"wickham" poems - Hello Poetry

Dear Colette, I want to write to you about being a woman for that is what you write to me. I want to tell you how your face enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . . hangs above my desk like my own muse. I want to tell you how your hands reach out from your books & seize my heart. I want to tell you how your hair electrifies my thoughts like my own halo. I want to tell you how your eyes penetrate my fear & make it melt. I want to tell you simply that I love you-- though you are "dead" & I am still "alive." Suicides & spinsters-- all our kind! Even decorous Jane Austen never marrying, & Sappho leaping, & Sylvia in the oven, & Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale, & pale Virginia floating like Ophelia, & Emily alone, alone, alone. . . . But you endure & marry, go on writing, lose a husband, gain a husband, go on writing, sing & tap dance & you go on writing, have a child & still you go on writing, love a woman, love a man & go on writing. You endure your writing & your life. Dear Colette, I only want to thank you: for your eyes ringed with bluest paint like bruises, for your hair gathering sparks like brush fire, for your hands which never willingly let go, for your years, your child, your lovers, all your books. . . . Dear Colette, you hold me to this life.

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Erica Jong

Dear Colette

Dear Colette, I want to write to you about being a woman for that is what you write to me. I want to tell you how your face enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . . hangs above my desk like my own muse. I want to tell you how your hands reach out from your books & seize my heart. I want to tell you how your hair electrifies my thoughts like my own halo. I want to tell you how your eyes penetrate my fear & make it melt. I want to tell you simply that I love you-- though you are "dead" & I am still "alive." Suicides & spinsters-- all our kind! Even decorous Jane Austen never marrying, & Sappho leaping, & Sylvia in the oven, & Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale, & pale Virginia floating like Ophelia, & Emily alone, alone, alone. . . . But you endure & marry, go on writing, lose a husband, gain a husband, go on writing, sing & tap dance & you go on writing, have a child & still you go on writing, love a woman, love a man & go on writing. You endure your writing & your life. Dear Colette, I only want to thank you: for your eyes ringed with bluest paint like bruises, for your hair gathering sparks like brush fire, for your hands which never willingly let go, for your years, your child, your lovers, all your books. . . . Dear Colette, you hold me to this life.

55

You might be Heathcliff To my Elizabeth Because a hero I, need not If you choose to impress through lies and duress you’re surely, not the man I thought I am not a romantic When you stand in the rain You can be pedantic But please don’t refrain From your recitations of poetry If I could rewrite this story I’d try and make you see For Mr. Wickham I can see clearly through Have I told not All of my truths to you If you could forgive me For being quite uncouth I’d leave my homestead And walk days to you I am not a romantic When you stand in the rain You can be pedantic But please don’t refrain From your recitations of poetry If I could rewrite this story I’d try and make you see You might be angry And feeling betrayed, but This is not a war to be fought If you can forgive me I’ll try to make you see That you’re the romantic I want Your good opinions Have surely been lost I made snap judgments Not knowing the cost If you can forgive me Then please tell me so But if you cannot Away I will go

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Mar 1, 2012

Mar 1, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC

alyson-lori-samson

Romantic

You might be Heathcliff To my Elizabeth Because a hero I, need not If you choose to impress through lies and duress you’re surely, not the man I thought I am not a romantic When you stand in the rain You can be pedantic But please don’t refrain From your recitations of poetry If I could rewrite this story I’d try and make you see For Mr. Wickham I can see clearly through Have I told not All of my truths to you If you could forgive me For being quite uncouth I’d leave my homestead And walk days to you I am not a romantic When you stand in the rain You can be pedantic But please don’t refrain From your recitations of poetry If I could rewrite this story I’d try and make you see You might be angry And feeling betrayed, but This is not a war to be fought If you can forgive me I’ll try to make you see That you’re the romantic I want Your good opinions Have surely been lost I made snap judgments Not knowing the cost If you can forgive me Then please tell me so But if you cannot Away I will go

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Christina Twistleton-Wickham-de-Fluff couldn't decide what to do with her **** Wherever she went the darned thing would shed she even found hair from it inside her bed So she took out the scissors and trimmed it a bit but did a bad job and her **** looked like shhh....e had messed it up So she took out the clippers to give it a trim fired them up and got stuck right in Be she lost her attention when a friend of hers called and now theres a spot thats totally bald But panic she didn't, nor get filled with dread She simply decided to wear gloves instead.

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Aug 11, 2010

Aug 11, 2010 at 2:39 PM UTC

a-thomas-hawkins

Close shave for Christina

Christina Twistleton-Wickham-de-Fluff couldn't decide what to do with her **** Wherever she went the darned thing would shed she even found hair from it inside her bed So she took out the scissors and trimmed it a bit but did a bad job and her **** looked like shhh....e had messed it up So she took out the clippers to give it a trim fired them up and got stuck right in Be she lost her attention when a friend of hers called and now theres a spot thats totally bald But panic she didn't, nor get filled with dread She simply decided to wear gloves instead.

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You are a budding Casanova A Brett Ashley in the making Rhett Butler would be proud Daisy Buchanan might bat her eyelashes George Wickham would tip his hat That's all you ever wanted To be wanted To be "loved" You won't get it by chasing every person who enters your life It doesn't work that way It isn't that easy But how would you know?

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Jun 5, 2015

Jun 5, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC

l-4

Wannabe Heartbreaker

You are a budding Casanova A Brett Ashley in the making Rhett Butler would be proud Daisy Buchanan might bat her eyelashes George Wickham would tip his hat That's all you ever wanted To be wanted To be "loved" You won't get it by chasing every person who enters your life It doesn't work that way It isn't that easy But how would you know?

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