Hi this is Sindu and this is a poem that i created about my horrible grade one teacher
The Ballad of my Grade One Teacher
She looks like a perfect blond Barbie doll
As she throws open the door
On her face is a fake painted smile
My heart drops on the cold floor
All the parents love her to death
But she looks like a monster to me
I tremble with fear as the hag comes near
I dread that I might go pee.
Now Ms.McFegg was from Winnipeg, where the polar bears still roam.
When she came to Toronto to teach little kids I’m sure she missed home.
Always so mean, she made us scream and we wanted to hide under chairs.
When her face went red we knew that she was about to grab some little kid by the hairs.
Each day at snack time, Ms. McFegg carted out her horrid moldy cheese.
Unhappily, we forced it down our gullets in order to please.
If we closed our eyes, we’d get a surprise when she’d smack us on the head.
It wasn’t much fun in Grade One because she treated us so meanly
As we packed to go we could hear her say, “I’ll get you tomorrow.”
I cried to my mom, and I sucked my thumb dreading my school day sorrow.
She turned to me and said with glee, “It’s just the first day of school.”
I said, “You’re right, my imagination has made me act the fool.”
She looks like a perfect blond Barbie doll
As she throws open the door
On her face is a fake painted smile
My heart drops on the cold floor
All the parents love her to death
But she looks like a monster to me
I tremble with fear as the hag comes near
I dread that I might go pee.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Poem
Here is a random poem I found randomly on the internet, have fun with it!
Take my hand this way we'll go,
Said the man above,
I'll take you to a place of joy,
Where you will find true love,
If you let go, go on your own,
But mistakes you will make,
For many other ways there are,
Which you are sure to take,
When you feel that you are lost,
All you have to do is pray,
And I'll be there once again,
To help you on your way,
I did pray and just as said,
He shined his light from above,
That showed me the way down the golden path,
That led me to your love.
- Sonya Turnbow -
Take my hand this way we'll go,
Said the man above,
I'll take you to a place of joy,
Where you will find true love,
If you let go, go on your own,
But mistakes you will make,
For many other ways there are,
Which you are sure to take,
When you feel that you are lost,
All you have to do is pray,
And I'll be there once again,
To help you on your way,
I did pray and just as said,
He shined his light from above,
That showed me the way down the golden path,
That led me to your love.
- Sonya Turnbow -
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Haiku
Hey guys, I know this is after the poetry unit but I liked Caitlin's idea below. So here is a haiku that I wrote just for everyone's own interest and entertainment and I hope this blog can be continued until we graduate (or later)...
A leaf in the wind,
Spinning, twirling, flipping, soars.
Nature's own dancer.
~Jack Gao
A leaf in the wind,
Spinning, twirling, flipping, soars.
Nature's own dancer.
~Jack Gao
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
What happens now?
Mr. G,
After this week (and the poetry unit; and your stay with us) is over, what happens to this blog? Will you still be supervising it? And even if you aren't, can we still post stuff up here? I think some of us are willing to continue and maintain this blog, but maybe that's just my opinion.
~~~
~Caitlin~
After this week (and the poetry unit; and your stay with us) is over, what happens to this blog? Will you still be supervising it? And even if you aren't, can we still post stuff up here? I think some of us are willing to continue and maintain this blog, but maybe that's just my opinion.
~~~
~Caitlin~
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
No To War
Heres a poem inspired by peace and war. It tell the story of a grandfather revealing the scars of war left on him to his grandson
NO TO WAR - Rahul Sharma
SIT DOWN, he said,
I’VE GOT SOMETHING TO SHOW YOU.
As he lifted his head,
He pushed up his sleeve revealing a tattoo.
WHAT’S THAT, I asked
WHEN DID YOU GET IT?
His emotions were masked,
My feelings legit.
He began to tell a story.
Of pain, of suffering, of war.
I sat, I listened too his glory.
His pains were just too hard to ignore.
He told me how he went to war,
At the age of eighteen.
He told me men came to his door,
And how he had to serve his holy Queen.
I WENT AND FOUGHT,
I listened in shame.
TOO KILL, IS WHAT I WAS TAUGHT
Enraged he became.
I DID KILL,
He now was crying.
THE DEATHS, THEY TAUNT ME STILL.
His heart was dying.
READ MY WRIST,
I did just that.
How could they exist,
These scars of combat?
It read:
No to war,
For it is murder.
I wear this scar
Below my shoulder
Remind me of the blood
And the horror
That I have caused in the name of peace
I realized then,
The moral of his vow.
War was then,
Let peace by now.
NO TO WAR - Rahul Sharma
SIT DOWN, he said,
I’VE GOT SOMETHING TO SHOW YOU.
As he lifted his head,
He pushed up his sleeve revealing a tattoo.
