استكشف المجموعة الواسعة من العناوين المتاحة.

Collection of short poems by Jane Yolen about colors in nature.

This chapter contains sections titled: Introduction Satura and Sermo Discourse Organization: Subjectivity Lexicon: Informality and Stylization Conclusions Further Reading

\"Ashley Bryan illustrates 19th century poet Christina Rossetti's classic nursery rhymes and poems\"-- Provided by publisher.

who are my legs to my own legs who are my arms to my own arms who are my tits to my own tits can someone find my appetite can someone please find my appetite who are my hands to my own hands who are my hips to my own hips i can't tell who's bleeding swallow i can't play today for my mother is wounded i can't play today for my father is wounded a father born from a wound a mother born from a wound a father-mother born from a wound-wound swallow who is bleeding from the bandage who is bleeding from my own legs who is bleeding from my own arms who nursed the sick my tits have shrunk to nubs my tits have really shrunk to nubs the disciplinarian the disciplinarian swallow here take this hand and feed it to the children here take this fist and feed it to the children here take this nub and feed it to the children here take this shit and feed it to the children a mortal wound a mortal servant swallow i can't play today for i am born from a wound i can't play today for the wound has no legs i can't play today for the wound is depressed i will not cheer the wound i will not bleed the wound swallow this skin is not mine but i made it the healer this shit is not mine but i made it the healer miraculous i am miraculous bandage swallow who plays the wound? betrays the wound? who weeps a yellow color? a mortal mother a mortal father a mortal healer a yellow a yellow color swallow i traded my hair for this bandage i traded my toes for this bandage i traded my fun for this bandage i traded my sun for this bandage i am miraculous swallow look at these legs go ahead look at these legs these legs are miraculous you know she said she'd take these legs these legs she said go ahead she touched herself as she said this she touched the bandage between her legs she touched she said look i'm reminded of my mother look i'm really reminded of my mother swallow whose tits if not her tits whose thighs if not her thighs whose grip if not her grip she said honey she said nurse the sick she said make the shit for the children play your bandage for the children swallow the servant weeps a secret color the servant plays a mortal daughter the servant plays with wounds swallow i said i can't play today look today i said i can't play i keep the dead alive with this bandage keep the dead alive with this hip i keep the dead alive with this nose ring keep the dead alive with this grip only i make bandage so miraculous swallow who is bleeding from my own who is bleeding from my own who is chewing on my own bones who is chewing on my own swallow why does the color play when i can't play why does the mother play when i why does the father play when i can't play why does the father play when i bandage not mine but i made it this bandage not mine but i made it swallow why does the child kiss the wound like a servant why does the child kiss the wound why does the child kiss the wound like a color why does the child kiss the wound why does mother kiss the wound why does mother kiss the wound kiss the wound kiss the wound smile Jo Stewart (they/them) is a poet and theater maker of mythic and archetypal worlds.

Van Gogh's ear, severed, bleeding into the handkerchief, gift to a whore, must have displayed those same whorls as his brush-on-canvas strokes though the flesh in its folds soon decayed, leaving Vincent maimed and moving toward the grave even as the swirls in azure and gold still turned in Starry Night, which does not bleed nor show a bullet hole siphoning away shade, hue, and strength as his body-and erstwhile members-did in throes of mind and heart-crimson with only the life that will find trouble and a rough-sketched path out.John has had poems published in such journals as The Alembic, Ascent Aspirations (CAN), The Chaffin Journal, Common Ground Review, The Journal (UK), Pulsar Poetry Webzine (UK), Transom, and in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

Call and Response: The Second Wife* Helen Pitts, 1838-1903 Twenty years younger Love came to me and white, and I and she was not afraid to stand up to marry the man against family, against scandal because of his color smooth cedar The mind does not take its complexion just one year from the skin after the other's passing and Frederick This proves lifted out of his sorrow I am impartial responded My first wife deep sorrow was the color of buckeyes of my mother and the second, this suffragette, this abolitionist, this partner, the color of wind-blown wheat of my father and now, his voice weary, I have very little sympathy but never averting his eyes with the curiosity of the world I love, yes, I love about my domestic relations whom I love. Mo'ne!\" awake, sleeping, warming up for the life worth stealing in this home run of a series we call \"team,\" we call \"You go, Girl,\" braided phenom with an arm that hurls hope way past today's whirl of photo ops and change-ups, all the way to a close up of two T-ball boys playing the part, debating, voices escalating \"I'm Mo'ne. \" \"No! I'm Mo'ne!\" and a summer of daughters leaning into the pitch that blasts the phrase \"throwing like a girl\" into the All-Star compliment that it can be, that it is when lean machine Mo'ne takes the mound, smiles as wide as a long drive, then delivers the dream we braided girls of baseball, basketball, soccer, business, science, writing still need in whatever and every season.

From 1965 to 1975 the legendary Silicon Valley company Fairchild Semiconductor operated a state-of-the-art integrated circuit manufacturing plant in Shiprock, New Mexico on Navajo land. In the face of concerns about high-tech pollution, increasingly empowered labor organizations, and a newly politicized and visible American Indian civil rights movement, indigenous electronic workers at Shiprock were pressed into service as examples of the peaceful coexistence and integration of the past and the future, the primitive and the modern, creativity and capitalism. Navajo women workers were described as ideal predigital digital workers, uniquely suited to the job by temperament, culture, and gender. Their labor as platform builders was cited as evidence that digital work—the work of the hand and its digits—could be painlessly transferred from the indigenous cultural context into the world of technological commercial innovation, benefiting both in the process.

Initially presented as a lecture in Hout Bay, South Africa, this article seeks to realize three aims. First, under the capacious heading of postcolonial sound studies, it attempts to think the articulation between racial difference and sound by probing the now common association of color and noise, for example, the “pink” noise routinely used as a sleep aid. Despite the existence of white and black noise, color is here attributed to signal characteristics in ways that also underscore the risks in reducing race to color. Second, responding to such risks, this article then seeks to examine a South African genealogy of the differentiation between sound and noise, a differentiation whose juridical (and thus political) instantiation draws essential and immediate attention to the figure of the neighbor, especially as the neighbor embodies a distinctly sonic nuisance. Race returns in this context as part of a spatial segregation that both “colors” noise, and draws attention to a prior sonicity, the “long scream” of those forced apart from others under Apartheid. This sonicity emerges as a problem for all thinking of noise that grasps it (whether phenomenological or juridically) as a form of nuisance. Third, in casting itself as an example of “investigative poetry,” this article broaches a collective inquiry on the politics of noise (both heard and unheard) in South Africa, and invites the participation of researchers distributed over cacophonous archives who hear themselves hailed by the conceit that sound is a problem whose quality as a radiant permeation requires the indiscipline of the critical humanities for its study. Keywords: sound, noise, race, South Africa, neighbors, nuisance laws, Jean-François Lyotard, Karin Bijsterveld.