The Kiss 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, 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.
this peom is By Neil Carpathios it is talking about how great of an experience that this kiss was that he had with this person.
it gives you the images, of how great it was and he uses many metaphors, to show how intense ti was.
An agitation of the air, A perturbation of the light Admonished me the unloved year Would turn on its hinge that night.
I stood in the disenchanted field Amid the stubble and the stones, Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me The song of my marrow-bones.
Blue poured into summer blue, A hawk broke from his cloudless tower, The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew That part of my life was over.
Already the iron door of the north Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows Order their populations forth, And a cruel wind blows.
3.By Stanley Kunitz 4.It's about fall and it being the end of summer. 5.It makes me feel that the summer is the best season of the year. 6.It gives me images of the birds, leaves, and the wind blowing.
And if every step taken is a step well-lived but a foot towards death, every pilgrimage a circle, every flight-path the tracing of a sphere: I will give myself over and over. I have migrated through Carpathians of sorrow to myself heaped happy in the corner there.
Nothing seemed strange in the world, you’ll understand— nothing ever more would. Monkey Boy came to me saying Look—the moon of the moon. The little one circled the big one. He crouched in the palm of my hand, tiny, sincere, pointing at the sky. There was something sad about him.
The python was nothing, nothing at all, nothing but strength shed to suppleness, nothing but will encased in itself. The python was a muscle of thought. Coiled and mute, in a place where nothing but rain fell, the python thought: this is the beginning or end of the world.
The python was everywhere, everywhere at once, aware only too much of that ageless agony: its existence. I am tired, it said; and the stream burbled by. I am waiting for the recoil, the uncoil, coil of night, coil of stars, coil of the coldness of the water.
The python said Who are these people? The whole city sweated, moved like a limb. The air fitted like a glove two sizes too small and too many singers sang the banal. The bars roared all night. The kite hawks grew ashamed. All nature squirmed.
In the yellow time of pollen there’s a certain slant of light that devours the afternoon, and you would wait forever at the Gare de l’Est, if time stood still, if she would come. She is the leopard then, its silvery speed; where will you wrestle her, and in what shadows, and on what crumpled sheets?
And all those sheets were pampas and savannas, the soft expanses of all that would be absent forever, all that was past, and future, and not here. And in a white rose there were not to be found any secrets, since in its unfolding there was no centre, nor in its decay. Only the random petals fallen.
In the yellow time of poppies when the fields were ablaze those invisible pollens rained around us. The days held us lightlocked in golden surrender and all night long the night shot stars. When my chest unconstricted at last, did yours?
The real issue, of course, was this: atomically, energetically, everything was wave function. And a wave continues forever into space, the wavelength never alters, only the intensity lessens, so in the worst cosmic way everything is connected by vibrations. And this, as even a dog would know, is no consolation.
Ah but the dogs will save us all in the end & even the planet. Not the superdogs but the household friendlies, always eager to please, hysterically fond, incessant, carrying in the very wagging of their tales an unbounded love not even therapists could imagine; their forgiveness unhinges us.
We were reduced to this: this day and night, primary gold and indigo, the binary profusion of distances guessed at, heat and cold, colours logged in the retina and lodged in the spine; we were dogs who knew the infinite is now,
that celandine was buttercup, that buttercup was marigold. The dog star marked the dog days and the wild rose was dog rose. The crow’s-foot was wild hyacinth. By day the correspondences were clear. I walked across the whin land. Speedwell bluer than sky.
A practised ear could hear, between two breaths, deep space wherein the mind collects itself. Words foundered and cracked. Nearly never bulled the cow. A shining isomorphousness rang out. The roussignol sang all night.
All colours were shuffled endlessly but never lost. A practised ear could hear, between two breaths, the secret blackness of the snow come flooding in. On summer’s lawns the ice-melt sprayed its figure-eights from sprinklers.
3. LUKE DAVIDS 4.every step you take you learn from it 5.it make me feel more wise 6.words like the dappled light
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,
Seems lak to me de stars don't shine so bright, Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light, Seems lak to me der's nothin' goin' right, Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me de sky ain't half so blue, Seems lak to me dat eve'ything wants you, Seems lak to me I don't know what to do, Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me dat eve'ything is wrong, Seems lak to me de day's jes twice ez long, Seems lak to me de bird's forgot his song, Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me I jes can't he’p but sigh, Seems lak to me ma th’oat keeps gittin’ dry, Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye, Sence you went away.
Third: By James Weldon Johnson Forth: The poem is about a person perspective of the world is different because their spouse went away. Five: This poem speaks to me, I felt just like the person who ever wrote this poem. Lastly: Words are shine, blue, half, and dry.
We who are here present thank the Great Spirit that we are here to praise Him. We thank Him that He has created men and women, and ordered that these beings shall always be living to multiply the earth. We thank Him for making the earth and giving these beings its products to live on. We thank Him for the water that comes out of the earth and runs for our lands. We thank Him for all the animals on the earth. We thank Him for certain timbers that grow and have fluids coming from them for us all. We thank Him for the branches of the trees that grow shadows for our shelter. We thank Him for the beings that come from the west, the thunder and lightning that water the earth. We thank Him for the light which we call our oldest brother, the sun that works for our good. We thank Him for all the fruits that grow on the trees and vines. We thank Him for his goodness in making the forests, and thank all its trees. We thank Him for the darkness that gives us rest, and for the kind Being of the darkness that gives us light, the moon. We thank Him for the bright spots in the skies that give us signs, the stars. We give Him thanks for our supporters, who had charge of our harvests. We give thanks that the voice of the Great Spirit can still be heard through the words of Ga-ne-o-di-o. We thank the Great Spirit that we have the privilege of this pleasant occasion. We give thanks for the persons who can sing the Great Spirit's music, and hope they will be privileged to continue in his faith. We thank the Great Spirit for all the persons who perform the ceremonies on this occasion.
3. This poem was written by Harriet Maxwell Converse.
4. This poem is about thanking the Great Spirit for all it has done for the Earth and for the people on the Earth.
5. This poem makes me feel even better about thanksgiving. It also makes me even more grateful about the Earth and the people on the Earth.
6. The words in the poem that evoke feelings are: thanks, created, shadows, grow, darkness, sing, Great Spirit, occasion, privileged, light, shelter, goodness, animals, lands
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, 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
This poem was writen by Neil Carpathios. The poem is about the feeling that he got when he kissed a certain person.It makes me feel like nothing can compare to being with a special someone. in my mind I say images, images of different things dealing with love, the words like passion, blossoming,and the sentence, " How stone,implying permanence, 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" help me see a lot of different vivid images.
1. Light bulbs on a birthday cake. What a difference that would make! Plug it in and make a wish, then relax and flip a switch! No more smoke or waxy mess to bother any birthday guests. But Grandpa says, “it’s not the same! Where’s the magic? Where’s the flame? To get your wish without a doubt, You need to blow some candles out!”
2. This poem is by Calef Brown.
3. This poem is about when kids must make a wish before they blow their birthday candle out. It means to make a wish before blowing out birthday candles.
4. This poem makes feel like a little kid. It makes me go back in time for when I was a little kid and I didn’t want to blow out my birthday candles. I just wanted to eat the cake.
