As you know by now, I love poetry. However, not all of my students feel the same. Somewhere along the arc of your education poetry became a necessary evil to you. (Some may not even think it necessary). But poetry is really a study of the English language, using words to express your inner thoughts and feelings. The best poetry takes an ordinary object or situation and looks at it in a new light.
This week I would like you to explore online and find a poem that speaks to you (school appropriate please). Then copy it and post it here on this blog. In the next week, come back and comment on another's choice of poetry.
I will go first - My favorite poem of all time is "Enough Music" by Dorianne Laux because of the nature of family and travel. We have all been in the car on those long car rides, and have most likely felt what she expresses in these lines:
Enough Music
Sometimes when we’re on a long drive,
And we’ve talked enough and listened
To enough music and stopped twice,
Once to eat, once to see the view
We fall into this rhythm of silence.
It swings back and forth between us
like a rope over a lake.
I performed this poem in the speech and debate club, and thought it was interesting.
ReplyDeleteThe Chimney Sweeper
By William Blake
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."
And so he was quiet, & that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black;
And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins & set them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.
Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.
And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.
My Future
ReplyDeletePublished on July 2015
They want me to be prepared
For the future that is near,
But the truth is I am scared
Because mine is unclear.
Now, I lay here in my bed,
My worries slowly eating me.
So many questions in my head
About how my future will be.
Will my dreams come true?
Will I find a house to call my own?
Will I find someone to turn to,
Or will I be forever alone?
These questions I ponder,
And so many more.
Yet, still, my heart grows fonder,
To the mystery my future has in store.
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-future-1
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteStopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
ReplyDeleteWhose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
The road not taken
ReplyDeleteTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost
An Admirable Woman by Crystal Foy
ReplyDeleteThere is a woman who always keeps her head up high.
Her eyes sparkle like a bright star in the sky.
She has the stamina, beauty, and courage that one would admire,
Even the love and happiness one inspires.
She is a women that one can always count on,
And a woman that sees no wrong.
Her beauty shines from the inside out,
It flows like a journey down a long route.
Her smile shines beautifully like the sun rising over the horizon,
And her intelligence, wisdom, and hard work are not surprising.
She is a genuinely caring women
Who goes the extra mile to help one in need or broken hearted,
And throughout all of her hard work,
No one ever sees her fall apart.
When The Light Appears
ReplyDeleteby Allen Ginsberg
You'll bare your bones you'll grow you'll pray you'll only know
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You'll sing & you'll love you'll praise blue heavens above
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You'll whimper & you'll cry you'll get yourself sick and sigh
You'll sleep & you'll dream you'll only know what you mean
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
You'll come & you'll go, you'll wander to and fro
You'll go home in despair you'll wonder why'd you care
You'll stammer & you'll lie you'll ask everybody why
You'll cough and you'll pout you'll kick your toe with gout
You'll jump you'll shout you'll knock you're friends about
You'll bawl and you'll deny & announce your eyes are dry
You'll roll and you'll rock you'll show your big hard cock
You'll love and you'll grieve & one day you'll come believe
As you whistle & you smile the lord made you worthwhile
You'll preach and you'll glide on the pulpit in your pride
Sneak & slide across the stage like a river in high tide
You'll come fast or come on slow just the same you'll never know
When the light appears, boy, when the light appears
Song of Myself Chapter 6 by Ralph Waldo Emerson
ReplyDeleteA child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps,
And here you are the mothers’ laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
Life Is What Life Is
ReplyDeleteThrough all the ups, all the downs,
Some will be there, some can't be found.
If they won't care as they should, so be it.
This is life in the way that I wish to see it.
You can give your all, or you can try not.
When they decide to leave, what have you got?
You build it up, then it breaks away.
This is life in the way I see it today.
Days come and go, true hearts stay close.
Without happiness, love is an imitation at most.
You haven't stayed close, it's hard to love you,
This is life in a way that is sadly true.
To leave behind such a feeble mind,
forget it and pursue someone real.
This is my goal, and in time...
This will be life and the way that I feel.
