Every once in a while I like to mimic other authors. Early on in this blog is a mimicking Marguarita Duras. Don't know why it tis' I like to do so, perhaps to show I can. This mimicking Marilyn Nelson was written in 2000 in a class where we were studying her works. The professor later asked us to mimic an author in style. I've caught her flavor here and pass it on for you to judge. Pity I don't recall the name of her original poem.
Lorraine stood barefoot by the parlor door
Watching the dancers glide across the floor
She’d polished smoothly on her knees that morning
along with every other household thing
Her cakes are all the rage that night
and Miss White’s gown is oh so tight
about her waist, while Lorraine’s pastries
draw the guests to glance her way, she giggles
Mister Tyler draws near to the parlor door side
Where Lorraine stands peeping, holding the drapes aside
His hand stretches out to touch her shoulder
Then drops to encircle her waist, they shudder.
Lorraine fidgets to escape his firm embrace
Swiftly he spins her while tilting up her face
at an angle to gently meet with his left hand
Lorraine feels ashamed, all those ladies dressed right - so grand
Spinning frantically across the room, she spies Mr.Tyler’s uncle
his face masked with a smirk and disapproval.
Whirling and turning, her face glowing hot, hot, hot
Mister Tyler grins, pleased by her embarrassment
and the power it gives him, the control over Lorraine
never foreseeing a future with their son
who he would claim to own, yet refuse to raise
Lorraine alone would love her son, and for this, give praise
