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Iris Nov 2020
Demode
Dodo

Dorothy doesn’t talk to me much about her feelings, she’s either happy as an elephant or angry like a needle being forced through skin. Dorothy doesn’t go by Dorothy. She was Dodo to everyone but her aunt who didn’t know who she was. Dorothy lived across the road in her sizable yellow house, with way too many windows, mum says. Her mother is a big business owner working in the man's world. Dodo’s father is her mother, we joke, always doing a woman's work. Dorothy has a little sister Iris. She looks like Dodo, but Iris doesn’t have the same bruises on her face as Dodo does.
Iris must be quiet.
Mum does not want me hanging out with Dorothy, she says, she doesn’t act like a lady. Dodo never crosses her legs, but why would she do that? She doesn’t even wear skirts. She doesn’t finish chewing before her words and spits of food fall out. Dorothy does what she wants. Iris doesn’t do that. Men remind Iris that she's a beautiful young lady as we walk down town. Dodo flips them off.
Iris is quiet
I don’t sit with Dorothy at school. She sits with the boys, and I’m not allowed to. Dorothy fits in with the boys. She has a voice of a lion roaring through the cafeteria. Iris sits with me instead but we don’t talk. We stay quiet. Dodo laughs too much, the girl with red ribbons in her hair says. Dodo is just asking for it, responds to the girl with blue barretts. She’s gonna get hurt if she doesn't shush her loudmouth red ribbons says. Dorothy doesn’t care what girls with ribbons think. Iris does.
Iris stays quiet
Sometimes I wish I was more like Dorothy. I could tell mum to mind her own business and to let me get my ears pierced. I’m old enough to face the needle. Dorothy likes her big hoops, but I would rather have studs like Iris.
Those are quiet
Dorothy is a bad liar. I know she didn’t fall and hit her head on the table. The yellow house with too many windows tells me Dorothy’s mum hurt her. No one does anything because we don’t know what to do with women who work in a man's world.
We all stay quiet.
House on Mango Street Sandra Cisneros inspired Vignette, Literary foundations freshman year
For one, the amaryllis and the rose;
  The poppy, sweet as never lilies are;
The ripen'd vine, that beckons as it blows;
  The dancing star.

For one, the trodden rosemary and rue;
  The bowl, dipt ever in the purple stream
And, for the other one, a fairer due--
  Sleep, and no dream.
Lawrence Hall Oct 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                          The Unfashion of the Romantics

                    …the romance of intellectual adventure.

                      -Daisy Hay, preface to Young Romantics

Thesis:

The Romantics are simply demode, my dear
Those structured paleo-colonialists
Who rattle on about flowers and love
And craft blank verse about walks in the wood

Antithesis:

Oh, but note, if you will, young lovers who
Thoughtlessly put their sunlit heads together
Over an open Keats, reading to each other
Among the unwritten leaves of their youth

And now note, if you will, young thinkers who
Thoughtfully put their sunlit words together
Over an open Byron, arguing for freedom
Among and for the peoples of the earth

Synthesis:

The young are lines of iambic pentameter
New lines, new lives, discovered in each other
A poem is itself.
Haley Oct 2018
Coming into the light, we evolve
All creatures from large to small
Just like snakes shed their skin
Rising out of Eden levels of sin.

To rise from the ash after we fall
Former selves a demode shell
Purest light a wonderful sight,
Soul a thing of beauty, in flight.

Symphony of sight and sound,
All once leaving the past haunt behind.
Creating something uniquely you,
An inspiring blend of old and new.
Inspiration, accept the past, embrace the future. You are uniquely you

— The End —