Life Is What Life Is
Edward Veilleux
Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou
ReplyDeletePretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
An Invitation By S.Tarr
ReplyDeleteAll of creation is an invitation
A holy calling to our final embarkation
An invitation to the encounter of true adventure
An invitation to the discovery of love's surrender
All of creation is an invitation,
A sacred journey to our utmost destination
An invitation to the revelation of an inner beauty
An invitation to do so much more than meets the eye's daily duty
(Some background- this is my favorite poem and I can say it by memory, much to my friends dismay because whenever they kill a bug they are met with this poem)
ReplyDeleteThoughtless Cruelty
Charles Lamb
There, Robert, you have kill'd that fly — ,
And should you thousand ages try
The life you've taken to supply,
You could not do it.
You surely must have been devoid
Of thought and sense, to have destroy'd
A thing which no way you annoy'd —
You'll one day rue it.
Twas but a fly perhaps you'll say,
That's born in April, dies in May;
That does but just learn to display
His wings one minute,
And in the next is vanish'd quite.
A bird devours it in his flight —
Or come a cold blast in the night,
There's no breath in it.
The bird but seeks his proper food —
And Providence, whose power endu'd
That fly with life, when it thinks good,
May justly take it.
But you have no excuses for't —
A life by Nature made so short,
Less reason is that you for sport
Should shorter make it.
A fly a little thing you rate —
But, Robert do not estimate
A creature's pain by small or great;
The greatest being
Can have but fibres, nerves, and flesh,
And these the smallest ones possess,
Although their frame and structure less
Escape our seeing.
Fireflies Related Poem Content Details
ReplyDeleteBY FRANK ORMSBY
The lights come on and stay on under the trees.
Visibly a whole neighborhood inhabits the dusk,
so punctual and in place it seems to deny
dark its dominion. Nothing will go astray,
the porch lamps promise. Sudden, as though a match
failed to ignite at the foot of the garden, the first squibs
trouble the eye. Impossible not to share
that sportive, abortive, clumsy, where-are-we-now
dalliance with night, such soothing relentlessness.
What should we make of fireflies, their quick flare
of promise and disappointment, their throwaway style?
Our heads turn this way and that. We are loath to miss
such jauntiness in nature. Those fugitive selves,
winged and at random! Our flickery might-have-beens
come up form the woods to haunt us! Our yet-to-be
as tentative frolic! What do fireflies say?
That loneliness made of light becomes at last
convivial singleness? That any antic spark
cruising the void might titillate creation?
And whether they spend themselves, or go to ground,
or drift with their lights out, they have left the gloom,
for as long as our eyes take to absorb such absence,
less than it seemed, as childless and deprived
as Chaos and Old Night. But ruffled, too,
as though it unearthed some memory of light
from its long blackout, a hospitable core
fit home for fireflies, brushed by fireflies' wings.
This Is Just To Say
ReplyDeleteWilliam Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
The Haunted Palace
ReplyDeleteEdgar Allen Poe
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion,
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A wingèd odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute’s well-tunèd law,
Round about a throne where, sitting,
Porphyrogene!
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh—but smile no more.
A great choice of author, and a very good example of his eerie style of poetry.
DeleteRetired Ballerinas, Central Park West
ReplyDeleteBY LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI
Retired ballerinas on winter afternoons
walking their dogs
in Central Park West
(or their cats on leashes—
the cats themselves old highwire artists)
The ballerinas
leap and pirouette
through Columbus Circle
while winos on park benches
(laid back like drunken Goudonovs)
hear the taxis trumpet together
like horsemen of the apocalypse
in the dusk of the gods
It is the final witching hour
when swains are full of swan songs
And all return through the dark dusk
to their bright cells
in glass highrises
or sit down to oval cigarettes and cakes
in the Russian Tea Room
or climb four flights to back rooms
in Westside brownstones
where faded playbill photos
fall peeling from their frames
like last year’s autumn leaves
Ashley
ReplyDeleteBy Bo Burnham
Little Ashley hung magazine spreads on her wall,
after picking the magazines out in the mall.
