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Best Poems Written by Ann Copland

Below are the all-time best Ann Copland poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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What Does the Fox Say

black on white flash 

behind quiet green kudzu leaves 

mama-dum-day-do

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Sweetest Sound

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

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Hurts Next Spring

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

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Paper Dawn

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.

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Lost

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"

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The Sun Is Gone

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

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Daddy Daddy Daddy

"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.

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Bukowski Contest

"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

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Chased

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