By freezing passion at its blossoming perhaps Rodin knew he challenged Sophocles who said as lover you want ice to be ice yet not melt in your hands. How stone, implying permanence believe , might let us believe, a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf that cannot keep from letting go the branch, beyond even stupidly purpling grapes that do not understand the process by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
2.) This poem is about having a first kiss with the love you're life, having feeling for each another and can't wait till' their lips meet.
3.) This poem makes me feel loving and think about the time I had my first kiss with my girlfriend.
By freezing passion at its blossoming perhaps Rodin knew he challenged Sophocles who said as lover you want ice to be ice yet not melt in your hands. How stone, implying permanence believe , might let us believe, a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf that cannot keep from letting go the branch, beyond even stupidly purpling grapes that do not understand the process by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
2.) This poem is about having a first kiss with the love you're life,and can't wait until their lips meet.
3.) This poem makes me think about when i had my 1st kiss.
Abandoned in a field near Yass a cobwebbed car once kept us warm and when it rained, though we shivered with sickness, there came a moment of perfect happiness, faces nestled. 1)by Luke Davies 2)the poem is about a couple of people being left in a feild abandoned left without food and care. 3)this poem makes me feel worried becuase thats a sad situation to be in. 4)the poet uses words that are easy to picture like left in a in feild abandoned in a car.
2)Benny said To Ruby Lee, “M-A-R-R-Y M-E!” Ruby said, To Benny, “Ben, wouldn't That be F-U-N?”
Benny said, “My Ruby Lee, We will W-E-D Only if you let me K- I-S-S you Every day!” 3)J. Patrick Lewis 4)this poem is about a man that want to marry a lady name ruby 5) it excites me how they is talking and its kind of funny cause he want want a kiss everyday 6)Love PEace Happiness
Personal Poetry 1. Select a poem from The Poetry Foundation.
2. Paste your poem into the blog.
3. Who wrote the poem?
4. What is the poem about?
5. How does it make you feel?
6. What words does the poet use to evoke imagery?
To a Child BY SOPHIE JEWETT 1861–1909 Sophie Jewett The leaves talked in the twilight, dear; Hearken the tale they told: How in some far-off place and year, Before the world grew old,
I was a dreaming forest tree, You were a wild, sweet bird Who sheltered at the heart of me Because the north wind stirred;
How, when the chiding gale was still, When peace fell soft on fear, You stayed one golden hour to fill My dream with singing, dear.
To-night the self-same songs are sung The first green forest heard; My heart and the gray world grow young— To shelter you, my bird.
3. This poem was written by Sophie Jewett
4. The poem “To a Child” is about the relationship between a tree and a bird. Because it is titled, “To a Child,” it also represents the relationship of an adult—probably a parent—to their young child.
5. This poem makes me feel proud to be a father. This poem makes me feel protective. The mood is one of love, compassion and protection.
6. The words Sophia uses to evoke feelings are as follows: young, sheltered, gale, wind, wild, sweet, fear, peace, soft, loving, inspired, twilight, dear, so old,
By freezing passion at its blossoming perhaps Rodin knew he challenged Sophocles who said as lover you want ice to be ice yet not melt in your hands. How stone, implying permanence believe , might let us believe, a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf that cannot keep from letting go the branch, beyond even stupidly purpling grapes that do not understand the process by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
3. NEIL CARPATHIOS
4.Having somebody you love and get your first kiss.
5.I go back in time when i got a girlfriend amd got my first kiss but she moved out of time.
Mother to Son Mother to Son By Langston Hughes 1902–1967 Langston Hughes Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair. It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I’se been a-climbin’ on, And reachin’ landin’s, And turnin’ corners, And sometimes goin’ in the dark Where there ain’t been no light. So boy, don’t you turn back. Don’t you set down on the steps ’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard. Don’t you fall now— For I’se still goin’, honey, I’se still climbin’, And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
1.Langston Hughes
2. The poem that i chose is talking about a mother want her child to have a better life than she did because she been push down and beating up .She know it go to be a long to get to where you want to get you just have to work for it so he can have a good life.
3. this poem make me feel like i can do anything with my life. It just gives me the power to keep moving.
4. crystal stair ,tacks ,splinters, torn up floor boards, climbing .
1 & 2. A College Room: Lowell R-34, 1945 BY L. E. SISSMAN A single bed. A single room. I sing Of man alone on the skew surface of life. No kith, no kin, no cat, no kid, no wife, No Frigidaire, no furniture, no ring.
Yes, but the perfect state of weightlessness Is a vacuum the natural mind abhors: The strait bed straightway magnetizes whores; The bare room, aching, itches to possess.
Thus I no sooner shut the tan tin door Behind me than I am at once at home. Will I, nill I, a budget pleasure dome Will rear itself in Suite R-34.
A pleasure dome of Klees and Watteaus made, Of chairs and couches from the Fair Exchange, Of leavings from the previous rich and strange Tenant, of fabrics guaranteed to fade.
Here I will entertain the young idea Of Cambridge, wounded, winsome, and sardonic; Here I will walk the uttermost euphonic Marches of English, where no lines are clear.
Here I will take the interchangeable Parts of ephemerid girls to fit my bed; Here death will first enter my freshman head On a visitor’s passport, putting one tangible
Word in my mouth, a capsule for the day When I will be evicted from my home Suite home so full of life and damned to roam Bodiless and without a thing to say.