5. The words that the poet used that gives me imagery was; flame, smoke, wish, and cake. This poem gives me a picture of kids celebrating somebody’s birthday.
Over the river and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go; The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river and through the wood-- Oh, how the wind does blow! It stings the toes And bites the nose, As over the ground we go.
Over the river and through the wood, To have first-rate play. Hear the bells ring, "Ting-a-ling-ding!" Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river and through the wood, And straight through the barn-yard gate. We seem to go Extremely slow-- It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the wood-- Now grandmother's cap I spy! Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done? Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!
3.This poem is by L.Maria Child 4.This poem is about going to grandma's house for thanksgiving. 5.This poem makes me feel like im going to my grandparents house for thanksgiving. 6.The words that the poet use that gives me imagery is: white and drifted snow, river, barn-yard gate, pumpkin pie
A Deserter BY CHARLES REZNIKOFF Their new landlord was a handsome man. On his rounds to collect rent she became friendly. Finally, she asked him in to have a cup of tea. After that he came often.
Once his mouth jerked, and turning, she saw her husband in the doorway. She thought, One of the neighbors must have told him. She smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but could say nothing. Her husband stood looking at the floor. He turned and went away.
She lay awake all night waiting for him. In the morning she went to his store. It was closed. She sent for his brothers and told them he had not been home. They went to the police. Hospitals and morgues were searched. For weeks they were called to identify drowned men.
His business had been prosperous; bank account and all were untouched. She and their baby girl were provided for. In a few years they heard of him. He was dead. He had been making a poor living in a far off city. One day he stepped in front of a street-car and was killed.
She married again. Her daughter married and had children. She named none after her father.
Number 3: The author of this poem is Charles Rezinkoff Number 4: This poem is about a woman who " became friendly" with her knew landlord.One time her husband walked in and saw her with him and left. He never came back. Number 5: This poem makes me think about how fate can play a very important role in all of our lives.Some may even go as far as to say that fate controls everything. Number 6: I think that the phrases like "his mouth jerked," and "her husband stood looking at the floor" create a picture in my mind of the woman's husband standing defeated and ashamed then turning and leaving and killing himself.
2.The week in August you come home, adult, professional, aloof, we roast and carve the fatted calf —in our case home-grown pig, the chine garlicked and crisped, the applesauce hand-pressed. Hand-pressed the greengage wine.
Nothing is cost-effective here. The peas, the beets, the lettuces hand sown, are raised to stand apart. The electric fence ticks like the slow heart of something we fed and bedded for a year, then killed with kindness’s one bullet and paid Jake Mott to do the butchering.
In winter we lure the birds with suet, thaw lungs and kidneys for the cat. Darlings, it’s all a circle from the ring of wire that keeps the raccoons from the corn to the gouged pine table that we lounge around, distressed before any of you was born.
Benign and dozy from our gluttonies, the candles down to stubs, defenses down, love leaking out unguarded the way juice dribbles from the fence when grounded by grass stalks or a forgotten hoe, how eloquent, how beautiful you seem!
Wearing our gestures, how wise you grow, ballooning to overfill our space, the almost-parents of your parents now. So briefly having you back to measure us is harder than having let you go 3. Maxine w. kumin wrote this poem.
4. This poem is about how the feasts of thanksgiving brings families together and how great the food is.
5. This poem makes me think about the time my grandmother made sweet potatoes and greens and turkey. it also reminds me of the time that I watched football on thanksgiving and ate a great meal. 6.garlicked and crisped,Hand-pressed the greengage wine,The peas, the beets, the lettuces,The electric fence ticks like the slow heart,killed with kindness’s one bullet and paid Jake Mott to do the butchering.
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, 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.
This poem was written by the wonderful, Neil Carpathios.This poem is abouttwo lovers who say what they thing love is and what love is like. This poem makes me feel as if I am in love and makes me want to share this feeling with another person. This poem evokes imagery by describing how ice melts,and by making me picture a leaf blowing in the wind on a branch.
kirby said.. And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land. 3.the person who wrote this poem is named William Blake.
4.This poem is about the holy lamb of god.
5.The poem makes me feel like reading the bible and see if anything the artist said is true. 6.I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land.
In the yellow time of pollen, in the blue time of lilacs, in the green that would balance on the wide green world, air filled with flux, world-in-a-belly in the blue lilac weather, she had written a letter: You came into my life really fast and I liked it.
When we let go the basket of the good-luck birds the sky erupted open in the hail of its libation; there was a gap and we entered it gladly. Indeed the birds may have broken the sky and we, soaked, squelched in the mud of our joy, braided with wet-thighed surrender.
In the yellow time of pollen near the blue time of lilacs there was a gap in things. And here we are. The sparrows flew away so fast a camera could not catch them. The monkey swung between our arms and said I am, hooray, the monkey of all events, the great gibbon of convergences.
We were falling towards each other already and the utter abandon to orbits was delicious. The falcon rested on the little man’s arm and falconry was the High Path of the World. Whole minutes passed. We were falling and the jungle fell with us.
She said I came, I came to my senses really fast and you liked it. I was surrounded by the fluttering of wings, nothing but a whirring in my ears, and the whole earth tilted and I lost my reason. For a time falconry was the high path of the world.
At night the sky was filled with animals. Ganesh loomed large among those points of light. He said Change! and we said Lord we are ready to bend. Thou art the high exalted most flexible. He said Then I will enter into your very dreams.
And the yellow-tailed black cockatoo, ablaze in his own musculature, soared all night above the sunlit fields of whisky grass that stretched inside me to a river’s edge. The great bird cawed its majesty, a sonic boom; and even I was barely welcome there.
There was a gap in things; and all the lilacs bloomed. Words split in our grasp. We were licking the cream from the universal ice. Words foundered and cracked. How the bonnet was warm on your bottom! And the metal continued tick-ticking though the engine was off.
And the evening shuddered, since everything is connected. I was licking the cream from the universal saucer. I was all of Cheshire and points between. You saw the great sky turn blacker, you saw the spray of stars and your hair got tangled in the windscreen wiper.
At the hot ponds we stripped as night closed in. I secretly admired your underwear, your long elusive legs. In the spring where we lay side by side we held hands. Up above the steam the sky. I said That one is called Sirius or Dog Star, but only here on Earth.
And when since the stories foretold it we parted, those birds were all released again. Such buoyancy. They go on forever like that. How else to say thank you in a foreign place? We are ever in the arms of our exile, forever going one way and the other
though sometimes of course on a sphere that is not so bad. I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act. We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales, where the snows come from, where the waters begin.
In the yellow time of pollen when the fields were ablaze we were very near bewildered by beauty. The sky was a god-bee that hummed. All the air boomed with that thunder. It was both for the prick and the nectar we drank that we gave ourselves over.
Who wrote the poem: Luke Davis The poem is about a portal to a new world and nature. It makes me feel messed up Sky, Birds,Colors.
By Caroline Caddy Be precise authority is magic. When you think you've got it straight wax wane declination feel the movement under your hand one summer morning as you observe it set then rise that night. Always use a well-sharpened pencil followed by a good eraser. Watch the white emerge.