Models and actresses, singers and more,
with cleavage and makeup and glamour galore!
All her heroes were finally nearer.
Her whole room looked perfect — except for the mirror.
The Life Of A Cupcake
ReplyDeleteShelby Greer
They put me in the oven to bake.
Me a deprived and miserable cake.
Feeling the heat I started to bubble.
Watching the others I knew I was in trouble
They opened the door and I started my life.
Frosting me with a silver knife.
Decorating me with candy jewels.
The rest of my batch looked like fools.
Lifting me up, she took off my wrapper.
Feeling the breeze, I wanted to slap her.
Opening her mouth with shiny teeth inside.
This was the day this cupcake had died.
Memories
ReplyDeleteMemories in my life fade away
As I replace them with others.
They are forgotten and stored away.
Although the memories are pushed to the side,
They are safe so I may remember them in the future.
Our mind is like a book;
It writes down important things and keeps them between the pages forever.
Maybe our whole album of memories:
Our first steps, first love, first grief, and others
Were meant to be there for us to never forget.
All That is Gold Does Not Glitter by JRR Tolkien
ReplyDeleteAll that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
Apparently
ReplyDeleteBy Jermaine Cole
Think back to Forest Hills, no perfect home
But the only thing like home I've ever known
Until they snatched it from my mama
And foreclosed her on the loan
I'm so sorry that I left you there to deal with that alone
I was up in New York City chasin' panties, gettin' dome
Had no clue what you was goin' through
How could you be so strong?
And how could I be so selfish?
I know I can be so selfish
I could tell by how I treat you with my girl
Damn, she so selfless, but she put up with my way
Because she loves me like you do
I like that this is a modern, relate-able poem in today's age. It actually has meaning.
Delete$ave Dat Money
ReplyDelete"If you at a restaurant and got a iced coffee
And the waiter been refillin' that without a word of caution
And you get your fuckin' bill and you can see he double charged ya
For the coffee and you told 'em there's a problem
Sing along like
Ohh, don't double charge me for that
Don't double charge me, we like
Ohh, don't double charge me for that
Don't do it to yourself
'cause I might just ask what the ice cube's worth
What the ice cube's worth
That's the only differentiator making this a non-free perk
And I might make work more difficult for you than it need be
So think about it, take a minute, let it breathe, B
But think about it, bruh, you saw me get the burger with the bacon on the side
After looking at the price of the side of just bacon
And comparing it to the what the difference in the cheeseburger
Vs the bacon cheeseburger was and making my decision
I would hate to be the waiter tryna tell me something different" -Dave Burd
Trees - Joyce Kilmer
ReplyDeleteI think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
A million stars up in the sky
ReplyDeleteone shines brighter I can't deny
A love so precious a love so true
a love that comes from me to you
The angels sing when you are near
within your arms I have nothing to fear
You always know just what to say
just talking to you makes my day
I love you honey with all of my heart
together forever and never to part.
-Mrs. Creeves
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/from-my-heart
wow I love the rhyme and rhythm
DeleteTiger Tiger, burning bright,
ReplyDeleteIn the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
when your hero falls from grace
ReplyDeleteall fairy tales r uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified
the greatest pain discovered
u taught me 2 be strong
but im confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat
when ure hero falls so do the stars
and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow
your heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what r u expected 2 do
when ure only hero falls
-Tupac Shakur
The Lora by Dr.Suess
ReplyDeleteAt the far end of town
where the Grickle-grass grows
and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows
and no birds ever sing excepting old crows...
is the Street of the Lifted Lorax.
And deep in the Grickle-grass, some people say,
if you look deep enough you can still see, today,
where the Lorax once stood
just as long as it could
before somebody lifted the Lorax away.
What was the Lorax?
Any why was it there?
And why was it lifted and taken somewhere
from the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows?
The old Once-ler still lives here.
Ask him. He knows.
You won't see the Once-ler.
Don't knock at his door.
He stays in his Lerkim on top of his store.
He stays in his Lerkim, cold under the roar,
where he makes his own clothes
out of miff-muffered moof.