3. This poem was written by L.E. Sissman
4. This is a poem about a boy in college and not having anything to worry about or have anything to look out for while he is in college.
5. This makes me feel like this is how it might be for me in college. Just a boy in a single dorm with no wife or kid, but im going to have furniture and stuff. I just hope i have nothing to worry about or look out for except for myself and that is it.
6. Single bed, no wife, no kid, no furniture, and ect....
1)\2) Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?
3) Langston Hughes 4) This poem is about dreams and what you could accomplish to make your dream come true. It also about this dream doesn’t come true what will you do to make other dreams come true or if they don’t will you get through life. 4) This poem means to me like you could achieve or accomplish your goals to make dreams and wishes come true. 5)Dry, sore, stink, sweet, sags, and explode
2. The Night City Unmet at Euston in a dream Of London under Turner’s steam Misting the iron gantries, I Found myself running away From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran Till I was under a black bridge. This was me at nineteen Late at night arriving between The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down) Fell in my dream beside the Bank Of England’s wall to be, me With my money belt of Northern ice. I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab. Boswell passed me in the fog Going to visit Whistler who Was with John Donne who had just seen Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out. The Plague’s pits had closed And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings I sat like a flea crouched In the stopped works of a watch.
3. By W. S. Graham
4. Its about a man running away from the city of Scotland into the golden city, London, England. As he's running he's going threw tunnels and down roads and dark streets of the city. And night guards around roaming the streets. He has no where to go so he sleeps between two buildings.
5. Well i feel that he has alot of gutts and is not scared cause I would be scared out of my world running threw the city and roads and stuff at night. I would have got caugth by them guards he was talking about.
6. The Plague’s pits had closed And gone into literature. He's saying that what every the problem or clamity is goin into the books.
1. 2. Abandoned in a field near Yass] 3.BY LUKE DAVIES Abandoned in a field near Yass a cobwebbed car once kept us warm and when it rained, though we shivered with sickness, there came a moment of perfect happiness, faces nestled in the vinyl, sleep coming on, surrounded by metal that in upcoming decades would oxidise to flakes.
Asleep at last, last of the valium, we came to know a car too is a flower and pollen its decay. In the dry air at dawn the cicadas kept still. The space that mass sat in decided how mass was to move. We dreamed of valleys of olive trees, silver side out.
The lions preened. We shivered with need. A mechanic showed me once how the spark-paths from spark-plugs looked, if you looked close enough, like mountain ravines from the air. The deeper the groove the faster the current. We shivered, this our habit, this flowing.
It takes the breath away. There are gum trees crackling from it two decades later. I slept so still beneath that mass of dreams like sediment compressed beneath a lake. I woke and the tributes and glory were gone and the crops all withered and money was merely the index of anxiety.
When we realised this our hearts swelled in exultation. Even time would forget there was reason for fear: that decay seemed to will itself upon us. I was off the air, delirious with substance. The kite hawks grew ashamed. All nature squirmed. I was off the air, light-headed with voracity.
The theme just kept repeating itself, year in year out, same demon different bodies. A nurse said When you stay, when you leave those wet imprints in our airspace, these sheets smell like formaldehyde, like death. We had merely reached early, down the end of the river, the leprosarium
of feeling, and all things stood for every other thing, creepers, vines, tendrils, anacondas, inert surrender, such listlessness, and yes the very rage with which we chased the very forms of it, the lineaments of nothingness, the powders of the comatose, the bliss.
This was the state of the world. Heading backwards we learned the flea-fish was the smallest animal before the insect kingdom began. Forwards, there were only the sudden deaths of galaxies. And yet when we practised love there seemed on certain days an awful lot of space; and so much sky.
Never had I lain then at Kangaroo Valley so comfortable in my own body. A virtual flatness and that centrifuge in the stomach stilled and my spine a spirit-level. The smell of coffee drifting in brought back to me that lily-white girl and that sad hour of need. How brittle every bone was then. How
could one not be completely bedraggled by time or compulsion or duplicity? I was all those things and am. I was so tired with the not-being-here inside of it all that fatigue was like oxygen, given of all the givens, sensurround of the gods. But I was gulping and heaving by then.
And that is all so long ago. Though when you forget the last time: most likely it is not the last time. And when dreams don’t come, when mastodons and minotaurs curdle in the night-reaches and the bulls lie fallow in dawn-sweats: sleep some more. Wait. Sleep on. And swim
4.This poem is about love being lost , its similiar to a breakup
5.This poem makes me feel like i am the one who wrote the poem , as i am reading it the poem makes me imagine.
6.When the poet say and when it rained, though we shivered with sickness, there came a moment of perfect happiness, faces nestled in the vinyl, sleep coming on, surrounded by metal that in upcoming decades would oxidise to flakes.
October October By Bobbi Katz b. 1933 Bobbi Katz October is when night guzzles up the orange sherbet sunset and sends the day to bed before supper and October is when jack-o’-lanterns grin in the darkness and strange company crunches across the rumple of dry leaves to ring a doorbell. October is when you can be ghost, a witch, a creature from outer space… almost anything! And the neighbors, fearing tricks, give you treats
4. This poem is about good ole Halloween.
5. This poem makes me feel good because they are talking about Halloween my birthday i love this poem.
6. When the poem says guzzles and sherbet that makes me understand the poem and make its better.
Set up curbside, jewelry tray entanglement with things looking up, but nothing sells unless there is someone looking down, and who might that be? For the moment it’s not raining and off-coast in pods the gray whales parade south. Photographs sprout with the season. The gray whale’s spout is . . . 2.