1. Caroline Cadyy wrote the poem.
2. This poem is about drawing the moon and how to do it.
3. This poem makes me feel happy inside because the moon is such a beautiful thing to watch.
4. The word she uses to express imagery is emerge and declination.
It was a beach like all beaches, only perhaps more beautiful. And the sand was pink not red.
We would arrive in caravans, hampers overflowing with food and drink like Aziz and his party on the way to Malabar.
The colonials and their servants away on an outing. We would stop under thatch umbrellas, towels and tablecloths spread out against the sea.
My mother in her skirted swim suit surrounded by fathers of other children, her olive skin lit through her straw hat.
They would laugh and drink beer and leer while the children did the usual beach things,
boring futile tunnels to China, running at waves and then away, daring each other to be swallowed.
I would go out by the forbidden rocks and pick off oysters, then give them to the men to pry open, cover with lime juice and suck dry.
Once, I saw my mother sucking an oyster out of another daddy’s hand. Her dappled face bobbed and smiled and her tongue
searched the shell for pearls.
3.Peg Boyers Wrote The Poem 4. This poem is about a girl or a boy telling a story about how they where outside and at a beach and everything was going goo and they where having a great time. They saw there dad and mother having a very great time in the outdoors and doing fun things at the beach. 5.This poem makes me feel like a person who wants to be outdoors right now. It is a very wonderful poem. I really wanna go to the beach right now in have a great time with my family and eat oyster and have fun. Then when the said the sand was pink not red that just made me melt and i wanna go see what color the sand really is now. 6. The words that she had use in the poem was Caravans, skirted swim suit,olive skin,forbidden rocks. Then there are a lot more but these words made it and imagery poem.
Before Christmas By Landis Everson 1926–2007 Landis Everson Almost the first reindeer shipped North by boxcar from Lapland but a toy model got there first.
A dwarf invented reindeer on his own. He was Santa’s favorite. He hadn't known they already existed.
This discouraged dwarf was close to taking his life but Santa showed up encircled by snow. He said, “I will use the real reindeer for my sled
always in yoke to your original invention.” That night the gears that turned the Pole stopped and began to turn the other way, so it be so.
My love is a toy model waiting for a reindeer to carry me.
3.landis everson 4. this poem is about a man's love being compared to Christmas 5. this poem makes me feel for the guy 6.dwarf, santa ,snow,reindeer
I wish I could remember that first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me, If bright or dim the season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom yet for many a May. If only I could recollect it, such A day of days! I let it come and go As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; If only now I could recall that touch, First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!
3.The author of the poem was Christina Rossetti 4. It is about how someone is trying to remember their first meeting of their first love ,but cannot recall . 5. It makes me feel sad/good.Sad because no one wants to forget their first meeting of their first love.Good because i am still able to remember that moment in my life. 6.The words that the poet used to evoke imagery was blind,dull,thaw of bygone snow,and blossom.
Youth and Art By Robert Browning 1812–1889 It once might have been, once only: We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, I, a lone she-bird of his feather. Your trade was with sticks and clay, You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished, Then laughed "They will see some day Smith made, and Gibson demolished." My business was song, song, song; I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered, "Kate Brown's on the boards ere long, And Grisi's existence embittered!" I earned no more by a warble Than you by a sketch in plaster; You wanted a piece of marble, I needed a music-master. We studied hard in our styles, Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos, For air looked out on the tiles, For fun watched each other's windows. You lounged, like a boy of the South, Cap and blouse—nay, a bit of beard too; Or you got it, rubbing your mouth With fingers the clay adhered to. And I—soon managed to find Weak points in the flower-fence facing, Was forced to put up a blind And be safe in my corset-lacing. No harm! It was not my fault If you never turned your eye's tail up As I shook upon E in alt, Or ran the chromatic scale up: For spring bade the sparrows pair, And the boys and girls gave guesses, And stalls in our street looked rare With bulrush and watercresses.
Why did not you pinch a flower In a pellet of clay and fling it? Why did not I put a power Of thanks in a look, or sing it? I did look, sharp as a lynx, (And yet the memory rankles,) When models arrived, some minx Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles. But I think I gave you as good! "That foreign fellow,—who can know How she pays, in a playful mood, For his tuning her that piano?" Could you say so, and never say "Suppose we join hands and fortunes, And I fetch her from over the way, Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?" No, no: you would not be rash, Nor I rasher and something over: You've to settle yet Gibson's hash, And Grisi yet lives in clover. But you meet the Prince at the Board, I'm queen myself at bals-paré, I've married a rich old lord, And you're dubbed knight and an R.A. Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy. And nobody calls you a dunce, And people suppose me clever: This could but have happened once, And we missed it, lost it for ever. 3.Robert Browning wrote this poem. He , being an author lived in the 1880's, and he was known for many romantic poems. 4.This poem is about seeing love for the first time. He believes that no matter what, if you find love, it will be seen. 5.It makes me feel rather humble about finding love. It gives love a new meaning to a first love,because he compares and contrasts art and the youth of love. 6.He uses words like lone, chirped, tweeted, playful, laugh which evoke his playful imagery of the his love for art from today's youth.
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.The poem is about someone who was late getting to his building 5.It makes me feel like im in the poem (interesting) 6.The words that evoke the poem are: Euston under iron empty shouting dream
1. The guys who drank quarts of Busch last night here by the backstop of this baseball diamond had names given them by their mothers and fathers— “Jack” and “Kenny” let us say.
Jack might be a skinny guy in a black fake-leather jacket, he’s twenty-five, his gray pants are too loose on his hips, his jaws always have these little black extra hairs, his mother won’t talk to him on the phone, she lives on french fries and ketchup, he hasn’t been able to send her any cash in the last two years, ever since he lost his job unloading produce trucks at Pathmark; Jack’s father disappeared when he was ten. “No big deal,” Jack says, “he was a bastard anyway, he used to flatten beer cans on the top of my head.” Kenny offers a laugh-noise. He’s heard all that before. Kenny is forty-eight, a flabby man with reddened skin, he is employed at the Italian Market selling fish just four hours a day but his shirts hold the smell; his female companion Deena left him a note last month: “You owe me $12 chocolate $31 wine $55 cable TV plus donuts—I have had it—taking lamp and mirror they are mine.” Kenny hasn’t seen her since. He hangs with Jack because Jack talks loud as if the world of cops and people with full-time jobs could be kept at bay by talking, talking loud . . .
(I’m talking gently and imaginatively here as if the world of bums and jerks could be kept far off—)
Jack and Kenny. (Or two other guys dark to me with wounds oozing in Philadelphia ways less ready to narrate.) Last night at midnight they got cheesesteaks at Casseloni’s and bought four quarts at the Fireside Tavern and wandered into this park. After one quart of Busch Jack said he was Lenny Dykstra and found a stick for his bat. “Pitch to me asshole” he said so Kenny went to the mound and pitched his bottle for want of anything better and Jack swung in the dark and missed; Kenny’s bottle smashed on home plate and Jack heard in the sound the absurdity of all his desiring since seventh grade, absurdity of a skinny guy who blew everything since seventh when he hit home runs and chased Joan Rundle around the gym so Jack took his own empty bottle and smashed it down amid the brown shards of Kenny’s bottle. Then they leaned on the backstop to drink the other two quarts and they both grew glum and silent and when they smashed these bottles it was like what else would they do? Next morning
Nick and I come to the park with a rubber ball and a miniature bat. Nick is not quite three but he knows the names of all the Phillies starters and he knows the area around home plate is not supposed to be covered with jagged pieces of brown glass. Like a good dad I warn him not to touch it and we decide to establish a new home plate closer to the mound (there’s no trash can handy). “Who put that glass there?” Nick wants to know and to make a long story short I say “Bad People.” Nick says “Bad? How come?”
