2009 Survivor Poetry Challenge: The Rules

September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.

She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,

It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac

on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.

It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.

But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.

Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.​

Let me not to the marriage of true minds [a]
Admit impediments, love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds, [a]
Or bends with the remover to remove.
---O no, it is an ever fixed mark [c]
---That looks on tempests and is never shaken; [d]
---It is the star to every wand'ring bark, [c]
---Whose worth's unknown although his height be taken. [d]
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks [e]
Within his bending sickle's compass come, [f]
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, [e]
But bears it out even to the edge of doom: [f]
---If this be error and upon me proved, [g]
---I never writ, nor no man ever loved. [g]​