WHAT’S THAT, I asked
WHEN DID YOU GET IT?
His emotions were masked,
My feelings legit.
He began to tell a story.
Of pain, of suffering, of war.
I sat, I listened too his glory.
His pains were just too hard to ignore.
He told me how he went to war,
At the age of eighteen.
He told me men came to his door,
And how he had to serve his holy Queen.
I WENT AND FOUGHT,
I listened in shame.
TOO KILL, IS WHAT I WAS TAUGHT
Enraged he became.
I DID KILL,
He now was crying.
THE DEATHS, THEY TAUNT ME STILL.
His heart was dying.
READ MY WRIST,
I did just that.
How could they exist,
These scars of combat?
It read:
No to war,
For it is murder.
I wear this scar
Below my shoulder
Remind me of the blood
And the horror
That I have caused in the name of peace
I realized then,
The moral of his vow.
War was then,
Let peace by now.
The Ocean
hey, Bagavathy here :D
i wrote this haiku, tell me what u think.
The Ocean
The calm, blue, ocean.
Beneath lies many treasures.
Waiting to be found.
Thanx
i wrote this haiku, tell me what u think.
The Ocean
The calm, blue, ocean.
Beneath lies many treasures.
Waiting to be found.
Thanx
Question?
hey! Bagavathy here :D
Just a quick question... can we use parodies in our anthology? If so, do we find our own poems and write parodies of them?
~~~Bagavathy :D
Just a quick question... can we use parodies in our anthology? If so, do we find our own poems and write parodies of them?
~~~Bagavathy :D
Shes Not Just A Pretty Face
Patty again! Guess everyone must be busy with their anthology's! Well...I'm posting up lyrics to a Shania Twain song that I used to listen to a lot when I was smaller.
"She's Not Just A Pretty Face"
(Oh na, na, na)
She hosts a T.V. show--she rides the rodeo
She plays the bass in a band
She's an astronaut--
a valet at the parking lot
A farmer working the land
She is a champion--she gets the gold
She's a ballerina--the star of the show
She's--not--just a pretty face
She's--got--everything it takes
She has a fashion line--
a journalist for "Time"
Coaches a football team
She's a geologist--a romance novelist
She is a mother of three
She is a soldier--she is a wife
She is a surgeon--she'll save your life
She's--not--just a pretty face
She's--got--everything it takes
She's--mother--of the human raceS
he's--not--just a pretty face
Oh, oh, yeah
Oh na, na, na, na.....
She is your waitress--she is your judge--
she is your teacher
She is every woman in the world
Oh, la, la, la
She flies an airplane--she drivese a subway train
At night she pumps gasoline
She's on the council--she's on the board
She's a politician--she praises the Lord
No, she's (she's) not (not)--
just a pretty face
She's (she's) got (got)--everything it takes
She's--not--just a pretty face
She's got everything it takes
She's not just a pretty face
"She's Not Just A Pretty Face"
(Oh na, na, na)
She hosts a T.V. show--she rides the rodeo
She plays the bass in a band
She's an astronaut--
a valet at the parking lot
A farmer working the land
She is a champion--she gets the gold
She's a ballerina--the star of the show
She's--not--just a pretty face
She's--got--everything it takes
She has a fashion line--
a journalist for "Time"
Coaches a football team
She's a geologist--a romance novelist
She is a mother of three
She is a soldier--she is a wife
She is a surgeon--she'll save your life
She's--not--just a pretty face
She's--got--everything it takes
She's--mother--of the human raceS
he's--not--just a pretty face
Oh, oh, yeah
Oh na, na, na, na.....
She is your waitress--she is your judge--
she is your teacher
She is every woman in the world
Oh, la, la, la
She flies an airplane--she drivese a subway train
At night she pumps gasoline
She's on the council--she's on the board
She's a politician--she praises the Lord
No, she's (she's) not (not)--
just a pretty face
She's (she's) got (got)--everything it takes
She's--not--just a pretty face
She's got everything it takes
She's not just a pretty face
Monday, November 12, 2007
Indianapolis/Summer/1969/Poem
Patty here! I found an interesting poem in the library today that I felt was really good. Warning though, the language is a little out there...and don't worry. Mr. G ok'd it. Feedback is loved!
Indianapolis/Summer/1969/Poem
Sonia Sanchez
Patty,
Upon reading this poem a second time I felt the need to take it down. It is a really great poem and I know I okayed it but as a prospective teacher I feel it would be better that your classmates experience the poem via the library as you did (I've left the title and author above), and not here on this blog that I am technically in charge of monitoring. Just covering my ownass bottom.
like.
i mean.
don’t it all come down
to pro/fes/sion/al/is/m.