2.Mark Halliday wrote this poem 3.This poem is about two "bad people" 4. This poem makes me feel sorry for thre parents because how they act, and there living conditions. 5. the poet says Kenny and Jack are 'a**holes"
►▲◄▼Failure▼►▲◄ By A.E. Stallings b. 1968 A.E. Stallings
You humble in. It's just as you remember: The sallow walls, formica counter top,
The circular argument of time beneath Fluorescent flickering—doubt, faith, and doubt.
She knows you've been to see the gilded girl Who's always promising and walking out
With someone else. She knew that you'd return, With nothing in your pockets but your fists.
Why do you resist? When will you learn That this is what your weary dreams are of—
Succumbing to Her unconditional love?
☼ A.E. Stallings wrote the poem. ♪ He is a failure. The nature of failure that is surrounding him knows that he is come to see the "gilded girl" (meaning he wants to see wealth and privilege in his life, but has failed. Wealth seems to almost be promised to him, but it walks out of his life. (He never seems to gain or receive that "gilded girl"). He considers himself as a failure because of his "circular motion of decision" (doubt, then faith, then doubt). But yet, leaving, only to return with nothing in his pockets "but his fists", and no wealth. ♫ It makes me feel like I don't want to take the same life path as him. I don't want to keep chasing faith to only catch doubt. ☼ `sallow walls | `formica counter top | `nothing in your pockets but your fists | circular argument of time beneath | Fluorescent flickering
It happened in Physics, reading a Library art book under the desk, (the lesson was Archimedes I recall) I turned a page and fell for an older man, and anonymous at that, hardly ideal— he was four hundred and forty five, I was fourteen. “Eureka!” streaked each thought (I prayed no-one would hear) and Paradise all term was page 179 (I prayed no-one would guess). Of course my fingers, sticky with toffee and bliss failed to entice him from his century; his cool grey stare fastened me firmly in mine. I got six overdues, suspension of borrowing rights and a D in Physics but had by heart what Archimedes proves. Ten years later I married: a European with cool grey eyes, a moustache, pigskin gloves.
3) the person that wrote this peom was Jan Owen. 4)this poem is about a women that fell in love with an old man, and becuase she didnt pay attention in class she got a D in physics. later on she married a old man. 5) it makes me confused because why would a teenager like a old man...Ewww 6) she described his hair,eyes, and moustache. she also described he sticky fingers.
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
3.Christina Rossetti wrote this poem. 4. This poem is about remembering someone after they are gone. 5. It makes me think about my grandmother. After I read this I sat and remembered her. 6. She describes the things you could remember of a person after they are gone.
1/2....it's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye it's funny how good memories can start to make you cry it's funny how forever never seems to last it's funny how much you'd lose if you forgot about your past it's funny how “friends” can just leave when you are down it's funny how when you need someone they never are around it's funny how people change and think they're so much better it's funny how many lies are packed into one “love letter” it's funny how one night can contain so much regret it's funny how you can forgive but not forget it's funny how ironic life turns out to be but the funniest part of all, is none of thats funny to me
3.arianna loshnowsky 4.its about how soe stuff is funny but it really isn't 5.it makes me feel that i can connect to what they are saying and how they feel about situations 6.She Mainly Just Uses Funny In The Poem
You must come to them sideways In rooms webbed in shadow, Sneak a view of their emptiness Without them catching A glimpse of you in return.
The secret is, Even the empty bed is a burden to them, A pretense. They are more themselves keeping The company of a blank wall, The company of time and eternity
Which, begging your pardon, Cast no image As they admire themselves in the mirror, While you stand to the side Pulling a hanky out To wipe your brow surreptitiously.
3. the poem was written by Charles Simic 4.the poem is about emptiness and loneliness. self reflection more-so than the other themes. 5.it makes me feel quiet and lonely in a way. makes me want to avoid lonesome situations and seize the day. 6.webbed in shadow, emptiness, a blank wall, cast no image, surreptitiously.
Almost Nowhere in the World, as Far as Anyone Can tell It is pleasant, very pleasant, to sit at a wooden booth surrounded by parrots, wheels, right-turning conch shells, the victory banner and the endless knot, the lotus, the treasure vase, the golden fishes— is this not so? Is it not pleasant to sip Tsingtao beer, or Zhujiang, or Yanjing, and tap your fingers on the bamboo mats? After we’ve drunk enough, there will be Buddhist Delight, Mongolian beef side dishes, a whole host of sauces, even some pizza and chicken wings if children are present, as well as the small ice-cream machine, lotus paste, pears, smiles and bows all around. It is pleasant, is it not, to linger outside the door that opens to the parking lot of this small strip mall beside this secondary road and look upon the scattered cars all come to rest here like boats in China, floating on a quiet evening tide. 3.the poem was written by dick allen 4.the poem is about someone being places in the world. 5.it makes me feel kinda happy because that person is exploring the world. 6.like a boat in china,surround by parrots,and the victory banner and endless knot.
love is more thicker than forget more thinner than recall more seldom than a wave is wet more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly and less it shall unbe than all the sea which only is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win less never than alive less bigger than the least begin less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly and more it cannot die than all the sky which only is higher than the sky
3.E.E Cummings 4. love is thicker than more things,and better than most 5.It makes me feel like love is more than what we think.It has a deeper meaning ,and love is a great feeling. 6.deeper than the sea,is higher than the sky, more seldom than a wet wave.
The Kiss
ReplyDeleteBy 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, 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.
this peom is By Neil Carpathios
it is talking about how great of an experience that this kiss was that he had with this person.
it gives you the images, of how great it was and he uses many metaphors, to show how intense ti was.
End of Summer
ReplyDeleteAn agitation of the air,
A perturbation of the light
Admonished me the unloved year
Would turn on its hinge that night.
I stood in the disenchanted field
Amid the stubble and the stones,
Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
Blue poured into summer blue,
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
That part of my life was over.
Already the iron door of the north
Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
Order their populations forth,
And a cruel wind blows.
3.By Stanley Kunitz
4.It's about fall and it being the end of summer.
5.It makes me feel that the summer is the best season of the year.
6.It gives me images of the birds, leaves, and the wind blowing.
And if every step taken is a step well-lived but a foot
ReplyDeletetowards death, every pilgrimage a circle, every flight-path
the tracing of a sphere: I will give myself over and over.
I have migrated through Carpathians of sorrow
to myself heaped happy in the corner there.
Nothing seemed strange in the world, you’ll understand—
nothing ever more would. Monkey Boy came to me saying
Look—the moon of the moon. The little one circled the big one.
