Sophia White

Rookie - 3 Points ('90 / America)

Ephesians 1: 18 - Poem by Sophia White

There is a woman with a large red hat
Who sits and plays the harmonica all day
Breathing in and breathing out
Her tears bubbling into the harmonica
“Woe, woe, woe,
Woe is me and mine, all the day, all the time.
Woe, woe, woe.”
There is a woman in a tight red dress
Who writes ballads of her misery by night
And plays them on her harmonica by day
Doom and gloom, eyes of aquamaroon,
Eyes swirling with bitter, bitter spite.
“Woe, woe, woe. Woe, woe, woe.”
And all around her, round the world goes.
“Woe, woe, woe.” On the world goes.
The growl of tires on the road
Drown the moan of the harmonica.
“Woe…”

Look, Lady Woe! Look up, look in.
Look further up, further in.
Look at the rust on your harmonica and then
Hope, Lady Woe.

There is a man who reads every book
Who had read all of the books but one
He smells of libraries and museums and asphalt
I think he may know everything about the world.
So much to know!
“Here’s how you fold the flag. That train…
In 1441… a duke in Naples, or Nice? No, Naples…
In a hole in the ground there lived a… modern major general.”
Cleverness is very impressive, he knows.
Impressiveness is power, he knows.
“Do you know that word? Some engines are…
The atmospheric pressure at that depth… Mars…
Largest in history… terrific opera…”
Dangling ignorance before the bound.
All talk.

Look, Lord Know! Look up, look in.
Look further up, futher in.
Look at what you forgot to read and then
Hope, Lord Know.

There is a child who roams the hall at school
And crawls and creeps into the classroom
There she rises from behind the teacher’s desk
She rises like Kraken from the sea
And scrapes her nails across the chalkboard
Poor Teacher! Poor Students!
Chills, chills, chills from the Kraken-call
The screech of nails on board.
The child, the nail-scraper, storms out again
Her eyes like Kraken-eyes, all frozen fire.
Dagger-looks at everyone, because long, long ago,
She stared at an empty sea, broken-hearted.
Now she carries a grudge in her nails
A grudge for all who try to understand
Who understand.

Look, Little Sea-child! Look up, look in.
Look further up, further in.
Look at the waves which are moving and then
Hope, Little Sea-child.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 17, 2008



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