3.by Richard O. Moore
4. It aot whales
5.It made feel happy but the sa some point
6.off-coast in pods, gray whales parade south, and sprout with the season
Anniversary Anniversary By Cecilia Woloch b. 1956 Cecilia Woloch Didn’t I stand there once, white-knuckled, gripping the just-lit taper, swearing I’d never go back? And hadn’t you kissed the rain from my mouth? And weren’t we gentle and awed and afraid, knowing we’d stepped from the room of desire into the further room of love? And wasn’t it sacred, the sweetness we licked from each other’s hands? And were we not lovely, then, were we not as lovely as thunder, and damp grass, and flame?
3.The poem i read is by Cecilia Woloch b. 4.The poem i read is about a man lookng back on how he'd never fall in love , but some how found his self like some one witch fell deeper into loving them and now they have a Anniversary. 5. This poem makes me feel paranoid , because i know now that my dreams are to neer get married but this poem kind of makes me think whats going to happen in the end thow . 6.white-knuckled ,awed ,and licked are all the words that hep evoke a image in my mind .
the tomb of a poet On the journey to the mundane afterlife, You travel equipped to carry on your trade: A bronze, small-toothed saw to make repairs, The stylus and the ink pot and the scraper, Wax tablets bound into a little book.
Here is the tortoise shell for the cithara, Bored through with holes for strings, natural sound box. Here is the harp's wood triangle, all empty— The sheep-gut having long since decomposed Into a pure Pythagorean music.
The beeswax, frangible with centuries, Has puzzled all your lyrics into silence. I think you were a poet of perfection Who fled still weighing one word with another, Since wax forgives and warms beneath revision.
1. A.E. Stallings b. 1968 A.E. Stallings
2. its about Piraeus Archeological Museum and how he express everything its nature contains
3. it makes me feel like im not the only person going through this certain phase in life,
4. Here is the tortoise shell for the cithara, Bored through with holes for strings, natural sound box. Here is the harp's wood triangle, all empty— The sheep-
2. The Acts of Youth BY JOHN WIENERS And with great fear I inhabit the middle of the night What wrecks of the mind await me, what drugs to dull the senses, what little I have left, what more can be taken away?
The fear of travelling, of the future without hope or buoy. I must get away from this place and see that there is no fear without me: that it is within unless it be some sudden act or calamity
to land me in the hospital, a total wreck, without memory again; or worse still, behind bars. If I could just get out of the country. Some place where one can eat the lotus in peace.
For in this country it is terror, poverty awaits; or am I a marked man, my life to be a lesson or experience to those young who would trod the same path, without God
unless he be one of justice, to wreak vengeance on the acts committed while young under un- due influence or circumstance. Oh I have always seen my life as drama, patterned
after those who met with disaster or doom. Is my mind being taken away me. I have been over the abyss before. What is that ringing in my ears that tells me
all is nigh, is naught but the roaring of the winter wind. Woe to those homeless who are out on this night. Woe to those crimes committed from which we can walk away unharmed.
So I turn on the light And smoke rings rise in the air. Do not think of the future; there is none. But the formula all great art is made of.
Pain and suffering. Give me the strength to bear it, to enter those places where the great animals are caged. And we can live at peace by their side. A bride to the burden
that no god imposes but knows we have the means to sustain its force unto the end of our days. For that is what we are made for; for that we are created. Until the dark hours are done.
And we rise again in the dawn. Infinite particles of the divine sun, now worshipped in the pitches of the night.
3. JOHN WIENERS
4.This poem makes me feel aware of the things that could happen to a youth while they are under the influence and all the things that they think about.
Not every day is a good day for the elfin tailor. Some days the stolen cloth reveals what it was made for: a handsome weskit or the jerkin of an elfin sailor. Other days the tailor sees a jacket in his mind and sets about to find the fabric. But some days neither the idea nor the material presents itself; and these are the hard days for the tailor elf.
evreyday is not a good day but the next day but the next day will be better this poem is bykay ryan he used the words hard day and talior elf to evoke imagery
The Lie The Lie By Don Paterson b. 1963 Don Paterson
As was my custom, I’d risen a full hour before the house had woken to make sure that everything was in order with The Lie, his drip changed and his shackles all secure.
I was by then so practiced in this chore I’d counted maybe thirteen years or more since last I’d felt the urge to meet his eye. Such, I liked to think, was our rapport.
I was at full stretch to test some ligature when I must have caught a ragged thread, and tore his gag away; though as he made no cry, I kept on with my checking as before.
Why do you call me The Lie? he said. I swore: it was a child’s voice. I looked up from the floor. The dark had turned his eyes to milk and sky and his arms and legs were all one scarlet sore.
He was a boy of maybe three or four. His straps and chains were all the things he wore. Knowing I could make him no reply I took the gag before he could say more
and put it back as tight as it would tie and locked the door and locked the door and locked the door Source: Poetry (September 2009).
this poem was about how a man tends to call a boy the lie . not sure the reason why , but most likely due to deception and lies .
makes me feel confused , in a state of wonder .
words such as : straps and chains . thread and risen and sore and secure .