He crouched in the palm of my hand, tiny, sincere,
pointing at the sky. There was something sad about him.
The python was nothing, nothing at all, nothing
but strength shed to suppleness, nothing but will
encased in itself. The python was a muscle of thought.
Coiled and mute, in a place where nothing but rain fell,
the python thought: this is the beginning or end of the world.
The python was everywhere, everywhere at once, aware
only too much of that ageless agony: its existence.
I am tired, it said; and the stream burbled by.
I am waiting for the recoil, the uncoil, coil of night,
coil of stars, coil of the coldness of the water.
The python said Who are these people?
The whole city sweated, moved like a limb. The air
fitted like a glove two sizes too small and too many
singers sang the banal. The bars roared all night.
The kite hawks grew ashamed. All nature squirmed.
In the yellow time of pollen there’s a certain slant of light
that devours the afternoon, and you would wait forever
at the Gare de l’Est, if time stood still, if she would come.
She is the leopard then, its silvery speed; where will you
wrestle her, and in what shadows, and on what crumpled sheets?
And all those sheets were pampas and savannas, the soft expanses
of all that would be absent forever, all that was
past, and future, and not here. And in a white rose
there were not to be found any secrets, since in its unfolding
there was no centre, nor in its decay. Only the random petals fallen.
In the yellow time of poppies when the fields were ablaze
those invisible pollens rained around us.
The days held us lightlocked in golden surrender
and all night long the night shot stars.
When my chest unconstricted at last, did yours?
The real issue, of course, was this: atomically, energetically,
everything was wave function. And a wave continues forever into space,
the wavelength never alters, only the intensity lessens, so
in the worst cosmic way everything is connected by vibrations.
And this, as even a dog would know, is no consolation.
Ah but the dogs will save us all in the end & even the planet.
Not the superdogs but the household friendlies, always
eager to please, hysterically fond, incessant, carrying in the very
wagging of their tales an unbounded love not even
therapists could imagine; their forgiveness unhinges us.
We were reduced to this: this day and night,
primary gold and indigo, the binary profusion
of distances guessed at, heat and cold, colours
logged in the retina and lodged in the spine;
we were dogs who knew the infinite is now,
that celandine was buttercup, that buttercup was marigold.
The dog star marked the dog days and the wild rose
was dog rose. The crow’s-foot was wild hyacinth.
By day the correspondences were clear.
I walked across the whin land. Speedwell bluer than sky.
A practised ear could hear, between two breaths,
deep space wherein the mind collects itself.
Words foundered and cracked. Nearly
never bulled the cow. A shining isomorphousness
rang out. The roussignol sang all night.
All colours were shuffled endlessly but never lost.
A practised ear could hear, between two breaths,
the secret blackness of the snow
come flooding in. On summer’s lawns
the ice-melt sprayed its figure-eights from sprinklers.
3. LUKE DAVIDS
4.every step you take you learn from it
5.it make me feel more wise
6.words like the dappled light
To a Child
ReplyDeleteBY SOPHIE JEWETT 1861–1909
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,
Sence you went away:
ReplyDeleteSeems lak to me de stars don't shine so bright,
Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light,
Seems lak to me der's nothin' goin' right,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me de sky ain't half so blue,
Seems lak to me dat eve'ything wants you,
Seems lak to me I don't know what to do,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me dat eve'ything is wrong,
Seems lak to me de day's jes twice ez long,
Seems lak to me de bird's forgot his song,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me I jes can't he’p but sigh,
Seems lak to me ma th’oat keeps gittin’ dry,
Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye,
Sence you went away.
Third: By James Weldon Johnson
Forth: The poem is about a person perspective of the world is different because their spouse went away.
Five: This poem speaks to me, I felt just like the person who ever wrote this poem.
Lastly: Words are shine, blue, half, and dry.
The Thanksgivings
ReplyDeleteBy Harriet Maxwell Converse
We who are here present thank the Great Spirit that we are here
to praise Him.
We thank Him that He has created men and women, and ordered
that these beings shall always be living to multiply the earth.
We thank Him for making the earth and giving these beings its products
to live on.
We thank Him for the water that comes out of the earth and runs
for our lands.
We thank Him for all the animals on the earth.
We thank Him for certain timbers that grow and have fluids coming
from them for us all.
We thank Him for the branches of the trees that grow shadows
for our shelter.
We thank Him for the beings that come from the west, the thunder
and lightning that water the earth.
We thank Him for the light which we call our oldest brother, the sun
that works for our good.
We thank Him for all the fruits that grow on the trees and vines.
We thank Him for his goodness in making the forests, and thank
all its trees.
We thank Him for the darkness that gives us rest, and for the kind Being
of the darkness that gives us light, the moon.
We thank Him for the bright spots in the skies that give us signs,
the stars.
We give Him thanks for our supporters, who had charge of our harvests.
We give thanks that the voice of the Great Spirit can still be heard
through the words of Ga-ne-o-di-o.
We thank the Great Spirit that we have the privilege of this pleasant
occasion.
We give thanks for the persons who can sing the Great Spirit's music,
and hope they will be privileged to continue in his faith.
We thank the Great Spirit for all the persons who perform the ceremonies
on this occasion.
3. This poem was written by Harriet Maxwell Converse.
4. This poem is about thanking the Great Spirit for all it has done for the Earth and for the people on the Earth.
5. This poem makes me feel even better about thanksgiving. It also makes me even more grateful about the Earth and the people on the Earth.
6. The words in the poem that evoke feelings are: thanks, created, shadows, grow, darkness, sing, Great Spirit, occasion, privileged, light, shelter, goodness, animals, lands
The Kiss By Neil Carpathios
ReplyDeleteBy 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, 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
This poem was writen by Neil Carpathios. The poem is about the feeling that he got when he kissed a certain person.It makes me feel like nothing can compare to being with a special someone. in my mind I say images, images of different things dealing with love, the words like passion, blossoming,and the sentence, " How stone,implying permanence, 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" help me see a lot of different vivid images.
1. Light bulbs on a birthday cake.
ReplyDeleteWhat a difference that would make!
Plug it in and make a wish,
then relax and flip a switch!
No more smoke
or waxy mess
to bother any birthday guests.
But Grandpa says, “it’s not the same!
Where’s the magic?
Where’s the flame?
To get your wish without a doubt,
You need to blow some candles out!”
2. This poem is by Calef Brown.
3. This poem is about when kids must make a wish before they blow their birthday candle out. It means to make a wish before blowing out birthday candles.
4. This poem makes feel like a little kid. It makes me go back in time for when I was a little kid and I didn’t want to blow out my birthday candles. I just wanted to eat the cake.
5. The words that the poet used that gives me imagery was; flame, smoke, wish, and cake. This poem gives me a picture of kids celebrating somebody’s birthday.
1.Thanksgiving Day
ReplyDeleteOver the river and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river and through the wood--
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river and through the wood,
To have first-rate play.
Hear the bells ring,
"Ting-a-ling-ding!"
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate.
We seem to go
Extremely slow--
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the wood--
Now grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!
3.This poem is by L.Maria Child
4.This poem is about going to grandma's house for thanksgiving.
