A video interpretation of
the poem "Colored Things."
"Dear Pecola and Claudia,
Shirley Temple is dead"
an essay at BlogHer.com
"An Interview with Poet Julie Kane"
"Wait. Toni Morrison Did Not
Blast Alice Walker"
"The Story of Nordette Adams'
Un-Posted Birthday Poem"
by Aberjhani
"And Then the Rain God
Screamed for Love"
by Aberjhani
"Audio Love Poems for Valentine's Day"
Poetry Foundation
Reading You Again
By Nordette N. Adams
Your poem is
shaped like a pregnant woman,
not the sound, feel, ache, and sprawl of it,
but the actual shape! Your line breaks, the enjamb-
ment, the funky physical twist of phrase from one point to
the next, carry a baby on the page visually. Did you mean that?
I don't believe you did. I think it's coincidental, but a poem should
be pregnant. By any means, it must carry a child, new life, the bulging
promise of. A poem should be barefoot, heavy with babies or at the least
virile like a man whose balls burst with potential. - This poem is round, fat
like the belly of a pregnant woman, but holds no promise. It is wide and emp-
ty like the mind of a reality TV producer or a con artist's heart.It is foolishly
whipped and crafted akin to a circle, alluding to things cyclical, like life. - The
Mystical Circle of Life. ... This poem plays on a July Sunday afternoon while
summer blasts outside my bedroom window. Its light creeps over the win-
dow sill, spills onto the dark wood floor, wanting to nourish as I ponder
the wild goofiness of your poem looking so pregnant. I keep dreaming
of you, the life I need. I wonder why we can't connect as we once
did. Our path is akin to a circle. You have gone ahead. It looks
like I follow. Maybe one day before you pass me by again,
you will stop, be overcome with missing, and see the
loneliness of my ready neck. You'll kiss the nape,
I will not judge the brush of your lips. And
we will know again how good
poetry feels.
© 2009 Nordette N. Adams
This poem may not be copied or reproduced without the author's permission.
Return to WSATA.
By Nordette N. Adams
Your poem is
shaped like a pregnant woman,
not the sound, feel, ache, and sprawl of it,
but the actual shape! Your line breaks, the enjamb-
ment, the funky physical twist of phrase from one point to
the next, carry a baby on the page visually. Did you mean that?
I don't believe you did. I think it's coincidental, but a poem should
be pregnant. By any means, it must carry a child, new life, the bulging
promise of. A poem should be barefoot, heavy with babies or at the least
virile like a man whose balls burst with potential. - This poem is round, fat
like the belly of a pregnant woman, but holds no promise. It is wide and emp-
ty like the mind of a reality TV producer or a con artist's heart.It is foolishly
whipped and crafted akin to a circle, alluding to things cyclical, like life. - The
Mystical Circle of Life. ... This poem plays on a July Sunday afternoon while
summer blasts outside my bedroom window. Its light creeps over the win-
dow sill, spills onto the dark wood floor, wanting to nourish as I ponder
the wild goofiness of your poem looking so pregnant. I keep dreaming
of you, the life I need. I wonder why we can't connect as we once
did. Our path is akin to a circle. You have gone ahead. It looks
like I follow. Maybe one day before you pass me by again,
you will stop, be overcome with missing, and see the
loneliness of my ready neck. You'll kiss the nape,
I will not judge the brush of your lips. And
we will know again how good
poetry feels.
© 2009 Nordette N. Adams
This poem may not be copied or reproduced without the author's permission.
Return to WSATA.