Phenomenal (fĭ-nŏm'ə-nəl) (adj).: highly extraordinary or prodigious

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Fortress (fôr'trĭs)(n.) :any place of exceptional security; stronghold.

Under the pink quilted covers,
I hold the pulse that counts your blood.
I think the woods outdoors
are half asleep,
left over from summer
like a stack of books after a flood,
left over like those promises I never keep.
On the right, the scrub pine tree
waits like a fruit store
holding up bunches of tufted broccoli.

We watch the wind from our square bed.
I press down my index finger-
half in jest, half in dread-
on the brown mole
under your left eye, inherited
from my right cheek: a spot of danger
where a bewitched worm ate its way through our soul
in search of beauty. My child, since July
the leaves have been fed
secretly from a pool of beet-red dye.

And sometimes they are battle green
with trunks as wet as hunters' boots,
smacked hard by the wind, clean
as oilskins. No,
the wind's not off the ocean.
Yes, it cried in your room like a wolf
and your pony tail hurt you. That was a long time ago.
The wind rolled the tide like a dying
woman. She wouldn't sleep,
she rolled there all night, grunting and sighing.

Darling, life is not in my hands;
life with its terrible changes
will take you, bombs or glands,
your own child at
your breast, your own house on your own land.
Outside the bittersweet turns orange.
Before she died, my mother and I picked those fat
branches, finding orange nipples
on the gray wire strands.
We weeded the forest, curing trees like cripples.

Your feet thump-thump against my back
and you whisper to yourself. Child,
what are you wishing? What pact
are you making?
What mouse runs between your eyes? What ark
can I fill for you when the world goes wild?
The woods are under water, their weeds are shaking
in the tide; birches like zebra fish
flash by in a pack.
Child, I cannot promise that you will get your wish.

I cannot promise very much.
I give you the images I know.
Lie still with me and watch.
A pheasant moves
by like a seal, pulled through the mulch
by his thick white collar. He's on show
like a clown. He drags a beige feather that he removed,
one time, from an old lady's hat.
We laugh and we touch.
I promise you love. Time will not take away that.

Laundromat (lôn'drə-māt') (n.): A service mark used for a commercial establishment equipped with washing machines and dryers, usually coin-operated

Love at the Laundromat
By Geoff Sansom


Down at the
laundromat
I'm watching
my clothes
tumble
and dry in
the steamy heat
grappling and groping
with each other
I watch my socks
fondle the underwear
while my shirt
embraces
the legs of my jeans,
and every item
seems to be
getting it on
with the sheets
throwing a discreet cover
over everything -
and I wonder
about all this embracing
and why what I wear
does not hug me so hard
nor caress with such care.

Froth (frôth) (n.) :A mass of bubbles

Froth
I am ginger ale
fizzy jumble of meandering bubbles
of thought and action
inconstant
easing some
making thick the distaste of others
so they expectorate
I'm out to fibrillate amongst other's\tongues
"bubble, bubble, toil and trouble"
zap
pop
sizzle
whoosh

by Sandra Subasic

Shiver (shĭv'ər) (adj.): to shake or tremble with cold, fear, excitement, etc

Shiver
by Rachel Brandt

"Wake up. Come on. Its time to get up."
His voice is sweet and soft
Mr brother stands beside him
a twin born thirty years late
He is bundled in mittens,
scarf and jacket.

It is cold outside
the air, still and frigid
No streetlight
pitch black
"Careful , don't trip."

My breath comes out in
sharp misty clouds before me
Lying down, the concrete below me is solid
flat. Like a frozen lake in January
The crinkle crunch of my jacket
breaks the silence

The three of us, we lie in a row
Three tiny dots on the earth's surface
calm as we wait for the world
to shatter
Shivering, we watch, anticipation
a hand flies up "There!"
a star falls
burning out of existence

Out loud we wish on each one
"Its a meteor, you know, not even a star" I say
"Just pretend for a while" is his reply
So I do

Laughter (lāf'tər) (noun): an expression or appearance of merriment or amusement

Your Laughter by Pablo Neruda

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

Barefoot (bâr'fŏŏt')(adverb):without shoes on

Baby Running Barefoot

When the white feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in a wind,
They poise and run like puffs of wind that pass
Over water where the weeds are thinned.

And the sight of their white playing in the grass
Is winsome as a robin's song, so fluttering;
Or like two butterflies that settle on a glass
Cup for a moment, soft little wing-beats uttering.

And I wish that the baby would tack across here to me
Like a wind-shadow running on a pond, so she could stand
With two little bare white feet upon my knee
And I could feel her feet in either hand

Cool as syringa buds in morning hours,
Or firm and silken as young peony flowers.

Sit (sĭt)(verb): To be situated or located

Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile.
You’re twenty-six, and still have some life ahead.
No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I’ll
Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.

The world is too opaque, distressing and profound.
This twenty minutes’ rendezvous will make my day:
To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around,
Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.

By Vikram Seth