Sincerely,
Mr. G
Indianapolis/Summer/1969/Poem
Sonia Sanchez
Patty,
Upon reading this poem a second time I felt the need to take it down. It is a really great poem and I know I okayed it but as a prospective teacher I feel it would be better that your classmates experience the poem via the library as you did (I've left the title and author above), and not here on this blog that I am technically in charge of monitoring. Just covering my own
like.
i mean.
don’t it all come down
to pro/fes/sion/al/is/m.
Sincerely,
Mr. G
The World
Henry Vaughan
I saw Eternity the other night,
Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright;
And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,
Driv’n by the spheres
Like a vast shadow mov’d; in which the world
And all her train were hurl’d.
The doting lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain;
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights
Wit’s sour delights;
With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure,
Yet his dear treasure,
All scatter’d lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flow’r.
The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe,
Like a thick midnight-fog, mov’d there so slow,
He did nor stay, nor go;
Condeming thoughts - like sad eclipses - scowl
Upon his soul,
And clouds of crying witnesses withough
Pursued him with one shout.
Yet digg’d the mole, and lest his way be found,
Work’d under ground,
Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see
That policy:
Churches and altars fed him; perjuries
Were gnats and flies;
It rain’d about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.
The fearful miser on a heap of rust
Sate pining all his life there, did scare trust
His own hands with the dust,
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves.
Thousands there were as frantic as himself
And hugg’d each one his pelf;
The downright epicure plac’d heav’n in sense,
And scorn’d pretence;
While others, slipp’d into a wide excess,
Said little less;
The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave,
Who think them bravr;
And poor, despised Truth sate counting by
Their victory.
Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing, and weep, soar’d up into the ring;
But most would use no wing.
O fools – said I – thus to prefer dark night
Before true light!
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day
Because it shows the way;
The way, which from this dead and dark abode
Leads up to God;
A way where you might tread the sun, and be
More bright than he!
But as I did their madness so discuss,
One whisper’d thus,
“This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide,
But for His bride.”
Victoria --> I found this poem in a particularly interesting anthology. This is one of the only poems that actually stirred feeling within me, and I read it more than 2 times the time I found it. I really enjoyed the imagery used by Vaughan here.
Henry Vaughan
I saw Eternity the other night,
Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright;
And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,
Driv’n by the spheres
Like a vast shadow mov’d; in which the world
And all her train were hurl’d.
The doting lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain;
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights
Wit’s sour delights;
With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure,
Yet his dear treasure,
All scatter’d lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flow’r.
The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe,
Like a thick midnight-fog, mov’d there so slow,
He did nor stay, nor go;
Condeming thoughts - like sad eclipses - scowl
Upon his soul,
And clouds of crying witnesses withough
Pursued him with one shout.
Yet digg’d the mole, and lest his way be found,
Work’d under ground,
Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see
That policy:
Churches and altars fed him; perjuries
Were gnats and flies;
It rain’d about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.
The fearful miser on a heap of rust
Sate pining all his life there, did scare trust
His own hands with the dust,
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves.
Thousands there were as frantic as himself
And hugg’d each one his pelf;
The downright epicure plac’d heav’n in sense,
And scorn’d pretence;
While others, slipp’d into a wide excess,
Said little less;
The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave,
Who think them bravr;
And poor, despised Truth sate counting by
Their victory.
Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing, and weep, soar’d up into the ring;
But most would use no wing.
O fools – said I – thus to prefer dark night
Before true light!
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day
Because it shows the way;
The way, which from this dead and dark abode
Leads up to God;
A way where you might tread the sun, and be
More bright than he!
But as I did their madness so discuss,
One whisper’d thus,
“This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide,
But for His bride.”
Victoria --> I found this poem in a particularly interesting anthology. This is one of the only poems that actually stirred feeling within me, and I read it more than 2 times the time I found it. I really enjoyed the imagery used by Vaughan here.
Mountain Peak
Hey guys... This poem written by Felix Lugo and it describes water flowing down a mountain peak. But can that be the whole meaning behind it? I think each person can come up with different opinions on what he is portraying using the mountain/water. Do you still remember metaphors?
tata for now! ~Jessica C.
Mountain Peak
We came together on the highest mountain
on this earth.
As years went by we separated into rivers
from the tears this mountain cried.
We all fell into different rivers flowing though
forests, rocks, and waterfalls.
No matter what season we came across
we continued flowing.
We are rivers that started in the mountains,
and rivers that separated as we went
through
many waterfalls.
Sometimes we travel together,
and other times we travel alone.
Always remember that these same rivers
that travel many miles through the earth
are once again together when it reaches its
final destination
the “Ocean”
So, rivers that started up high in the
mountains
and then separated are unitedagain
as a family.
~Felix Lugo
tata for now! ~Jessica C.
Mountain Peak
We came together on the highest mountain
on this earth.
