Using your laptops, select a poem or write a poem that YOU will carry in Your pocket all day next Wednesday. Go to our class blog and click on the link"Pocket Poem Day".There will be 5 “Poem Ambassadors” (wearing a lime green t-shirt) on campus. Students need to find an ambassador, read them their poem, receive a ticket, and enter their ticket for a drawing in the Media Center. If they visit all 5 ambassadors, they have 5 chances to win prizes. (Prizes will include iTunes gift cards, gas gift cards,food gift cards, etc.)
Copy your poem on your own paper and turn it into the bin with your name on it.
You must use my links on the blog. If you are going to write your own at home, do this as a back up!
http://libraries.mit.edu/guides/subjects/literature/poetry.html
only,
ReplyDeleteonly skin hide's people's true colors. Only skin hide's people's real intentions. Only skin hide's people's emotions. Only skin hide's people's thoughts. only skin hide's people.
-paige elliott
(c)paige elliott 4/21/11
Dreams
ReplyDeleteby Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16075
Love
ReplyDeleteby Elizabeth Barrett Browning
We cannot live, except thus mutually
We alternate, aware or unaware,
The reflex act of life: and when we bear
Our virtue onward most impulsively,
Most full of invocation, and to be
Most instantly compellant, certes, there
We live most life, whoever breathes most air
And counts his dying years by sun and sea.
But when a soul, by choice and conscience, doth
Throw out her full force on another soul,
The conscience and the concentration both make
mere life, Love. For Life in perfect whole
And aim consummated, is Love in sooth,
As nature's magnet-heat rounds pole with pole.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19428
Eating Poetry
ReplyDeleteby Mark Strand
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.
The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.
I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20448
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
ReplyDeleteI love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
(Anonymous)
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5860
After all the jacks are in their boxes,
ReplyDeleteAnd the clowns have all gone to bed,
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street,
Footprints dress in red.
And the wind whispers Mary.
A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterday’s life.
Somewhere a Queen is weeping,
Somewhere a King has no wife.
And the Wind cries Mary.
The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow
Shine their emptiness down on my bed
The tiny island sags downstream
‘Cos the life that they lived is dead.
And the wind screams Mary.
Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past
With this crutch, its old age and its wisdom
It whispers, “No, this will be the last.”
And the Wind cries Mary.
© 1967 Jimi Hendrix
http://creativeeccentric.wordpress.com/2010/12/08/the-poetry-of-jimi-hendrix-ii-%E2%80%93-%E2%80%9Cthe-wind-cries-mary%E2%80%9D/
Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind
ReplyDeleteI turned to share the transport--Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
http://www.emule.com/poetry/?page=poem&poem=3755
The Fist
ReplyDeleteby Derek Walcott
The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved
past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.
Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.
"Already Fallen"
ReplyDeleteIn these lil moments that we speak, gentle words sound so sweet... You say we are just friends but deep down I know I've already fallen...
When you say my name, my heart skips a beat, deep inside I feel the heat and I know I've already fallen...
When I wake in the morning, I check my phone, a message from you and my lips starts to tweak, smiles so big, my thoughts I seek, deep down I know I've already fallen...
My feelings I hide, deep down in side I've fallen... I'll be your friend, for eternity if that's what you want but deep inside I've already fallen...
Until you are ready... In the shadows I will wait... Just so you know... I've already fallen... Beyond words and beyond control... I've already fallen for you...
Poem by; Keshia Morgan Nomdo
Marjorie Pickthall (1883-1922)
ReplyDeleteMarching Men
1Under the level winter sky
2I saw a thousand Christs go by.
3They sang an idle song and free
4As they went up to calvary.
5Careless of eye and coarse of lip,
6They marched in holiest fellowship.
7That heaven might heal the world, they gave
8Their earth-born dreams to deck the grave.
9With souls unpurged and steadfast breath
10They supped the sacrament of death.
11And for each one, far off, apart,
12Seven swords have rent a woman's heart.
A Birthday
ReplyDeleteby Christina Rossetti
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19440
Take this kiss upon the brow!
ReplyDeleteAnd, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Poem by; Edgar Allen Poe
Title- A dream within a dream
We only try,
ReplyDeletewe only try to get good grades. We only try to do well in life. We try and we try and we try. But...when will people start doing? stop trying and start doing! We live and we die. But in between shouldn't we make our lives worth living? DO something. Instead of "we only try", let’s say "we only do"!
-Brittany Yancy
(c) Brittany Yancy 4/21/11
True Love
ReplyDeleteby Robert Penn Warren
In silence the heart raves. It utters words
Meaningless, that never had
A meaning. I was ten, skinny, red-headed,
Freckled. In a big black Buick,
Driven by a big grown boy, with a necktie, she sat
In front of the drugstore, sipping something
Through a straw. There is nothing like
Beauty. It stops your heart. It
Thickens your blood. It stops your breath. It
Makes you feel dirty. You need a hot bath.
I leaned against a telephone pole, and watched.
I thought I would die if she saw me.
How could I exist in the same world with that brightness?
Two years later she smiled at me. She
Named my name. I thought I would wake up dead.
Her grown brothers walked with the bent-knee
Swagger of horsemen. They were slick-faced.
Told jokes in the barbershop. Did no work.
Their father was what is called a drunkard.
Whatever he was he stayed on the third floor
Of the big white farmhouse under the maples for twenty-five years.
He never came down. They brought everything up to him.
I did not know what a mortgage was.
His wife was a good, Christian woman, and prayed.
When the daughter got married, the old man came down wearing
An old tail coat, the pleated shirt yellowing.
The sons propped him. I saw the wedding. There were
Engraved invitations, it was so fashionable. I thought
I would cry. I lay in bed that night
And wondered if she would cry when something was done to her.
The mortgage was foreclosed. That last word was whispered.
She never came back. The family
Sort of drifted off. Nobody wears shiny boots like that now.
But I know she is beautiful forever, and lives
In a beautiful house, far away.
She called my name once. I didn't even know she knew it.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15313
Bond and free by Robert Frost
ReplyDeleteLove has earth to which she clings
With hills and circling arms about—
Wall within wall to shut fear out.
But Thought has need of no such things,
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.
On snow and sand and turf, I see
Where Love has left a printed trace
With straining in the world’s embrace.
And such is Love and glad to be.
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.
Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom
And sits in Sirius’ disc all night,
Till day makes him retrace his flight,
With smell of burning on every plume,
Back past the sun to an earthly room.
His gains in heaven are what they are.
Yet some say Love by being thrall
And simply staying possesses all
In several beauty that Thought fares far
To find fused in another star.
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19445