1.The Night City 2.Unmet at Euston in a dream Of London under Turner’s steam Misting the iron gantries, I Found myself running away From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran Till I was under a black bridge. This was me at nineteen Late at night arriving between The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down) Fell in my dream beside the Bank Of England’s wall to be, me With my money belt of Northern ice. I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab. Boswell passed me in the fog Going to visit Whistler who Was with John Donne who had just seen Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out. The Plague’s pits had closed And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings I sat like a flea crouched In the stopped works of a watch. 3.W.S Graham 4.It is about a man , who goes out at night chasing a dream . or trying to achieve his dream. 5. It makes me feel like I need to chase my dream also. 6. "The City is empty. Night Watchmen are drinking their tea "
1. The poem I selected was Two Gates by Denise Low
2. I look through glass and see a young woman of twenty, washing dishes, and the window turns into a painting. She is myself thirty years ago. She holds the same blue bowls and brass teapot I still own. I see her outline against lamplight; she knows only her side of the pane. The porch where I stand is empty. Sunlight fades. I hear water run in the sink as she lowers her head, blind to the future. She does not imagine I exist. I step forward for a better look and she dissolves into lumber and paint. A gate I passed through to the next life loses shape. Once more I stand squared into the present, among maple trees and scissor-tailed birds, in a garden, almost a mother to that faint, distant woman.
3.The poem was written by Denise Low 4. The woman in the poem remembers herself when she was 30 years younger. 5. it makes me feel memorable and imaginative. 6. 20 year old lady, garden, glass, gate, maple trees, porch, scissor-tailed bird
Anti-Short Story BY RAE ARMANTROUT A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.”
All that aside!
This poem states that a girl is running. Then states that she is running for HER BUS. I think its her school bus.
This poem makes me feel like thinking because its so short. I Think someone is telling a story and starts off ''A Girl Is Running'' Then pauses. And is expecting someone to finish the line. And that someone shouts ''She is running for her bus!''
All That Glitters Isn't Music- With thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain. Pretending to run for cover but secretly praying for more rain.
Over the echo of the water, I hear a voice saying my name. No one in the city moves under the quick sightless rain.
The pages of my notebook soak, then curl. I’ve written: “Yogis opened their mouths for hours to drink the rain.”
The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face. The window trembles; liquid glass could shatter into rain.
I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled. If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain.
I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me. The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.
This poem was written by:Eduardo C. Corral
I think that the poem is about the author's heart being broken by a girl. In his poem he uses many different examples of objects and life to express his hurt feelings. This poem makes me connect to the author and how he is feeling. i think that he did a good job on expressing how the character was really feeling at that time.
The imagery used was: "hidden in tall grass", "You said it was nothing but the trick of the light" " i am not your animal. " its like lifting a cello out of it's black case
Still Life Still Life By Roberto Tejada b. 1964 Roberto Tejada We’d often been included in
the weather, whose changes (as in the
still, portending darknesses or after
noon) were hardly evident, if even
manifest at all. The August rain
over Mixcoac & the deadening
of all aspect at a distance:
yet our sudden wet bodies, firm
swelling divested finally of shirts
& trousers, left beside turbid
footprints on the tiled floor;
this tongue, these lips the lightning
over the unchartered landscape of your
thigh: successive terra nova to
resist the still life of the body
:the poem is about a wet summer day and our body going through phases :it kinda just made me think about what he was saying :he used the words wet bodies
This room, how well I know it. Now they’re renting it, and the one next to it, as offices. The whole house has become an office building for agents, businessmen, companies.
This room, how familiar it is.
The couch was here, near the door, a Turkish carpet in front of it. Close by, the shelf with two yellow vases. On the right—no, opposite—a wardrobe with a mirror. In the middle the table where he wrote, and the three big wicker chairs. Beside the window the bed
They must still be around somewhere, those old things.
Beside the window the bed; the afternoon sun used to touch half of it.
. . . One afternoon at four o’clock we separated for a week only. . . And then— that week became forever.
3.) C. P. Cavafy
4.)this poem is about a man remebering about all the good times he had with a past lover in a house he is leaving.
5.) this poem makes me feel bad for the author because it seems like he really misses his lover that left him and wants them back.
6.) the poet uses imagery by giving very descriptive details about the items in the house
1.)& 2.)
ReplyDeleteThe Kiss
BY NEIL CARPATHIOS
By freezing passion at its blossoming
perhaps Rodin knew he challenged
Sophocles who said as lover you want
ice to be ice yet not melt
in your hands. How stone,
implying permanence believe , might let us believe,
a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf
that cannot keep from letting go the branch,
beyond even stupidly purpling grapes
that do not understand the process
by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
2.) This poem is about having a first kiss with the love you're life, having feeling for each another and can't wait till' their lips meet.
3.) This poem makes me feel loving and think about the time I had my first kiss with my girlfriend.
4.) passion, believe,& permanence.
The Kiss
ReplyDeleteBY NEIL CARPATHIOS
By freezing passion at its blossoming
perhaps Rodin knew he challenged
Sophocles who said as lover you want
ice to be ice yet not melt
in your hands. How stone,
implying permanence believe , might let us believe,
a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf
that cannot keep from letting go the branch,
beyond even stupidly purpling grapes
that do not understand the process
by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
2.) This poem is about having a first kiss with the love you're life,and can't wait until their lips meet.
