cold outside but the sounds
of birds and cars
are beginning to shape the day,
And I begin to get hungry.
While all my loves are still sleeping
I get the coffee started
I make the eggs and bacon
with a side of hash browns and I say to myself:
“Hey Dove, I’m the one who’s cooking!”
but in my bedroom, a light softly penetrates
through the blinds and curtains,
I think “should I go for a run?”
but I’m only half awake.
The house is quiet
it’s cold outside but the sounds
of birds and cars
are beginning to shape the day,
And I begin to get hungry.
While all my loves are still sleeping
I get the coffee started
I make the eggs and bacon
with a side of hash browns and I say to myself:
“Hey Dove, I’m the one who’s cooking!”
#happiness
#love
#family
#food
#RitaDove
435 reads
16 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
26th Nov 2020 5:00am
26th Nov 2020 5:00am
Her Island (Father Tide)
Water keeps its horrors
while sky proclaims his,
hangs them in stars.'
- Rita Dove
An old man who owns this place,
thinks he does, looks out from here
as I approach in reunion.
He appears not to remember me,
remember us -- my hand dwarfed by his;
sweating into his great husk
shelled of all proliferation
among the shore debris.
*
Among the shore debris
a morbidity of tides is dumped
in a final throe --
a last soprano tremble
that reaches for...
while sky proclaims his,
hangs them in stars.'
- Rita Dove
An old man who owns this place,
thinks he does, looks out from here
as I approach in reunion.
He appears not to remember me,
remember us -- my hand dwarfed by his;
sweating into his great husk
shelled of all proliferation
among the shore debris.
*
Among the shore debris
a morbidity of tides is dumped
in a final throe --
a last soprano tremble
that reaches for...
#father
#childhood
#sea #RitaDove
#sea #RitaDove
437 reads
10 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
26th Nov 2020 4:17am
26th Nov 2020 4:17am
November For Beginners (No Rain)
The rain held off
for hours, long enough to smell
its presence -- warm and burned;
summer sun afar now,
leaving crisp cobalt air
to chill our skin
in early dusk of late day.
Our wood stack sits
in anticipation of purpose --
to rise and leave its bed
with a crackle and pop.
Our hearts stiffen as
flower heads on rigid stalks.
We can't yet fathom Spring
in the sea of brown and gold --
its trimmings
Trail our feet;
rustle a scratchy, unmetered
tune on a hollow, stringless...
for hours, long enough to smell
its presence -- warm and burned;
summer sun afar now,
leaving crisp cobalt air
to chill our skin
in early dusk of late day.
Our wood stack sits
in anticipation of purpose --
to rise and leave its bed
with a crackle and pop.
Our hearts stiffen as
flower heads on rigid stalks.
We can't yet fathom Spring
in the sea of brown and gold --
its trimmings
Trail our feet;
rustle a scratchy, unmetered
tune on a hollow, stringless...
#rain
#fall
#RitaDove
423 reads
11 Comments
slipalong
Poem Published
14th Nov 2020 8:52pm
14th Nov 2020 8:52pm
Another bite at the cherry
My old Nissan
its shine, with years , dulled, fading fast
its blotchy skin.
When was it polished last
and catch a glint.
Hanging from the mirror
a car vent that looks just like Tom Jones.
Dream; the apple Adam held,
the need to taste forbidden fruit.
With evil pride his ego swelled
I thought that I was in a hurry
the radio was playing Brian Ferry.
Addicted to love, vain hopes anthem
and one on one, be the sum.
In expectation longer dwell,
like children playing hide and seek
look round the corner take a peep. ...
its shine, with years , dulled, fading fast
its blotchy skin.
When was it polished last
and catch a glint.
Hanging from the mirror
a car vent that looks just like Tom Jones.
Dream; the apple Adam held,
the need to taste forbidden fruit.
With evil pride his ego swelled
I thought that I was in a hurry
the radio was playing Brian Ferry.
Addicted to love, vain hopes anthem
and one on one, be the sum.
In expectation longer dwell,
like children playing hide and seek
look round the corner take a peep. ...
#romantic
#aging
#RitaDove
318 reads
1 Comment
MaryWalker
Poem Published
5th Nov 2020 8:11pm
5th Nov 2020 8:11pm
[ CC ] Melody's Fingertips
Dry logs in the stone pit, consumed
quicker than Indian Summers
in crackling pops, sweep
dustbunnied quiet under rugs;
serenade complements my cello
frame being played to its tune.
Melody's fingertips strumming;
my instruments gauging spikes
Sparks fly before either of us
realizes we are out of control
---wild fires converging
in unorchestrated infernos
These flames of ours licking
long into the late hours
She,...
quicker than Indian Summers
in crackling pops, sweep
dustbunnied quiet under rugs;
serenade complements my cello
frame being played to its tune.
Melody's fingertips strumming;
my instruments gauging spikes
Sparks fly before either of us
realizes we are out of control
---wild fires converging
in unorchestrated infernos
These flames of ours licking
long into the late hours
She,...
#lesbian
#erotic
#fire
#passion
#RitaDove
438 reads
4 Comments
Ahavati
Poem Published
5th Nov 2020 7:49pm
5th Nov 2020 7:49pm
Theresienstadt Ghetto Symphony
( After Rita Dove )
Some played harmoniously
in the face of tragedy;
others, absurdly out of sync
regardless of advantages
Despite how we observe
or innately judge. . .
both inevitably belonged—
captive and guard
Inside each cavernous soul
exists a desire to complement
the mastery of music—
to be fondly remembered
a dedicated creator, or just part
of something greater—
as space between notes ...
Some played harmoniously
in the face of tragedy;
others, absurdly out of sync
regardless of advantages
Despite how we observe
or innately judge. . .
both inevitably belonged—
captive and guard
Inside each cavernous soul
exists a desire to complement
the mastery of music—
to be fondly remembered
a dedicated creator, or just part
of something greater—
as space between notes ...
#music
#WritingPoetry
#RitaDove
#war
#rebellion
626 reads
33 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems Inspired by Rita Dove
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#RitaDove is curated by Ahavati.
