Photo of the Milky Way‘Star Needles’ and Other Poetry by Sally Cook The Society February 5, 2019 Beauty, Culture, Human Rights in China, Humor, Poetry 10 Comments Star Needles A star is just a bauble stuck on what We view as sky. Lest it let winter in, We join sky fabric back together. When It makes a split, a slice of light slips through The center of each constellation, but The weave behind the moon where stars begin Is worn, and so the needle turns again And gathers all the universe in, too, Sews planets on, like buttons in a glut Of self-protection from the solar wind. If yon should wish on such a body, then. Do not think any star will favor you. Of ancient fabric, skies are thin and worn, With rhinestones set in place when you were born. One Day In May on human rights in China We, who watch who comes to your front door, Deplore your books, your sustenance, need more. And so, behind dark windows, we surmise You must have questioned rules and our half lies. Now we keep records on you from afar— To know what kind of enemy you are, And take away your essence at our will. Give him another shot, he must be still. How easy it has been to put you down On dank cold metal, in a flimsy gown, To saw and hack your vitals where you lay. We’re kind to animals—you are our prey. We’ll sell your parts at a good price today. Let’s see what’s left, this lovely day in May. How My Scientific Bent Got Broken (Grade School Musings) On my back, I watched the sky Saw clouds pass by, and wondered why They moved, while earth stayed solid, still. And would not move against my will. Copernicus had made an error! Discovery made me the bearer. A large balloon appeared to me Above and I could clearly see Gauze cotton strips fell to the ground I gathered them, then wound them round And placed them in a cardboard box Midst dented tins, dried flowers, rocks To question, and to contemplate, But suddenly it was too late Looked in the box—those strips weren’t there! Such stuff had melted in the air. Then, autumn breezes on the beach Showed small dead crabs within my reach And packed them up in cotton wool There colors were so beautiful All bronze and blue, and orange too But soon the odors of a zoo Were nothing to their awful stink! My mother found them in a blink. Yes, mother threw my crabs away My teacher said I had to play More volleyball and stop this mad Penchant for research, for I had No scientific background at The age of seven—that was that! A former Wilbur Fellow and six-time Pushcart nominee, Sally Cook is a regular contributor to National Review, and has appeared in venues as varied as Chronicles, Lighten Up On Line, and TRINACRIA. Also a painter, her present works in the style known as Magic Realism are represented in national collections such as the N.S.D.A.R. Museum in Washington, D.C. and The Burchfield-Penney, Buffalo, NY. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 10 Responses James A. Tweedie February 5, 2019 Sally, I enjoyed the first and third poems very much. The unusual woven rhyme scheme in Star Needles (abcd abcd abcd ee) reflected the image of a needle stitching the universe together. I found this poem to be creative, original and imaginative. How My Scientific Bent Was Broken was marred by two typos, fall/fell in line 9 and there/their in line 20. I found the final stanza in this witty poem to be particularly clever. These poems are a good reminder that even in classical poetic form there is room for a creative wiggle or two! No doubt, I will recall your lovely image of the Star Needle the next time the weather allows me to see a “starry, starry night” sky! Reply Sally Cook March 2, 2019 Dear James Tweedie – Thanks for your honest and civil comments on my recent poems on this site; There were some errors – the kind that always occur when rushing – you were right to point them out, and I apologize. Thanks also for your perceptive analysis of the poem “Star Needles.”. Hope you do think of it when again viewing the stars. Sincerely, Reply Monty February 5, 2019 I stand corrected; but that’s the least of the above poems’ problems. Reply Joseph S. Salemi February 5, 2019 The poems have a number of typos that are easily corrected, but they are due to the fact that Sally Cook has vision problems that sometimes prevent her from seeing the proper keys on her keyboard. I have read these poems of hers in hard-copy forms where the typos and incidental punctuation problems that you note are gone. Your final comment about her work, with its patronizing and snide tone, was uncalled for. I doubt very much that you’ll ever come near a Wilbur Fellowship or a Pushcart Prize nomination. Reply