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Ann Copland Poem
black on white flash
behind quiet green kudzu leaves
mama-dum-day-do
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
I'm very young, mother reads
her voice leads my imagination
romantic, fantastic
sweet, like cake
I'm twenty-eight,
hold my son and read
familiar poems, tales
from an orange book
echoes
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
she died in spring
she had loved spring
a bird outside my window chats
his tone high and busy
Gloria could tell you his name
garden beds along the front sidewalks
she had many plants, blooming throughout
the first warm days in Michigan
plants with long waxy leaves
light purple bulb on a long shoot
we'd squeeze to hear them pop
if she caught us tampering, her scolding was
a breath of disappointment
tender petals, bruised, shredded
pain
life, beauty, needs protection
spring is too short
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
Letters, written by unsteady hand
on newspaper, margins of "occupant" mailers
blank sides grocery lists,
big X across the back of a page.
One day, I saw it: a grandparent
cross out a whole page, turn it over
and begin a letter.
But why? There is paper everywhere.
Use everything until it is worn out.
Depression era adults:
born just as the Twentieth Century
rolled onto newspaper ink;
having scraped by, never bought a piece of paper.
When I was on my own, working,
using paper by the skeins,
I sent my great grandmothers stationary
and scented drawer liners for Christmas.
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
federal court rooms are all wood
acoustics mastery - sound drops dead
no muffled conversations
the silence is palpable, tactile
I would be a witness
cooperating with the prosecutor
a case against my former colleague
I cried
what I lost in loyalty
conceding an acknowledgment of guilt
might improve my outcome
it did not
maximum sentence: 5 years
recommended by the prosecutor's office
ignored by the judge, who ordered reasonable
..... punishment, like a child
not like a child
freedoms locked, no negotiation
a letter from the local registrar
"Your voting privileges terminated"
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
cold
spent moments
slipped away unnoticed
and spotlighted suffering
solid
life cubes stacked
each success and mistake
trapped, time lost
hopes, regrets and days
until all I have are nights
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
"Daddy's girl"
sewn on my pink and lace nightgown
Mom popped it over my head
as she cooed, "Daddy will be home soon."
She told me that story and many others
from time I can't remember.
Daddy, God, Santa Claus
in order of importance-
Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.
He smiled and laughed,
always had something new.
Hoola Hoops, once --
my brother couldn't even walk.
Daddy and Mommy
before they were twenty eight:
dressed - really dressed - no one wore t-shirts
ladies' shorts zipped on the side;
Dad wore white converse basketball shoes.
We played.
Daddy smiled and put his feet on our chest
and we flew, my brother and I.
We went to the zoo,
with dry bread crumbs
we saved in the garage, in an onion bag
We could feed the animals then.
Swimming in a lake, camping,
in the driveway, fixing the car:
my mind keeps snap shots.
Dad told us we were the best
at whatever we did
so of course, we did more.
Praise, encouragement, love
a few practical skills.
That's how I remember my father
those years of bliss, when he had all the answers.
I watched him cast his spell over my sons
for over twenty five years.
He was the best advice I could share.
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
"There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out..."
C. Bukowski
I never saw a bluebird ...
I once saw a bluebird sitting alone and still....
....but there was always an expectation.
on a sign: WELCOME TO MISSISSIPPI
Now that was an "aha" moment ...
Indeed. I had no camera, so I stood and watched.
...the simple sum of perfection
I tired before he did;
...would have brought a tear to Bukowski's eye
He was gone when I returned
...the memory is no doubt indelible!
my Bluebird
...I could have made an effort.
genius
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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Ann Copland Poem
chased such a long time
I was behind myself
cobbled roads with water
streaming down the guttered edges
pouring into the end of a river
I chased myself there
alone
nothing this end of town
I forgot why I'd been running
a perfect figure
well colored and clad
walked toward me,
"You needn't run, the chase is ended."
With both hands, he touched my shoulders
I have smiled and watched the river
ever since I can remember
once, there was a boy running
and I caught him
Copyright © Ann Copland | Year Posted 2014
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