3.) This poem makes me think about when i had my 1st kiss.
4.) passion, believe,& permanence.
Abandoned in a field near Yass a cobwebbed car once kept us warm
ReplyDeleteand when it rained, though we shivered with sickness,
there came a moment of perfect happiness, faces nestled. 1)by Luke Davies
2)the poem is about a couple of people being left in a feild abandoned left without food and care.
3)this poem makes me feel worried becuase thats a sad situation to be in.
4)the poet uses words that are easy to picture like left in a in feild abandoned in a car.
2)Benny said
ReplyDeleteTo Ruby Lee,
“M-A-R-R-Y M-E!”
Ruby said,
To Benny,
“Ben, wouldn't
That be F-U-N?”
Benny said,
“My Ruby Lee,
We will W-E-D
Only if you let me K-
I-S-S you
Every day!”
3)J. Patrick Lewis
4)this poem is about a man that want to marry a lady name ruby
5) it excites me how they is talking and its kind of funny cause he want want a kiss everyday
6)Love PEace Happiness
Personal Poetry
ReplyDelete1. Select a poem from The Poetry Foundation.
2. Paste your poem into the blog.
3. Who wrote the poem?
4. What is the poem about?
5. How does it make you feel?
6. What words does the poet use to evoke imagery?
To a Child
BY SOPHIE JEWETT 1861–1909 Sophie Jewett
The leaves talked in the twilight, dear;
Hearken the tale they told:
How in some far-off place and year,
Before the world grew old,
I was a dreaming forest tree,
You were a wild, sweet bird
Who sheltered at the heart of me
Because the north wind stirred;
How, when the chiding gale was still,
When peace fell soft on fear,
You stayed one golden hour to fill
My dream with singing, dear.
To-night the self-same songs are sung
The first green forest heard;
My heart and the gray world grow young—
To shelter you, my bird.
3. This poem was written by Sophie Jewett
4. The poem “To a Child” is about the relationship between a tree and a bird. Because it is titled, “To a Child,” it also represents the relationship of an adult—probably a parent—to their young child.
5. This poem makes me feel proud to be a father. This poem makes me feel protective. The mood is one of love, compassion and protection.
6. The words Sophia uses to evoke feelings are as follows: young, sheltered, gale, wind, wild, sweet, fear, peace, soft, loving, inspired, twilight, dear, so old,
The Kiss
ReplyDeleteBY NEIL CARPATHIOS
By freezing passion at its blossoming
perhaps Rodin knew he challenged
Sophocles who said as lover you want
ice to be ice yet not melt
in your hands. How stone,
implying permanence believe , might let us believe,
a moment, the seated figures are beyond the leaf
that cannot keep from letting go the branch,
beyond even stupidly purpling grapes
that do not understand the process
by which they darken; darken nevertheless.
3. NEIL CARPATHIOS
4.Having somebody you love and get your first kiss.
5.I go back in time when i got a girlfriend amd got my first kiss but she moved out of time.
6.young,loving,sweet, passion, believe
Mother to Son
ReplyDeleteMother to Son
By Langston Hughes 1902–1967 Langston Hughes
Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
1.Langston Hughes
2. The poem that i chose is talking about a mother want her child to have a better life than she did because she been push down and beating up .She know it go to be a long to get to where you want to get you just have to work for it so he can have a good life.
3. this poem make me feel like i can do anything with my life. It just gives me the power to keep moving.
4. crystal stair ,tacks ,splinters, torn up floor boards, climbing .
1 & 2. A College Room: Lowell R-34, 1945
ReplyDeleteBY L. E. SISSMAN
A single bed. A single room. I sing
Of man alone on the skew surface of life.
No kith, no kin, no cat, no kid, no wife,
No Frigidaire, no furniture, no ring.
Yes, but the perfect state of weightlessness
Is a vacuum the natural mind abhors:
The strait bed straightway magnetizes whores;
The bare room, aching, itches to possess.
Thus I no sooner shut the tan tin door
Behind me than I am at once at home.
Will I, nill I, a budget pleasure dome
Will rear itself in Suite R-34.
A pleasure dome of Klees and Watteaus made,
Of chairs and couches from the Fair Exchange,
Of leavings from the previous rich and strange
Tenant, of fabrics guaranteed to fade.
Here I will entertain the young idea
Of Cambridge, wounded, winsome, and sardonic;
Here I will walk the uttermost euphonic
Marches of English, where no lines are clear.
Here I will take the interchangeable
Parts of ephemerid girls to fit my bed;
Here death will first enter my freshman head
On a visitor’s passport, putting one tangible
Word in my mouth, a capsule for the day
When I will be evicted from my home
Suite home so full of life and damned to roam
Bodiless and without a thing to say.
3. This poem was written by L.E. Sissman
4. This is a poem about a boy in college and not having anything to worry about or have anything to look out for while he is in college.
5. This makes me feel like this is how it might be for me in college. Just a boy in a single dorm with no wife or kid, but im going to have furniture and stuff. I just hope i have nothing to worry about or look out for except for myself and that is it.
6. Single bed, no wife, no kid, no furniture, and ect....
What happens to a dream deferred?
ReplyDelete1)\2) Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
3) Langston Hughes
4) This poem is about dreams and what you could accomplish to make your dream come true. It also about this dream doesn’t come true what will you do to make other dreams come true or if they don’t will you get through life.