5.This poem makes me feel like im going to my grandparents house for thanksgiving.
6.The words that the poet use that gives me imagery is: white and drifted snow, river, barn-yard gate, pumpkin pie
A Deserter
ReplyDeleteBY CHARLES REZNIKOFF
Their new landlord was a handsome man. On his rounds to
collect rent she became friendly.
Finally, she asked him in to have a cup of tea. After that he
came often.
Once his mouth jerked, and turning, she saw her husband in
the doorway.
She thought, One of the neighbors must have told him.
She smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but could say
nothing.
Her husband stood looking at the floor. He turned and went
away.
She lay awake all night waiting for him.
In the morning she went to his store. It was closed.
She sent for his brothers and told them he had not been home.
They went to the police. Hospitals and morgues were
searched. For weeks they were called to identify drowned
men.
His business had been prosperous; bank account and all were
untouched. She and their baby girl were provided for.
In a few years they heard of him. He was dead.
He had been making a poor living in a far off city. One day he
stepped in front of a street-car and was killed.
She married again. Her daughter married and had children.
She named none after her father.
Number 3: The author of this poem is Charles Rezinkoff
Number 4: This poem is about a woman who " became friendly" with her knew landlord.One time her husband walked in and saw her with him and left. He never came back.
Number 5: This poem makes me think about how fate can play a very important role in all of our lives.Some may even go as far as to say that fate controls everything.
Number 6: I think that the phrases like "his mouth jerked," and "her husband stood looking at the floor" create a picture in my mind of the woman's husband standing defeated and ashamed then turning and leaving and killing himself.
2.The week in August you come home,
ReplyDeleteadult, professional, aloof,
we roast and carve the fatted calf
—in our case home-grown pig, the chine
garlicked and crisped, the applesauce
hand-pressed. Hand-pressed the greengage wine.
Nothing is cost-effective here.
The peas, the beets, the lettuces
hand sown, are raised to stand apart.
The electric fence ticks like the slow heart
of something we fed and bedded for a year,
then killed with kindness’s one bullet
and paid Jake Mott to do the butchering.
In winter we lure the birds with suet,
thaw lungs and kidneys for the cat.
Darlings, it’s all a circle from the ring
of wire that keeps the raccoons from the corn
to the gouged pine table that we lounge around,
distressed before any of you was born.
Benign and dozy from our gluttonies,
the candles down to stubs, defenses down,
love leaking out unguarded the way
juice dribbles from the fence when grounded
by grass stalks or a forgotten hoe,
how eloquent, how beautiful you seem!
Wearing our gestures, how wise you grow,
ballooning to overfill our space,
the almost-parents of your parents now.
So briefly having you back to measure us
is harder than having let you go
3. Maxine w. kumin wrote this poem.
4. This poem is about how the feasts of thanksgiving brings families together and how great the food is.
5. This poem makes me think about the time my grandmother made sweet potatoes and greens and turkey. it also reminds me of the time that I watched football on thanksgiving and ate a great meal.
6.garlicked and crisped,Hand-pressed the greengage wine,The peas, the beets, the lettuces,The electric fence ticks like the slow heart,killed with kindness’s one bullet
and paid Jake Mott to do the butchering.
By freezing passion at its blossoming
ReplyDeleteperhaps 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, 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.
This poem was written by the wonderful, Neil Carpathios.This poem is abouttwo lovers who say what they thing love is and what love is like. This poem makes me feel as if I am in love and makes me want to share this feeling with another person. This poem evokes imagery by describing how ice melts,and by making me picture a leaf blowing in the wind on a branch.
kirby said..
ReplyDeleteAnd did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
3.the person who wrote this poem is named William Blake.
4.This poem is about the holy lamb of god.
5.The poem makes me feel like reading the bible and see if anything the artist said is true.
6.I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
In the yellow time of pollen, in the blue time of lilacs,
ReplyDeletein the green that would balance on the wide green world,
air filled with flux, world-in-a-belly
in the blue lilac weather, she had written a letter:
You came into my life really fast and I liked it.
When we let go the basket of the good-luck birds
the sky erupted open in the hail of its libation;
there was a gap and we entered it gladly. Indeed the birds
may have broken the sky and we, soaked, squelched
in the mud of our joy, braided with wet-thighed surrender.
In the yellow time of pollen near the blue time of lilacs
there was a gap in things. And here we are.
The sparrows flew away so fast a camera could not catch them.
The monkey swung between our arms and said I am, hooray,
the monkey of all events, the great gibbon of convergences.
We were falling towards each other already
and the utter abandon to orbits was delicious.
The falcon rested on the little man’s arm and falconry
was the High Path of the World. Whole minutes passed.
We were falling and the jungle fell with us.
She said I came, I came to my senses really fast
and you liked it. I was surrounded by the fluttering
of wings, nothing but a whirring in my ears,
and the whole earth tilted and I lost my reason.
For a time falconry was the high path of the world.
At night the sky was filled with animals.
Ganesh loomed large among those points of light.
He said Change! and we said Lord we are ready
to bend. Thou art the high exalted most flexible.
He said Then I will enter into your very dreams.
And the yellow-tailed black cockatoo, ablaze
in his own musculature, soared all night above the sunlit
fields of whisky grass that stretched inside me
to a river’s edge. The great bird cawed its majesty,
a sonic boom; and even I was barely welcome there.
There was a gap in things; and all the lilacs bloomed.
Words split in our grasp. We were licking the cream
from the universal ice. Words foundered and cracked.
How the bonnet was warm on your bottom! And the metal
continued tick-ticking though the engine was off.
And the evening shuddered, since everything is connected.
I was licking the cream from the universal saucer.
I was all of Cheshire and points between.
You saw the great sky turn blacker, you saw the spray of stars
and your hair got tangled in the windscreen wiper.
At the hot ponds we stripped as night closed in.
I secretly admired your underwear, your long
elusive legs. In the spring where we lay side by side
we held hands. Up above the steam the sky. I said
That one is called Sirius or Dog Star, but only here on Earth.
And when since the stories foretold it we parted,
those birds were all released again. Such buoyancy.
They go on forever like that. How else to say thank you
in a foreign place? We are ever in the arms of our exile,
forever going one way and the other
though sometimes of course on a sphere that is not so bad.
I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day,
on the surface of intention, word becoming act.
We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales,
where the snows come from, where the waters begin.
In the yellow time of pollen when the fields were ablaze
we were very near bewildered by beauty.
The sky was a god-bee that hummed. All the air boomed
with that thunder. It was both for the prick
and the nectar we drank that we gave ourselves over.
Who wrote the poem: Luke Davis
The poem is about a portal to a new world and nature.
It makes me feel messed up
Sky, Birds,Colors.
Editing the Moon
ReplyDeleteBy Caroline Caddy
Be precise
authority is magic.
When you think you've got it straight
wax wane declination
feel the movement under your hand
one summer morning
as you observe it set
then rise that night.
Always use a well-sharpened pencil
followed by a good eraser.
Watch the white emerge.
