Evie Ivy is a dancer/poet in the NYC poetry circuit. She’s been writing since childhood. Her work has been heard in venues throughout the Tri-State area, radio and Cable TV. Evie loves to work with both free verse, syllabic and metered form. Her “Dance of the Word” programs have been seen at the Bowery Poetry Club, Cornelia Street Café, Tribesgallery, among others. She has two chapbooks out and a book, “The First Woman Who Danced,” which contains most of her poetry based on her experiences as a dancer/instructor. Evie has been hosting poetry readings for more than 15 years. She hosted the long running, Moroccan Star Poetry Reading and presently hosts one of the longest running poetry venues in the NYC area, the Green Pavilion Poetry Event also in Brooklyn, whose anthology “Dinner with the Muse,” will be out soon.
This Poem
for Norman G.
This poem every time I look
at it, it's different, it doesn't
have the same wording - it changes.
This poem runs in different ways,
it comes up with a different
color and flavor. It stops to tell
me not to worry but drips all
over, with my life. This poem
constantly changes. I try to keep
it still, as it runs free around
the scenery of past and present
as if it was looking for something
missing. It takes me in different
directions telling me about
yesterday while it wants to live
in today. It stops to tell me
not to worry. Sometimes it leaves
me for days, and comes running back
to alight on too many things.
I want to keep it confined, controlled.
This restless poem that every time
I look at it, is the same yet
different, this poem running,
running full of hope, this poem is me.
for Norman G.
This poem every time I look
at it, it's different, it doesn't
have the same wording - it changes.
This poem runs in different ways,
it comes up with a different
color and flavor. It stops to tell
me not to worry but drips all
over, with my life. This poem
constantly changes. I try to keep
it still, as it runs free around
the scenery of past and present
as if it was looking for something
missing. It takes me in different
directions telling me about
yesterday while it wants to live
in today. It stops to tell me
not to worry. Sometimes it leaves
me for days, and comes running back
to alight on too many things.
I want to keep it confined, controlled.
This restless poem that every time
I look at it, is the same yet
different, this poem running,
running full of hope, this poem is me.
