Cornelius Eady

Cornelius Eady Poems

Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
...

Your body, hard vowels
In a soft dress, is still.

What you can't know
...

I walk into the bakery next door
To my apartment. They are about
...

The stage is set for imminent disaster.
Here is the little tramp, standing
On a stack of books in order
...

Off go the crows from the roof.
The crows can't hold on.
They might as well
...

You're rich, lady, hissed the young woman at
My mother as she bent in her garden.
Look at what you've got, and it was
...

New York grows
Slimmer
In his absence.
...

The umbrella, in this case;
Earlier, the stool, the
Wooden pillars that hold up
...

My friends,
As it has been proven in the laboratory,
An empty pair of dance shoes
Will sit on the floor like a wart
...

The Best Poem Of Cornelius Eady

I'M A Fool To Love You

Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.
She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.
Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don't want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.
My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.
This man made my father look good,
That's how bad it was.
He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.
And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it's the only leverage
You've got.
Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.
Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.
This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man's kisses
A healing.

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