4) This poem means to me like you could achieve or accomplish your goals to make dreams and wishes come true.
5)Dry, sore, stink, sweet, sags, and explode
1. The Night City
ReplyDelete2. The Night City
Unmet at Euston in a dream
Of London under Turner’s steam
Misting the iron gantries, I
Found myself running away
From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran
Till I was under a black bridge.
This was me at nineteen
Late at night arriving between
The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down)
Fell in my dream beside the Bank
Of England’s wall to be, me
With my money belt of Northern ice.
I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab.
Boswell passed me in the fog
Going to visit Whistler who
Was with John Donne who had just seen
Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon
Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night
Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out.
The Plague’s pits had closed
And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings
I sat like a flea crouched
In the stopped works of a watch.
3. By W. S. Graham
4. Its about a man running away from the city of Scotland into the golden city, London, England. As he's running he's going threw tunnels and down roads and dark streets of the city. And night guards around roaming the streets. He has no where to go so he sleeps between two buildings.
5. Well i feel that he has alot of gutts and is not scared cause I would be scared out of my world running threw the city and roads and stuff at night. I would have got caugth by them guards he was talking about.
6. The Plague’s pits had closed And gone into literature. He's saying that what every the problem or clamity is goin into the books.
1. 2. Abandoned in a field near Yass]
ReplyDelete3.BY LUKE DAVIES
Abandoned in a field near Yass a cobwebbed car once kept us warm
and when it rained, though we shivered with sickness,
there came a moment of perfect happiness, faces nestled
in the vinyl, sleep coming on, surrounded by metal
that in upcoming decades would oxidise to flakes.
Asleep at last, last of the valium, we came to know
a car too is a flower and pollen its decay.
In the dry air at dawn the cicadas kept still. The space
that mass sat in decided how mass was to move.
We dreamed of valleys of olive trees, silver side out.
The lions preened. We shivered with need.
A mechanic showed me once how the spark-paths from spark-plugs
looked, if you looked close enough, like mountain ravines
from the air. The deeper the groove the faster
the current. We shivered, this our habit, this flowing.
It takes the breath away. There are gum trees crackling from it
two decades later. I slept so still beneath that mass of dreams
like sediment compressed beneath a lake. I woke and the
tributes and glory were gone and the crops all withered
and money was merely the index of anxiety.
When we realised this our hearts swelled in exultation.
Even time would forget there was reason for fear: that decay
seemed to will itself upon us. I was off the air, delirious
with substance. The kite hawks grew ashamed.
All nature squirmed. I was off the air, light-headed with voracity.
The theme just kept repeating itself, year in year out,
same demon different bodies. A nurse said When you stay,
when you leave those wet imprints in our airspace,
these sheets smell like formaldehyde, like death. We had merely
reached early, down the end of the river, the leprosarium
of feeling, and all things stood for every other thing,
creepers, vines, tendrils, anacondas, inert surrender,
such listlessness, and yes the very rage with which
we chased the very forms of it, the lineaments
of nothingness, the powders of the comatose, the bliss.
This was the state of the world. Heading backwards we learned
the flea-fish was the smallest animal before the insect kingdom
began. Forwards, there were only the sudden deaths
of galaxies. And yet when we practised love there seemed
on certain days an awful lot of space; and so much sky.
Never had I lain then at Kangaroo Valley so comfortable
in my own body. A virtual flatness and that centrifuge
in the stomach stilled and my spine a spirit-level. The smell
of coffee drifting in brought back to me that lily-white girl and that
sad hour of need. How brittle every bone was then. How
could one not be completely bedraggled by time or compulsion or
duplicity? I was all those things and am. I was so tired
with the not-being-here inside of it all that fatigue
was like oxygen, given of all the givens, sensurround
of the gods. But I was gulping and heaving by then.
And that is all so long ago. Though when you forget
the last time: most likely it is not the last time.
And when dreams don’t come, when mastodons and minotaurs
curdle in the night-reaches and the bulls lie fallow
in dawn-sweats: sleep some more. Wait. Sleep on. And swim
4.This poem is about love being lost , its similiar to a breakup
5.This poem makes me feel like i am the one who wrote the poem , as i am reading it the poem makes me imagine.
6.When the poet say and when it rained, though we shivered with sickness,
there came a moment of perfect happiness, faces nestled
in the vinyl, sleep coming on, surrounded by metal
that in upcoming decades would oxidise to flakes.
October
ReplyDeleteOctober
By Bobbi Katz b. 1933 Bobbi Katz
October is
when night guzzles up
the orange sherbet sunset
and sends the day
to bed
before supper
and
October is when jack-o’-lanterns
grin in the darkness
and
strange company crunches
across the rumple of dry leaves
to ring a doorbell.
October is
when you can be ghost,
a witch,
a creature from outer space…
almost anything!
And the neighbors, fearing tricks,
give you treats
4. This poem is about good ole Halloween.
5. This poem makes me feel good because they are talking about Halloween my birthday i love this poem.
6. When the poem says guzzles and sherbet that makes me understand the poem and make its better.
from d e l e t e, Part 2
ReplyDeleteby Richard O. Moore
Set up curbside, jewelry tray entanglement with things looking up, but nothing sells unless there is someone looking down, and who might that be? For the moment it’s not raining and off-coast in pods the gray whales parade south. Photographs sprout with the season. The gray whale’s spout is . . .
