"demode" poems - Hello Poetry

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.

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Dorothy Parker

Vers Demode

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.

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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.

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Nov 21, 2020

Nov 21, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC

belle59

Demode Dodo

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.

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Lawrence Hall [email protected] 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

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Oct 18, 2020

Oct 18, 2020 at 9:42 AM UTC

lawrence-hall

The Unfashion of the Romantic Poets

Lawrence Hall [email protected] 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

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