Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.145.170.67
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
James Joyce:
In winding streets of Dublin, I did dwell,
found Ulyssean tales to weave and tell.
In this modern age, voices rise anew.
What themes thrive, Margaret, in works like you?

Margaret Atwood:
Ah, James, your stream, like a cerebral trance,
misogyny flows, creative mischance.
Your women, mere vessels, for male desire.
In the wake of the past, can your tales inspire?

James Joyce:
Misogynist, you say? That's quite a claim.
My Molly Bloom, no frail flower, not tame.
In the complex of human thought, I tread;
Maggie, you let tradition blind your head.

Margaret Atwood:
Your Penelope kept, waiting so long,
endless devotion, to a world that is wrong.
While ruminating the depths of man's mind,
women's voices were silenced, left far behind.

James Joyce:
I unravel threads of history's sway;
in portraits of artists, I've had my say.
Margie, your feminist words they assail.
But my explore of life? Please don't bewail.

Margaret Atwood:
On your Dublin streets, intricate and vast,
I wonder how long my voices could last?
Ulysses, the past and present amassed;
but in Handmaid's Tale, that hold has surpassed.

James Joyce:
Mags, your dystopian vision is stark,
I question, the world you've built in the dark.
Feminism's force, your cause to uphold,
in modernist quests, whose stories are told?

Margaret Atwood:
Testaments and Alias Grace, bespeak,
unveil women's lives, an historic critique.
Modern lit calls for a modern decree,
admiration of female agency.

James Joyce:
Modernist quest, my word-mazes unfold,
the language, new dance of ancient tales told.
In our exchange, fresh questions emerge,
modern age's lit fight, answers we urge.

Margaret Atwood:
Together, James, we can rewrite the role,
ramp up the chat, diverse voices extol.
In august earnest, we can stand side-by-side,
Headline: Joyce-Atwood, Mythopoeic Tide.

James Joyce:
In tenzone's dialogue, two worlds now bind,
within linguistics, our voices we find.
As Joyce and Atwood, we reshape the page?
As on this day, a new literate stage?

In the labyrinth of thought you pursue me.
As cold river of resistance, I meet your plea.
Ideas prescient, your claims they are factive,
yet, Meg, your smile, would be more attractive.

Margaret Atwood (with a triumphant tone):
While you ventured through, the complex of minds,
I question, where your exploration binds.
A female perspective, an apt insight,
in modern age, is more crucial and right.

As we close this discourse, try to find grace,
acknowledging paths we chose to embrace.
My work boosts yours, to its dystopic height,
exposes your damaged, misplaced birthright.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required