2.
3.by Richard O. Moore
4. It aot whales
5.It made feel happy but the sa some point
6.off-coast in pods, gray whales parade south, and sprout with the season
Anniversary
ReplyDeleteAnniversary
By Cecilia Woloch b. 1956 Cecilia Woloch
Didn’t I stand there once,
white-knuckled, gripping the just-lit taper,
swearing I’d never go back?
And hadn’t you kissed the rain from my mouth?
And weren’t we gentle and awed and afraid,
knowing we’d stepped from the room of desire
into the further room of love?
And wasn’t it sacred, the sweetness
we licked from each other’s hands?
And were we not lovely, then, were we not
as lovely as thunder, and damp grass, and flame?
3.The poem i read is by Cecilia Woloch b.
4.The poem i read is about a man lookng back on how he'd never fall in love , but some how found his self like some one witch fell deeper into loving them and now they have a Anniversary.
5. This poem makes me feel paranoid , because i know now that my dreams are to neer get married but this poem kind of makes me think whats going to happen in the end thow .
6.white-knuckled ,awed ,and licked are all the words that hep evoke a image in my mind .
the tomb of a poet
ReplyDeleteOn the journey to the mundane afterlife,
You travel equipped to carry on your trade:
A bronze, small-toothed saw to make repairs,
The stylus and the ink pot and the scraper,
Wax tablets bound into a little book.
Here is the tortoise shell for the cithara,
Bored through with holes for strings, natural sound box.
Here is the harp's wood triangle, all empty—
The sheep-gut having long since decomposed
Into a pure Pythagorean music.
The beeswax, frangible with centuries,
Has puzzled all your lyrics into silence.
I think you were a poet of perfection
Who fled still weighing one word with another,
Since wax forgives and warms beneath revision.
1. A.E. Stallings b. 1968 A.E. Stallings
2. its about Piraeus Archeological Museum and how he express everything its nature contains
3. it makes me feel like im not the only person going through this certain phase in life,
4. Here is the tortoise shell for the cithara,
Bored through with holes for strings, natural sound box.
Here is the harp's wood triangle, all empty—
The sheep-
2.
ReplyDeleteThe Acts of Youth
BY JOHN WIENERS
And with great fear I inhabit the middle of the night
What wrecks of the mind await me, what drugs
to dull the senses, what little I have left,
what more can be taken away?
The fear of travelling, of the future without hope
or buoy. I must get away from this place and see
that there is no fear without me: that it is within
unless it be some sudden act or calamity
to land me in the hospital, a total wreck, without
memory again; or worse still, behind bars. If
I could just get out of the country. Some place
where one can eat the lotus in peace.
For in this country it is terror, poverty awaits; or
am I a marked man, my life to be a lesson
or experience to those young who would trod
the same path, without God
unless he be one of justice, to wreak vengeance
on the acts committed while young under un-
due influence or circumstance. Oh I have
always seen my life as drama, patterned
after those who met with disaster or doom.
Is my mind being taken away me.
I have been over the abyss before. What
is that ringing in my ears that tells me
all is nigh, is naught but the roaring of the winter wind.
Woe to those homeless who are out on this night.
Woe to those crimes committed from which we
can walk away unharmed.
So I turn on the light
And smoke rings rise in the air.
Do not think of the future; there is none.
But the formula all great art is made of.
Pain and suffering. Give me the strength
to bear it, to enter those places where the
great animals are caged. And we can live
at peace by their side. A bride to the burden
that no god imposes but knows we have the means
to sustain its force unto the end of our days.
For that is what we are made for; for that
we are created. Until the dark hours are done.
And we rise again in the dawn.
Infinite particles of the divine sun, now
worshipped in the pitches of the night.
3. JOHN WIENERS
4.This poem makes me feel aware of the things that could happen to a youth while they are under the influence and all the things that they think about.
5. Pain and suffering, fear, hope, calamity, lotus, vengeance, drama, justice, disaster,
Not every day
ReplyDeleteis a good day
for the elfin tailor.
Some days
the stolen cloth
reveals what it
was made for:
a handsome weskit
or the jerkin
of an elfin sailor.
Other days
the tailor
sees a jacket
in his mind
and sets about
to find the fabric.
But some days
neither the idea
nor the material
presents itself;
and these are
the hard days
for the tailor elf.
evreyday is not a good day but the next day but the next day will be better this poem is bykay ryan he used the words hard day and talior elf to evoke imagery
The Lie
ReplyDeleteThe Lie
By Don Paterson b. 1963 Don Paterson
As was my custom, I’d risen a full hour
before the house had woken to make sure
that everything was in order with The Lie,
his drip changed and his shackles all secure.
I was by then so practiced in this chore
I’d counted maybe thirteen years or more
since last I’d felt the urge to meet his eye.
Such, I liked to think, was our rapport.
I was at full stretch to test some ligature
when I must have caught a ragged thread, and tore
his gag away; though as he made no cry,
I kept on with my checking as before.
Why do you call me The Lie? he said. I swore:
it was a child’s voice. I looked up from the floor.
The dark had turned his eyes to milk and sky
and his arms and legs were all one scarlet sore.
He was a boy of maybe three or four.
His straps and chains were all the things he wore.