1. Caroline Cadyy wrote the poem.
2. This poem is about drawing the moon and how to do it.
3. This poem makes me feel happy inside because the moon is such a beautiful thing to watch.
4. The word she uses to express imagery is emerge and declination.
Playa Colorada
ReplyDeleteIt was a beach
like all beaches, only perhaps more beautiful.
And the sand was pink not red.
We would arrive in caravans,
hampers overflowing with food and drink
like Aziz and his party on the way to Malabar.
The colonials and their servants away on an outing.
We would stop under thatch umbrellas,
towels and tablecloths spread out against the sea.
My mother in her skirted swim suit
surrounded by fathers of other children,
her olive skin lit through her straw hat.
They would laugh and drink beer
and leer
while the children did the usual beach things,
boring futile tunnels to China, running
at waves and then away,
daring each other to be swallowed.
I would go out by the forbidden rocks and pick off oysters,
then give them to the men to pry open,
cover with lime juice and suck dry.
Once, I saw my mother sucking
an oyster out of another daddy’s hand.
Her dappled face bobbed and smiled and her tongue
searched the shell for pearls.
3.Peg Boyers Wrote The Poem
4. This poem is about a girl or a boy telling a story about how they where outside and at a beach and everything was going goo and they where having a great time. They saw there dad and mother having a very great time in the outdoors and doing fun things at the beach.
5.This poem makes me feel like a person who wants to be outdoors right now. It is a very wonderful poem. I really wanna go to the beach right now in have a great time with my family and eat oyster and have fun. Then when the said the sand was pink not red that just made me melt and i wanna go see what color the sand really is now.
6. The words that she had use in the poem was Caravans, skirted swim suit,olive skin,forbidden rocks. Then there are a lot more but these words made it and imagery poem.
mines is at the top Peg Boyers
ReplyDeleteRobert Corker said...
ReplyDeleteBefore Christmas
By Landis Everson 1926–2007 Landis Everson
Almost
the first reindeer
shipped North by boxcar from Lapland
but a toy model
got there first.
A dwarf invented reindeer on his own.
He was Santa’s favorite. He
hadn't known
they already existed.
This discouraged dwarf
was close to taking his life but
Santa showed up
encircled by snow.
He said, “I will use the real reindeer for my sled
always in yoke
to your original invention.”
That night the gears that turned the Pole
stopped
and began to turn the other way,
so it be so.
My love is a toy model waiting
for a reindeer to carry me.
3.landis everson
4. this poem is about a man's love being compared to Christmas
5. this poem makes me feel for the guy
6.dwarf, santa ,snow,reindeer
I wish I could remember that first day,
ReplyDeleteFirst hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!
3.The author of the poem was Christina Rossetti
4. It is about how someone is trying to remember their first meeting of their first love ,but cannot recall .
5. It makes me feel sad/good.Sad because no one wants to forget their first meeting of their first love.Good because
i am still able to remember that moment in my life.
6.The words that the poet used to evoke imagery was blind,dull,thaw of bygone snow,and blossom.
Youth and Art
ReplyDeleteBy Robert Browning 1812–1889
It once might have been, once only:
We lodged in a street together,
You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely,
I, a lone she-bird of his feather.
Your trade was with sticks and clay,
You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished,
Then laughed "They will see some day
Smith made, and Gibson demolished."
My business was song, song, song;
I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered,
"Kate Brown's on the boards ere long,
And Grisi's existence embittered!"
I earned no more by a warble
Than you by a sketch in plaster;
You wanted a piece of marble,
I needed a music-master.
We studied hard in our styles,
Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos,
For air looked out on the tiles,
For fun watched each other's windows.
You lounged, like a boy of the South,
Cap and blouse—nay, a bit of beard too;
Or you got it, rubbing your mouth
With fingers the clay adhered to.
And I—soon managed to find
Weak points in the flower-fence facing,
Was forced to put up a blind
And be safe in my corset-lacing.
No harm! It was not my fault
If you never turned your eye's tail up
As I shook upon E in alt,
Or ran the chromatic scale up:
For spring bade the sparrows pair,
And the boys and girls gave guesses,
And stalls in our street looked rare
With bulrush and watercresses.
Why did not you pinch a flower
In a pellet of clay and fling it?
Why did not I put a power
Of thanks in a look, or sing it?
I did look, sharp as a lynx,
(And yet the memory rankles,)
When models arrived, some minx
Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles.
But I think I gave you as good!
"That foreign fellow,—who can know
How she pays, in a playful mood,
For his tuning her that piano?"
Could you say so, and never say
"Suppose we join hands and fortunes,
And I fetch her from over the way,
Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?"
No, no: you would not be rash,
Nor I rasher and something over:
You've to settle yet Gibson's hash,
And Grisi yet lives in clover.
But you meet the Prince at the Board,
I'm queen myself at bals-paré,
I've married a rich old lord,
And you're dubbed knight and an R.A.
Each life unfulfilled, you see;
It hangs still, patchy and scrappy:
We have not sighed deep, laughed free,
Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.
And nobody calls you a dunce,
And people suppose me clever:
This could but have happened once,
And we missed it, lost it for ever.
3.Robert Browning wrote this poem. He , being an author lived in the 1880's, and he was known for many romantic poems.
4.This poem is about seeing love for the first time. He believes that no matter what, if you find love, it will be seen.
5.It makes me feel rather humble about finding love. It gives love a new meaning to a first love,because he compares and contrasts art and the youth of love.
6.He uses words like lone, chirped, tweeted, playful, laugh which evoke his playful imagery of the his love for art from today's youth.
The Night City
ReplyDeleteUnmet 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.The poem is about someone who was late getting to his building
5.It makes me feel like im in the poem (interesting)
6.The words that evoke the poem are: Euston under iron empty shouting dream
1. The guys who drank quarts of Busch last night
ReplyDeletehere by the backstop of this baseball diamond
had names given them by their mothers and fathers—
“Jack” and “Kenny” let us say.
Jack might be
a skinny guy in a black fake-leather jacket,
he’s twenty-five, his gray pants are too loose on his hips,
his jaws always have these little black extra hairs,
his mother won’t talk to him on the phone,
she lives on french fries and ketchup,
he hasn’t been able to send her any cash
in the last two years, ever since he lost
his job unloading produce trucks at Pathmark;
Jack’s father disappeared when he was ten.
“No big deal,” Jack says, “he was a bastard anyway,
he used to flatten beer cans on the top of my head.”
Kenny offers a laugh-noise. He’s heard all that before.
Kenny is forty-eight, a flabby man with reddened skin,
he is employed at the Italian Market selling fish
just four hours a day but his shirts hold the smell;
his female companion Deena left him a note last month:
“You owe me $12 chocolate $31 wine $55 cable TV plus
donuts—I have had it—taking lamp and mirror
they are mine.” Kenny hasn’t seen her since.
He hangs with Jack because Jack talks loud
as if the world of cops and people with full-time jobs
could be kept at bay by talking, talking loud . . .
(I’m talking gently and imaginatively here
as if the world of bums and jerks could be kept far off—)
Jack and Kenny. (Or two other guys dark to me with wounds
oozing in Philadelphia ways less ready to narrate.)
