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#lucille clifton
e-doce-morrer-no-mar · 15 hours ago
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I just received one of the lucille clifton books I ordered in the mail. It’s a signed copy by lucille herself. this feels special. 🌊
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partialto · 15 hours ago
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won't you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylon both nonwhite and woman what did i see to be except myself? i made it up here on this bridge between starshine and clay, my one hand holding tight my other hand; come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.
Lucille Clifton, “won’t you celebrate with me”
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firstfullmoon · 3 days ago
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mary is an old woman without shoes. she doesn’t believe it. not when her belly starts to bubble and leave the print of a finger where no man touches. not when the snow in her hair melts away. not when the stranger she used to wait for appears dressed in lights at her kitchen table. she is an old woman and doesn’t believe it.
when Something drops onto her toes one night she calls it a fox but she feeds it.
— Lucille Clifton, from “my dream of the second coming,” in The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton
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hisfairangels · 5 days ago
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winged women was saying "full of grace" and like. was light beyond sun and words of a name and a blessing. winged women to only i. i joined them, whispering yes.
lucille clifton, “mary’s dream”
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hisfairangels · 5 days ago
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father i am not equal to the faith required. i doubt. i have a woman’s certainties; bodies pulled from me, pushed into me, bone flesh is what I know.
father the angels say they have no wings. i woke one morning feeling how to see them. i could discern their shadows in the shadow. i am not equal to the faith required.
father i see your mother standing now shoulderless and shoeless by your side. i hear her whisper truths I cannot know. father I doubt.
father what are the actual certainties? your mother speaks of love.
the angels say they have no wings. i am not equal to the faith required. i try to run from such surprising presence; the angels stream before me like a torch.
lucille clifton, “confession”
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tonguebreaks · 5 days ago
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i went into my mother as some souls go into a church, for the rest only. but there, even there, from the belly of a poor woman who could not save herself i was pushed without my permission into a tangle of birthdays. listen, eavesdroppers, there is no such thing as a bed without affliction; the bodies all may open wide but you enter at your own risk.
Lucille Clifton, "to the unborn and waiting children"
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fuschia-crabapples · 7 days ago
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Lucille Clifton - mulberry fields
they thought the field was wasting and so they gathered the marker rocks and stones and piled them into a barn    they say that the rocks were shaped some of them scratched with triangles and other forms    they must have been trying to invent some new language they say the rocks went to build that wall there guarding the manor and some few were used for the state house crops refused to grow i say the stones marked an old tongue and it was called eternity and pointed toward the river    i say that after that collection no pillow in the big house dreamed    i say that somewhere under here moulders one called alice whose great grandson is old now too and refuses to talk about slavery    i say that at the masters table only one plate is set for supper    i say no seed can flourish on this ground once planted then forsaken    wild berries warm a field of bones bloom how you must i say - mulberry fields by Lucille Clifton
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ineedtoreadmorepoetry · 8 days ago
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4/30/92 for rodney king by Lucille Clifton
so the body of one black man is rag and stone is mud and blood the body of one black man contains no life worth loving so the body of one black man is nobody mama mama mamacita is there no value in this skin mama mama if we are nothing why should we spare the neighborhood mama mama who will be next and why should we save the pictures
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allaboutbooksss · 8 days ago
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A Dream Of Foxes: a poem
Hey y'all, hope you're doing well. It's been a while since I've posted anything. Like no book review, no aesthetic book image, not even a quote. I actually decided to not post anything till October but recently I came across a very b'ful poem by Lucille Clifton, : A Dream Of Foxes.
in the dream of foxes
there is a field
and a procession of women
clean as good children
no hollow in the world
surrounded by dogs
no fur clumped bloody
on the ground
only a lovely time
of honest women stepping
without fear or guilt or shame
safe through the generous fields.
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poemafacaflecha · 8 days ago
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VOCÊ NÃO VAI CELEBRAR COMIGO?
você não vai celebrar comigo isto que eu moldei como um tipo de vida? eu não tive nenhum modelo. nascida na babilônia não branca e mulher. o que eu imaginei ser além de mim mesma? eu forjei isso. aqui nesta ponte entre a luz da estrela e a argila, minha mão segurando firme minha outra mão; venha celebrar comigo, que todos os dias alguma coisa tenta me matar e falha.
Lucille Clifton
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tonguebreaks · 9 days ago
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I am writing to say that human is a fallible construct: I am sometimes terrible, sometimes fiery, sometimes feral.
I am sometimes unable to celebrate the days something has tried to kill me and has failed.
Chelsea Dingman, “Unsigned Letter to My Stillborn Daughter Nine Years Later”
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crimsonhermesseras · 13 days ago
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violettesiren · 15 days ago
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for some it is stone bare smooth as a buttock rounding into the crevasse of the world
for some it is extravagant water   mouths wide washing together forever   for some it is fire for some air
and for some certain only of the syllables it is the element they search their lives for
eden
for them it is a test
the garden of delight by Lucille Clifton
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thepoemeater-blog · 17 days ago
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won’t you celebrate with me Lucille Clifton
won’t you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylon both nonwhite and woman what did i see to be except myself? i made it up here on this bridge between starshine and clay, my one hand holding tight my other hand; come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.
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thismustbetheplace97 · 18 days ago
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Sylvia Plath // The Mountain Goats // Lucille Clifton
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thepoemeater-blog · 19 days ago
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photograph my grandsons spinning in their joy 
universe keep them turning     turning  black blurs against the window of the world  for they are beautiful  and there is trouble coming  round and round and round  - Lucille Clifton
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elizabethanism · 21 days ago
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The lesson of the falling leaves
“the leaves believe
such letting go is love”
~ Lucille Clifton
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apoemaday · 22 days ago
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the lost baby poem
by Lucille Clifton
the time i dropped your almost body down down to meet the waters under the city and run one with the sewage to the sea what did i know about waters rushing back what did i know about drowning or being drowned you would have been born into winter in the year of the disconnected gas and no car       we would have made the thin walk over genesee hill into the canada wind to watch you slip like ice into strangers’ hands you would have fallen naked as snow into winter if you were here i could tell you these and some other things if i am ever less than a mountain for your definite brothers and sisters let the rivers pour over my head let the sea take me for a spiller of seas        let black men call me stranger always        for your never named sake
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