And on special dank midnights in August,
he peeks
out of the shutters
and sometimes he speaks
and tells how the Lorax was lifted away.
He'll tell you, perhaps...
if you're willing to pay.
On the end of a rope
he lets down a tin pail
and you have to toss in fifteen cents and a nail
and the shell of a great-great-great-grandfather snail.
Then he pulls up the pail,
makes a most careful count
to see if you've paid him
the proper amount.
Then he hides what you paid him
away in his Snuvv,
his secret strange hole
in his gruvvulous glove.
Then he grunts, I will call you by Whisper-ma-Phone,
for the secrets I tell you are for your ears alone.
SLUPP
Down slupps the Whisper-ma-Phone to your ear
and the old Once-ler's whispers are not very clear,
since they have to come down
through a snergelly hose,
and he sounds
as if he had
smallish bees up his nose.
Now I'll tell you, he says, with his teeth sounding gray,
how the Lorax got lifted and taken away...
It all started way back...
such a long, long time back...
Way back in the days when the grass was still green
and the pond was still wet
and the clouds were still clean,
and the song of the Swomee-Swans rang out in space...
one morning, I came to this glorious place.
And I first saw the trees!
The Truffula Trees!
The bright-colored tufts of the Truffula Trees!
Mile after mile in the fresh morning breeze.
And under the trees, I saw Brown Bar-ba-loots
frisking about in their Bar-ba-loot suits
as the played in the shade and ate Truffula Fruits.
From the rippulous pond
came the comfortable sound
of the Humming-Fish humming
while splashing around.
But those trees! Those trees!
Those Truffula Trees!
All my life I'd been searching
for trees such as these.
The touch of their tufts
was much softer than silk.
And they had the sweet smell
of fresh butterfly milk.
I felt a great leaping
of joy in my heart.
"Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe
ReplyDeleteFrom childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—
"Things" by Lisel Mueller
ReplyDeleteWhat happened is, we grew lonely
living among the things,
so we gave the clock a face,
the chair a back,
the table four stout legs
which will never suffer fatigue.
We fitted our shoes with tongues
as smooth as our own
and hung tongues inside bells
so we could listen
to their emotional language,
and because we loved graceful profiles
the pitcher received a lip,
the bottle a long, slender neck.
Even what was beyond us
was recast in our image;
we gave the country a heart,
the storm an eye,
the cave a mouth
so we could pass into safety.
The Old Astronomer by Sarah Williams
ReplyDeleteReach me down my Tycho Brahé, – I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.
Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, 'tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.
But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men's fellowship and wiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles.
You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight;
You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.
I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.
You "have none but me," you murmur, and I "leave you quite alone"?
Well then, kiss me, – since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, – that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.
I "have never failed in kindness"? No, we lived too high for strife,--
Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;
But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still
To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!
There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,
To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;
And remember, "Patience, Patience," is the watchword of a sage,
Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.
I have sown, like Tycho Brahé, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, 'twill disturb me in my sleep
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.
I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak;
Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak:
It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars, –
God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.
The Game of Soccer
ReplyDeleteby Kristen-Chantelle Woo
Stadium overcrowded by hooligans and fans
Cheering, waving flags, and clapping their hands
Players on the field, they’re ready to start
There goes the whistle; it pumps up their hearts
Adding strength to the ball, and kicking it high
The ball travels overhead, how beautiful it can fly
Over center field, and still it goes strong
Pass received with ease, and the player runs long
There he goes, for his opponent’s goal
He dribbles through each player; he’s on a roll
He takes the shot, and curves it by
The keeper dives for it, far and high
The goalie misses it; the ball’s in the net
There’s a moment of silence, and no regrets
The winners jump for joy, that win was a must
Opponents, heads tilt down low, they leave in disgust
A player’s life fulfilled is playing world class,
To be playing all year long on the rich green grass
Play with heart, that’s the real answer
Of how to play the true game of soccer.
maggie and milly and molly and may
ReplyDeleteby e.e.cummings
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
These are wonderful!
ReplyDeleteMs. Z.