Last night at midnight they got cheesesteaks at Casseloni’s
and bought four quarts at the Fireside Tavern
and wandered into this park. After one quart of Busch
Jack said he was Lenny Dykstra
and found a stick for his bat. “Pitch to me asshole” he said
so Kenny went to the mound and pitched his bottle
for want of anything better and Jack swung in the dark and missed;
Kenny’s bottle smashed on home plate and Jack heard in the sound
the absurdity of all his desiring since seventh grade,
absurdity of a skinny guy who blew everything since seventh
when he hit home runs and chased Joan Rundle around the gym
so Jack took his own empty bottle and smashed it down
amid the brown shards of Kenny’s bottle.
Then they leaned on the backstop to drink the other two quarts
and they both grew glum and silent
and when they smashed these bottles it was like
what else would they do? Next morning
Nick and I come to the park with a rubber ball
and a miniature bat. Nick is not quite three
but he knows the names of all the Phillies starters
and he knows the area around home plate is not supposed to be
covered with jagged pieces of brown glass. Like a good dad
I warn him not to touch it and we decide to establish
a new home plate closer to the mound (there’s no trash can
handy). “Who put that glass there?” Nick wants to know
and to make a long story short I say “Bad People.”
Nick says “Bad? How come?”
2.Mark Halliday wrote this poem
3.This poem is about two "bad people"
4. This poem makes me feel sorry for thre parents because how they act, and there living conditions.
5. the poet says Kenny and Jack are 'a**holes"
►▲◄▼Failure▼►▲◄
ReplyDeleteBy A.E. Stallings b. 1968 A.E. Stallings
You humble in. It's just as you remember:
The sallow walls, formica counter top,
The circular argument of time beneath
Fluorescent flickering—doubt, faith, and doubt.
She knows you've been to see the gilded girl
Who's always promising and walking out
With someone else. She knew that you'd return,
With nothing in your pockets but your fists.
Why do you resist? When will you learn
That this is what your weary dreams are of—
Succumbing to Her unconditional love?
☼ A.E. Stallings wrote the poem.
♪ He is a failure. The nature of failure that is surrounding him knows that he is come to see the "gilded girl" (meaning he wants to see wealth and privilege in his life, but has failed. Wealth seems to almost be promised to him, but it walks out of his life. (He never seems to gain or receive that "gilded girl"). He considers himself as a failure because of his "circular motion of decision" (doubt, then faith, then doubt). But yet, leaving, only to return with nothing in his pockets "but his fists", and no wealth.
♫ It makes me feel like I don't want to take the same life path as him. I don't want to keep chasing faith to only catch doubt.
☼ `sallow walls | `formica counter top | `nothing in your pockets but your fists | circular argument of time beneath | Fluorescent flickering
2)First Love
ReplyDeleteBy Jan Owen
It happened in Physics,
reading a Library art book under the desk,
(the lesson was Archimedes I recall)
I turned a page and fell
for an older man, and anonymous at that,
hardly ideal—
he was four hundred and forty five,
I was fourteen.
“Eureka!” streaked each thought
(I prayed no-one would hear)
and Paradise all term
was page 179
(I prayed no-one would guess).
Of course
my fingers, sticky with toffee and bliss
failed to entice him from his century;
his cool grey stare
fastened me firmly in mine.
I got six overdues,
suspension of borrowing rights
and a D in Physics
but had by heart what Archimedes proves.
Ten years later I married:
a European with cool grey eyes,
a moustache,
pigskin gloves.
3) the person that wrote this peom was Jan Owen.
4)this poem is about a women that fell in love with an old man, and becuase she didnt pay attention in class she got a D in physics. later on she married a old man.
5) it makes me confused because why would a teenager like a old man...Ewww
6) she described his hair,eyes, and moustache. she also described he sticky fingers.
Remember me when I am gone away,
ReplyDeleteGone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
3.Christina Rossetti wrote this poem.
4. This poem is about remembering someone after they are gone.
5. It makes me think about my grandmother. After I read this I sat and remembered her.
6. She describes the things you could remember of a person after they are gone.
1/2....it's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye
ReplyDeleteit's funny how good memories can start to make you cry
it's funny how forever never seems to last
it's funny how much you'd lose if you forgot about your past
it's funny how “friends” can just leave when you are down
it's funny how when you need someone they never are around
it's funny how people change and think they're so much better
it's funny how many lies are packed into one “love letter”
it's funny how one night can contain so much regret
it's funny how you can forgive but not forget
it's funny how ironic life turns out to be
but the funniest part of all, is none of thats funny to me
3.arianna loshnowsky
4.its about how soe stuff is funny but it really isn't
5.it makes me feel that i can connect to what they are saying and how they feel about situations
6.She Mainly Just Uses Funny In The Poem
Mirrors at 4 a.m.
ReplyDeleteYou must come to them sideways
In rooms webbed in shadow,
Sneak a view of their emptiness
Without them catching
A glimpse of you in return.
The secret is,
Even the empty bed is a burden to them,
A pretense.
They are more themselves keeping
The company of a blank wall,
The company of time and eternity
Which, begging your pardon,
Cast no image
As they admire themselves in the mirror,
While you stand to the side
Pulling a hanky out
To wipe your brow surreptitiously.
3. the poem was written by Charles Simic
4.the poem is about emptiness and loneliness. self reflection more-so than the other themes.
5.it makes me feel quiet and lonely in a way. makes me want to avoid lonesome situations and seize the day.
6.webbed in shadow, emptiness, a blank wall, cast no image, surreptitiously.
Almost Nowhere in the World, as Far as Anyone Can tell
ReplyDeleteIt is pleasant, very pleasant, to sit at a wooden booth
surrounded by parrots, wheels, right-turning conch shells,
the victory banner and the endless knot,
the lotus, the treasure vase, the golden fishes—
is this not so? Is it not pleasant
to sip Tsingtao beer, or Zhujiang, or Yanjing,
and tap your fingers on the bamboo mats?
After we’ve drunk enough, there will be Buddhist Delight,
Mongolian beef side dishes, a whole host of sauces,
even some pizza and chicken wings if children are present,
as well as the small ice-cream machine, lotus paste, pears,
smiles and bows all around. It is pleasant, is it not,
to linger outside the door that opens to the parking lot
of this small strip mall beside this secondary road
and look upon the scattered cars all come to rest here
like boats in China, floating on a quiet evening tide.
3.the poem was written by dick allen
4.the poem is about someone being places in the world.
5.it makes me feel kinda happy because that person is exploring the world.
6.like a boat in china,surround by parrots,and the victory banner and endless knot.
Rain
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.
3. Kazim Ali wrote the Poem.
4. This poem is about a man who is crying really hard because he misses a love that he had in the past.
5. The poem makes me feel sad for him because he misses someone that he loved a lot.
6. The words that Kazim Ali use in his poem that evoke imagery are: ink, notebook, soak, sky, dark bowl, window, tremble, night, and rain.
Love is more thicker than forget...
ReplyDeletelove is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
3.E.E Cummings
4. love is thicker than more things,and better than most
5.It makes me feel like love is more than what we think.It has a deeper meaning ,and love is a great feeling.
6.deeper than the sea,is higher than the sky, more seldom than a wet wave.