Knowing I could make him no reply
I took the gag before he could say more
and put it back as tight as it would tie
and locked the door and locked the door and locked the door
Source: Poetry (September 2009).
this poem was about how a man tends to call a boy the lie . not sure the reason why , but most likely due to deception and lies .
makes me feel confused , in a state of wonder .
words such as : straps and chains . thread and risen and sore and secure .
1.The Night City
ReplyDelete2.Unmet at Euston in a dream
Of London under Turner’s steam
Misting the iron gantries, I
Found myself running away
From Scotland into the golden city.
I ran down Gray’s Inn Road and ran
Till I was under a black bridge.
This was me at nineteen
Late at night arriving between
The buildings of the City of London.
And the I (O I have fallen down)
Fell in my dream beside the Bank
Of England’s wall to be, me
With my money belt of Northern ice.
I found Eliot and he said yes
And sprang into a Holmes cab.
Boswell passed me in the fog
Going to visit Whistler who
Was with John Donne who had just seen
Paul Potts shouting on Soho Green.
Midnight. I hear the moon
Light chiming on St Paul’s.
The City is empty. Night
Watchmen are drinking their tea,
The Fire had burnt out.
The Plague’s pits had closed
And gone into literature.
Between the big buildings
I sat like a flea crouched
In the stopped works of a watch.
3.W.S Graham
4.It is about a man , who goes out at night chasing a dream . or trying to achieve his dream.
5. It makes me feel like I need to chase my dream also.
6. "The City is empty. Night
Watchmen are drinking their tea "
1. The poem I selected was Two Gates by Denise Low
ReplyDelete2. I look through glass and see a young woman
of twenty, washing dishes, and the window
turns into a painting. She is myself thirty years ago.
She holds the same blue bowls and brass teapot
I still own. I see her outline against lamplight;
she knows only her side of the pane. The porch
where I stand is empty. Sunlight fades. I hear
water run in the sink as she lowers her head,
blind to the future. She does not imagine I exist.
I step forward for a better look and she dissolves
into lumber and paint. A gate I passed through
to the next life loses shape. Once more I stand
squared into the present, among maple trees
and scissor-tailed birds, in a garden, almost
a mother to that faint, distant woman.
3.The poem was written by Denise Low
4. The woman in the poem remembers herself when she was 30 years younger.
5. it makes me feel memorable and imaginative.
6. 20 year old lady, garden, glass, gate, maple trees, porch, scissor-tailed bird
Anti-Short Story
ReplyDeleteBY RAE ARMANTROUT
A girl is running. Don’t tell me
“She’s running for her bus.”
All that aside!
This poem states that a girl is running. Then states that she is running for HER BUS. I think its her school bus.
This poem makes me feel like thinking because its so short. I Think someone is telling a story and starts off ''A Girl Is Running'' Then pauses. And is expecting someone to finish the line. And that someone shouts ''She is running for her bus!''
All That Glitters Isn't Music-
ReplyDeleteWith thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain.
Pretending to run for cover but secretly praying for more rain.
Over the echo of the water, I hear a voice saying my name.
No one in the city moves under the quick sightless rain.
The pages of my notebook soak, then curl. I’ve written:
“Yogis opened their mouths for hours to drink the rain.”
The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face.
The window trembles; liquid glass could shatter into rain.
I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled.
If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain.
I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me.
The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.
This poem was written by:Eduardo C. Corral
I think that the poem is about the author's heart being broken by a girl. In his poem he uses many different examples of objects and life to express his hurt feelings.
This poem makes me connect to the author and how he is feeling. i think that he did a good job on expressing how the character was really feeling at that time.
The imagery used was: "hidden in tall grass",
"You said it was nothing but the trick of the light"
" i am not your animal.
" its like lifting a cello out of it's black case
Still Life
ReplyDeleteStill Life
By Roberto Tejada b. 1964 Roberto Tejada
We’d often
been included in
the weather, whose
changes (as in the
still, portending
darknesses or after
noon) were hardly
evident, if even
manifest at all.
The August rain
over Mixcoac
& the deadening
of all aspect
at a distance:
yet our sudden
wet bodies, firm
swelling divested
finally of shirts
& trousers, left
beside turbid
footprints on
the tiled floor;
this tongue, these
lips the lightning
over the unchartered
landscape of your
thigh: successive
terra nova to
resist the still
life of the body
:the poem is about a wet summer day and our body
going through phases
:it kinda just made me think about what he was saying
:he used the words wet bodies
The Afternoon Sun
ReplyDeleteBy C. P. Cavafy
This room, how well I know it.
Now they’re renting it, and the one next to it,
as offices. The whole house has become
an office building for agents, businessmen, companies.
This room, how familiar it is.
The couch was here, near the door,
a Turkish carpet in front of it.
Close by, the shelf with two yellow vases.
On the right—no, opposite—a wardrobe with a mirror.
In the middle the table where he wrote,
and the three big wicker chairs.
Beside the window the bed
They must still be around somewhere, those old things.
Beside the window the bed;
the afternoon sun used to touch half of it.
. . . One afternoon at four o’clock we separated
for a week only. . . And then—
that week became forever.
3.) C. P. Cavafy
4.)this poem is about a man remebering about all the good times he had with a past lover in a house he is leaving.
5.) this poem makes me feel bad for the author because it seems like he really misses his lover that left him and wants them back.
6.) the poet uses imagery by giving very descriptive details about the items in the house