Joseph S. Salemi February 6, 2019 Monty, if you wanted to prove that you are a conceited popinjay, you’ve done so. Congratulations. How come you suddenly deleted your first post in this thread? Did you perhaps think that it was a bit nasty, as I suggested? “Hard-copy” means in printed or handwritten form, on paper. Where have you been for the last thirty years? Can the little French cubbyhole you reside in be that remote? Sally Cook has frequently sent me hard copies of her poems for commentary and critique. I’ve seen these ones before, without the typos and punctuation problems caused by her failing sight. If you don’t believe me, tant pis. Sally Cook is an excellent poet, a thoughtful critic in prose, and a distinguished painter whose works have sold all over the country for thousands of dollars, and some of them hang in museums. Why don’t you check out her poems and essays at The Pennsylvania Review? Your desperate attempt to distract from the issue at hand by criticizing my choice of words is so patently obvious that it’s laughable. Yes, you were both snide and patronizing in that first post of yours — snide because you were gratuitously nasty, and patronizing because you pretended to be superior and exalted over Sally Cook, whom you admit you don’t even know. Don’t argue with me about proper diction, because (not “coz”) you’re way out of your pay-grade for that. After all, you yourself have confessed you don’t read any literature written prior to — what was it, 1750? It’s hard to believe that anyone presuming to comment on formal poetry would admit that in a public forum. Attacking a woman because she suffers from failing eyesight is a textbook example of fallacious ad hominem argument. Your snotty final comment about eyeglasses and their availability only underlines the fact that you are a tasteless boor. Reply C.B. Anderson February 6, 2019 I don’t know why most of the previous comments were deleted, but I find this unfortunate. I wanted to check down Monty’s analysis, to see whether his criticisms were justified or not. I know this: Monty is the person I want to critique any poems of mine posted here in the future, because, howsoever painful they might be, his observations are always acute. And, Monty, if you can find your way back to my most recent post (Three Poems before Sleeping) you will find my last response to the worried/buried issue that you raised. Reply C.B. Anderson February 6, 2019 Never mind, Monty. I’ve just seen that you already revisited that thread. I could invest more time on it, but it’s become rather frayed. Reply Monty February 7, 2019 . . . and it was such a minor quibble, anyway; but I fear that it was enough to distract you from my original comments on ‘ . . Before Sleeping’ . . which included: “three quality pieces; exemplarily written; disciplined meter; clear and fluid diction; impeccable grammar; strong poems; real poems; real poetry”. And I meant, and stand by, every word. I ain’t got a clue as to what percentage of poems on SCP I’ve ever felt compelled to attribute such words, but I know it’s a tiny one (maybe less than 5%), so I ask that you just absorb the high praise; and forget the buried/worried thing. I only made a minor observation on what I felt; I didn’t to it to create a separate debate; and I certainly didn’t do it to detract from the poems (as if anyone could bestow such high praise on some poems.. and then wantonly detract from them). Since joining SCP, I’ve been surprised – and sometimes shocked – at the attempts by some from your side of the pond to rhyme unrhymed (to me) words; or to gain a syllable where one don’t exist . . and when I raise such points on these pages, I do so ‘cos it’s truly heartfelt: I don’t do it to engage in a debate. I can assure you that there have been many occasions when – after reading an SCP poem with a questionable rhyme – I’ve been alone indoors, loudly chanting one word repeatedly to myself; as slowly as possible; trying to pronounce it in slightly different ways . . all in the attempt to see if it could possibly rhyme with its counterpart in the poem . . and if, after all that, I feel that the two words – even at a stretch – simply can’t rhyme: then I may say so in a comment. And that is all I done with ‘. . Before Sleeping’. It was a most minor quibble at the time; now it’s 6ft under. Reply Joseph S. Salemi February 7, 2019 I’m glad that Monty has the divinatory ability to know what I am REALLY thinking and feeling. Does he use a crystal ball? Reply Mike Bryant January 14, 2020 No… he’s a comedian. See, ‘How Dare You, Santa! 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