Home » Poems » Best » Elizabeth Mccann » Best Elizabeth Mccann Poems

Best Poems Written by Elizabeth Mccann

Below are the all-time best Elizabeth Mccann poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

The Dress

It was the last year of high school and there was a lack of beaux,
But then I got an invite. Whew, that was close!
So now the Prom was coming and I was going to go!
Mom gassed up for the city, headed out with me in tow,
Big stores all hunched together on a tall and scary street,
One dress along a rack with just repeat, repeat, repeat.

But Mom found a creation in an entirely different place,
Moulded tulle and satin, fairy dust and moonlit lace!
I thought she was kidding though the thing was just my size.
I was worried; fairy tales don't often turn out to be wise.
And the price tag is ridiculous! I said Mom take a look!
She plunked it down determinedly, tore a check out of the book.

That left a lot for me to do. My looks are commonplace.
New makeup and new lipstick; how about new face?
Silken shoes, a tiny purse, it's a lot of stress
Just trying to live up to this fantastic dress!
Rhinestone droplets dangle dangerous from my ear,
My long hair piled up high. How much taller I appear!

Prom night came...Poor Tommy! I was done up to impress.
My hair swept up, my makeup on, long earrings and the Dress!
He stood there in the doorway, uncertain in his tux,
Black tie, stiff shirt; this is getting all too much!
The corsage he held between us was carnations glowing red.
He looked up cautiously and ventured; "Is that you, Bo?" he said.

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

Storytime

The bed is still in disarray.
A faint erotic scent exudes
From the crumpled pillow.
Was it only yesterday
This page unfolded?

Empty now this gold and decorated room
Except for paper roses.
A bobolink
On a spiral spring, gay.

The mirror stares back at me
Unrecognizing the pale cold shadow
Who haunts it seeking
An old reflection.

The blush is gone; no joke
This walking in and out of chapters.
Tell me another story, friend,
Or give this one a happy ending.

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

Third Grade Recitation

My cousin and I were dismayed
By the kids who were in her third grade
They had no answers to tell
Though they spoke very well
And knew how impressions were made!

They earned an A+ for endurance
For displaying remarkable effluence
They could babble all night
With no fact in sight
Nor any sign of congruence! 

Oh, how wise we thought that we were
We could see their minds were a blur!
But now, mid-elections
And selfie confections
We see why they were so sure.

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

Mallaise

Four young men and quite large
Are cruising the mall like a barge.
But I, diddle, diddle,
Fit as a fiddle, 
Aim my cane at the middle and charge!

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

Grammah

Put it down to a grey-haired obsession;
Participles are a vexed question.
Even though it sounds quaint,
Elegant it ain't,
Robbing gerunds of their possessions!

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

Mirror, Mirror On the Wall

There's the mirror we look at
    to pick at spots,
The mirror we dress by,
    to see the lot, 
The one to cream and
    shade the eyes,
The one to try out
    feigned surprise,
The one that travels
    and shows fatigue,
(Your eyes have circles,
    your teeth are green.)
But the truest vision
    of ups and downs,
Of sideways bulges
    and hairdo clowns
Is the one that hits you 
    with dismay,
The shop front window
    on a sunny day!

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

To a Fly Drinking

Fly in orbit, fly in creep, 
Margin on the edge of sleep,
Feast your portion from the best.;
I would bargain blood for rest! 
Leave your frantic fantasies bare, 
Sculpted onto empty air. 

Fly, you have not heard my plea.
You zoom in on my ear, my knee. 
Rousing from my noonday haze, 
My lassitude becoming rage,
I tell you, fly, cease now this play!
But here you come again my way!

Oh, brother of this feeble flesh,
Darting, dodge this trapping mesh! 
'Til once the blow! Swift undoes
The circle into circle, buzz.
Alike with life our end begun, 
Histories in speck and thumb.



(with a  respectful nod to William Blake)

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

The Writer

Fancy that...
Being able to spend the whole morning
Writing a poem!

My mother's hands
Were etched in a network of tiny cracks.
Salt of the earth, the doctor said. 
She thought it meant he loved her.

It doesn't matter whether 
I write or not, I said...
Well, on one level it does,
Words whirling away into empty space.

A false Spring hangs in the air;
It's hard to keep from donning summer clothes.

He killed himself when he'd killed his wife.
(The tumor was malignant)
And the child sent away to some sister.
But his kind hands...My mother
Whispers again to believe it.

The typewriter clatters in a small room,
Closed door,
Soft light through the figured glass.

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

Delmore

Delmore Schwartz
T'was said, "He cavorts!"
A career much too short,
But still the greatest of poets!

Details | Elizabeth Mccann Poem

Afternoon With My Aunt

You came into her house through the kitchen. 
The big door in from the front porch
Hadn't been used for years;
Furniture stood hard against it.
A knock at the front door meant a stranger.

Aunt Celesta makes a tall pitcher
Of green Kool-Aid and ice cubes.
She fills two glasses and we sit
Together at the kitchen table.
I have so much to say!
I have to tell her everything that's happened 
Since I saw her last.
The sun shines in through white curtains,
The window full of little plants that are violets.

You have to go out the back door for the toilet,
Down some steps and a little path.
She takes my hand to go down the steps.
I remember my arm stretched tight
Above my head to her strong hand.
She lifts me at every step.

I am light like a monkey!

Cissa helps take down my pants
And lifts me onto my place on the bench.
She pulls up her own dress. We sit.
We look through the pictures in the Sears catalog. 
She tears us out some tissue pages.

Aunt Cissa got her dresses from the catalogs
Or made them herself, Mama said,
Because she was big.

It was because she was big in the olden days
That Uncle Ralph made her meet him
Inside the picture show. That way
No one would see. He told her
The seat number and everything
So he wouldn't be embarrassed.

Uncle Ralph thinks he is handsome.
When they are headed into town,
She has to wait in the car
While he goes back in to fix his hair
And put on his gray-blue felt hat
That matches his eyes.
Auint Cissa told us. She and Mama laughed.  

We go into the special room that is just her own. 
The heavy wood door is closed.
Inside is a fairyland, a big bed with white pillows
And a white ceiling to it with ruffles.
A pair of lady's gloves with shiny beads lies
There on the white quilt cover,
A tiny beaded purse with a gold handle.

The pictures on the walls are
Of soft-colored dogs and kittens
And one of an old-fashioned lady
Like a shadow against silky white milkweed.
We have one like that at home; 
Aunt Celesta and Mama gathered the milkweed
And cut out the ladies from black paper
When they were girls one time.
They tell me "silhouette."

I rest my head on Aunt Cissa.
It feels like I am folded up inside her softness.
The rocking chair goes easy back and forth.
I must have fell asleep because
I didn't hear the car come in.
Here is Mama in her feather hat
And high heel shoes! I get down unsteady,
Cissa's print still on my side.
It feels cold where she used to be.

I am a yellow balloon
I drift around tall rooms
Trailing a string behind me
Eyes just above the table top
Ears. No mouth.

I wear her ring.