Best Famous Connie Wanek Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Connie Wanek poems. This is a select list of the best famous Connie Wanek poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Connie Wanek poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Connie Wanek poems.

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Poems are below...

Written by Connie Wanek | Create an image from this poem

Coloring Book

 Each picture is heartbreakingly banal,
a kitten and a ball of yarn,
a dog and bone.
The paper is cheap, easily torn.
A coloring book's authority is derived from its heavy black lines as unalterable as the ten commandments within which minor decisions are possible: the dog black and white, the kitten gray.
Under the picture we find a few words, a title, perhaps a narrative, a psalm or sermon.
But nowhere do we come upon a blank page where we might justify the careless way we scribbled when we were tired and sad and could bear no more.
Written by Connie Wanek | Create an image from this poem


 Butter, like love,
seems common enough
yet has so many imitators.
I held a brick of it, heavy and cool, and glimpsed what seemed like skin beneath a corner of its wrap; the decolletage revealed a most attractive fat! And most refined.
Not milk, not cream, not even creme de la creme.
It was a delicacy which assured me that bliss follows agitation, that even pasture daisies through the alchemy of four stomachs may grace a king's table.
We have a yellow bowl near the toaster where summer's butter grows soft and sentimental.
We love it better for its weeping, its nostalgia for buckets and churns and deep stone wells, for the press of a wooden butter mold shaped like a swollen heart.
Written by Connie Wanek | Create an image from this poem

Jump Rope

 There is menace
in its relentless course, round and round,
describing an ellipsoid,
an airy prison in which a young girl
is incarcerated.
Whom will she marry? Whom will she love? The rope, like a snake, has the gift of divination, yet reveals only a hint, a single initial.
But what if she never misses? Is competence its own reward? Will the rope never strike her ankle, love's bite? The enders turn and turn, two-handed as their arms tire, their enchantments exhausted.
It hurts to watch her now, flushed and scowling, her will stronger than her limbs, her braids lashing her shoulders with each small success.
Written by Connie Wanek | Create an image from this poem

After Us

 I don't know if we're in the beginning
or in the final stage.
-- Tomas Tranströmer Rain is falling through the roof.
And all that prospered under the sun, the books that opened in the morning and closed at night, and all day turned their pages to the light; the sketches of boats and strong forearms and clever faces, and of fields and barns, and of a bowl of eggs, and lying across the piano the silver stick of a flute; everything invented and imagined, everything whispered and sung, all silenced by cold rain.
The sky is the color of gravestones.
The rain tastes like salt, and rises in the streets like a ruinous tide.
We spoke of millions, of billions of years.
We talked and talked.
Then a drop of rain fell into the sound hole of the guitar, another onto the unmade bed.
And after us, the rain will cease or it will go on falling, even upon itself.
Written by Connie Wanek | Create an image from this poem


 In the democracy of daisies
every blossom has one vote.
The question on the ballot is Does he love me? If the answer's wrong I try another, a little sorry about the petals piling up around my shoes.
Bees are loose in the fields where daisies wait and hope, dreaming of the kiss of a proboscis.
We can't possibly understand what makes us such fools.
I blame the June heat and everything about him.
Written by Connie Wanek | Create an image from this poem

e Coin Behind Your Ear

 Before you knew you owned it
it was gone, stolen, and you were a fool.
How you never felt it is the wonder, heavy and thick, lodged deep in your hair like a burr.
You still see the smile of the magician as he turned the coin in his long fingers, which had so disturbed your ear with their caress.
You watched him lift it into the light, bright as frost, and slip it into his maze of pockets.
You felt vainly behind your ear but there was no second coin, nothing to tempt him back.
No one cared to know why he did it, only how.