Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Joyce Freedman’ Category

As Joyce Freedman shows in this delightful poem, sometimes, to women, men appear to be inexplicably simply creatures.

…………………………………………………………………….

Shopping

Joyce Freedman

 

We agree to shop togetherman with new shoes

his needs are simple—

brown shoes like the last pair

and corduroy trousers,

brown.

We buy his five-minute shoes

and ten-minute trousers.

Done, he says, let’s go home.

 

No, that’s not how it’s done

I want to reply

but I’ve lost the power of speech.

I’m missing the leisurely coffee

where girlfriends gather to talk about dresses,

the feel of textures, the colour of lipsticks

and shoes, glorious shoes

(not brown).

 

Meekly I follow him, my willpower crushed

by his whistling. I stop to grab a lipstick

that makes me look anaemic.

At home, he waltzes around in

his new clothes. I want to break

his velvety legs and jump on his toes.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Joyce Freedman 1

Joyce Freedman is an Aussie poet whose poems have been published in Quadrant magazine among others.

Image by airamg

 

Read Full Post »

This poem stands up and shouts ‘poetry counts’. Poetry can achieve meaning in places where prose gets carried away with its own verbosity. Perhaps, I’m doing that now. Poetry captures the essence of things. This poem distills an entire life  into 6 lines. 


She sat in the back row of life
Her face obscured in photographs
Refusing offers to shine.school pic

 
Finally, she was the star
The day they came to bury her–
But no body was there.

Joyce Freedman

Joyce Freedman 1

   Joyce Freedman is an Aussie poet whose poems have been published in Quadrant magazine among others.

Read Full Post »

This short poem by Joyce Freedman starts as a rollicking read.Joyce Freedman But the strain on the tangled threads of family relationships builds then snaps. It is a powerful poem. Poempig thinks every teenager who has been relentlessly criticised by their father should read this poem.  It frees the spirit and therefore belongs in the class of Jailbreak Prose. 

 

 

1.

My father said, in my teenage years 
My finest feature was tiny ears.

My spirit soared; I didn’t know 
Everyone’s ears continue to grow.

He thought I’d be a tad more neat B & w child
If less of me comprised my feet.

My eyes, he thought, were commonplace 
Much better, though, than my acned face.

2.

My ears are huge, my feet are spread 
My eyes are weak—and my father’s dead.

 

Joyce Freedman

 

 

This poem first appeared in Quadrant Magazine: #mce_temp_url# 

 

Clip Pic Amy Heague:  #mce_temp_url#

Read Full Post »