Industrial Lace poem – Alice Fulton

The city had such pretty clotheslines.

Women aired their intimate apparel

in the emery haze:

membranes of lingerie—

pearl, ruby, copper slips—

their somehow intestinal quivering in the wind.

And Freihofer’s spread the chaste, apron scent

of baking, a sensual net

over a few yards of North Troy.

The city had Niagara

Mohawk bearing down with power and light

and members of the Local

shifting on the line.

They worked on fabrics made from wood and acid,

synthetics that won’t vent.

They pieced the tropics into housecoats

when big prints were the rage.

Dacron gardens twisted on the line

over lots of Queen Anne’s lace.

Sackdresses dyed the sun

as sun passed through, making a brash stained glass

against the leading of the tenements,

the warehouse holding medical supplies.

I waited for my bus by that window of trusses

in Caucasian beige, trying to forget

the pathological inside.

I was thinking of being alive.

I was waiting to open

the amber envelopes of mail at home.

Just as food service workers, counter women,

maybe my Aunt Fran, waited to undo

their perms from the delicate insect meshes

required by The Board of Health.

Aunt Alice wasn’t on this route.

She made brushes and plastics at Tek Hughes—

milk crates of orange

industrial lace

the cartons could drip through.

Once we boarded, the girls from Behr-Manning

put their veins up

and sawed their nails to dust

on files from the plant.

All day, they made abrasives. Garnet paper.

Yes, and rags covered with crushed gems called

garnet cloth.

It was dusk—when aunts and mothers formed

their larval curls

and wrapped their heads in thick brown webs.

It was yesterday—twenty years after

my father’s death,

I found something he had kept.

A packet of lightning-

cut sanding discs, still sealed.

I guess he meant to open the finish,

strip the paint stalled on some grain

and groom the primal gold.

The discs are the rough size

of those cookies the franchises call Homestyle

and label Best Before.

The old cellophane was tough.

But I ripped until I touched

their harsh done crust.

Alice Fulton

Poetry Monster – Home

A few random poems:

External links

Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

Talking Writing Monster’s Page –

Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• In Praise Of England poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Impromptu: To Frances Garnet Wolseley poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “`If you were mine, if you were mine” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• If I To You But Sorry Bring poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• I Chide Not At The Seasons poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Hymn To Death poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “Here, where the vine and fig bask hand in hand,” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “Here have I learnt the little that I know” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Grandmother’s Teaching poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Gleaners Of Fame poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “Give me October’s meditative haze” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “Give me a roof where Wisdom dwells” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “For where, beneath one’s parent sky” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “`Father, farewell! Be not distressed” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Farewell To Spring poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Farewell To Italy poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Dedication To The Edition Of 1876 To H.J.A. poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• Dedication To Lady Windsor poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “`Covet who will the patronage of Kings ” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin
• “Could I but leave men wiser by my song ” poem – Alfred Austin by Alfred Austin

More external links (open in a new tab):

Russian Commerce Agency

Dealing Monster

Doska or the Board – write anything

Search engines:

Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

Parallel Translations of Poetry

Poems by Author and Category

The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works