As years went by we separated into rivers
from the tears this mountain cried.
We all fell into different rivers flowing though
forests, rocks, and waterfalls.
No matter what season we came across
we continued flowing.
We are rivers that started in the mountains,
and rivers that separated as we went
through
many waterfalls.
Sometimes we travel together,
and other times we travel alone.
Always remember that these same rivers
that travel many miles through the earth
are once again together when it reaches its
final destination
the “Ocean”
So, rivers that started up high in the
mountains
and then separated are unitedagain
as a family.
~Felix Lugo
Green Eyed Monster
Hey guys this is Melanie again (OMG i'm actualyy loving this blog thing) anyways i just wrote a free verse poem and am hoping you guys will be critical (please constructive critism) about it. It's called the green eyed monster and i wanted to write it about it after reading my baby cousin the book Berenstien bear which infact was about jealousy....which i and many call the green eyed monster...hope you like it (yn)
The Green Eyed Monster
He lurks everywhere waiting to find
A victim that he can take back to possess the mind
I escaped those monstrous claws,
Those endeavoring green eyes,
The drool dripping from the clenched jaws.
When I opened my mouth I couldn’t hear my cries.
She was attacked by him years ago
As I sat and watched him take my beautiful doe.
She changed the way she acted, spoke and laughed.
With every minute, escaping into a shaft
I see today a soulless creature in her,
He lurked her mind but now lurks to find others
I ask,
Can you leave her alone?
He replies
Can seeds leave a flower?
Can touch leave human?
Can the sun go away forever?
This time I won’t let him escape
I’ll trap him in a wooden gate
This time it’ll be him in my claws
I’ll scratch him till he’s but a thin straw.
This time it’ll be he who cries,
But I’ll suffocate him till he dies.
Then I look around and realize,
Has this green eyed monster multiplied?
~ Melanie ~
The Green Eyed Monster
He lurks everywhere waiting to find
A victim that he can take back to possess the mind
I escaped those monstrous claws,
Those endeavoring green eyes,
The drool dripping from the clenched jaws.
When I opened my mouth I couldn’t hear my cries.
She was attacked by him years ago
As I sat and watched him take my beautiful doe.
She changed the way she acted, spoke and laughed.
With every minute, escaping into a shaft
I see today a soulless creature in her,
He lurked her mind but now lurks to find others
I ask,
Can you leave her alone?
He replies
Can seeds leave a flower?
Can touch leave human?
Can the sun go away forever?
This time I won’t let him escape
I’ll trap him in a wooden gate
This time it’ll be him in my claws
I’ll scratch him till he’s but a thin straw.
This time it’ll be he who cries,
But I’ll suffocate him till he dies.
Then I look around and realize,
Has this green eyed monster multiplied?
~ Melanie ~
Hello!! I just have a quick question- can these be considered as poems?
1) I made this one up.--> Life is the flower in which love is the honey.
2) I got this somewhere.--> I'm a movement by myself, but I'm a force when we're together.
3) I got this one somewhere, also.--> Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.
4) I got this one somewhere, also.--> You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.
ThAnKs,
~~~Bagavathy :D
1) I made this one up.--> Life is the flower in which love is the honey.
2) I got this somewhere.--> I'm a movement by myself, but I'm a force when we're together.
3) I got this one somewhere, also.--> Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.
4) I got this one somewhere, also.--> You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.
ThAnKs,
~~~Bagavathy :D
One day, during an exciting English class, four young, intelligent students, Bagavathy, Charanya, Grace, and Jack, set out to write limericks about their classmates. Below are three limericks. Feel free to comment on the limericks. ENJOY!!!! ***
JACK
There once was a boy named Jack.
Who went to fetch water in a sack.
He looked like a clown,
So Jill pushed him down.
And he fell down and broke his back.
GRACE
There once was a girl named Grace.
Who loved to run and race.
She ran s-o-o-o-o-o fast, And never came last.
And then she fell on her face.
RAHUL
There once was a kid named Rahul.
Who was actually very cool.
He sat behind me,
And drank black coffee.
And he was by no means a fool.
bonjour,
I really enjoyed this poem because of its vivid imagery and uniqueness. It's funny how the simple and mundane things that we pass by in life, like red slippers, often sprak creativity. thanks,
Alisha
Red Slippers
by Amy Lowell
Red slippers in a shop-window; and outside in the street, flaws of gray, windy sleet!
Behind the polished glass the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceiling like stalactites of blood, flooding the eyes of passers-by with dripping color, jamming their crimson reflections against the windows of cabs and tram-cars, screaming their claret and salmon into the teeth of the sleet, plopping their little round maroon lights upon the tops of umbrellas.
The row of white, sparkling shop-fronts is gashed and bleeding, it bleeds red slippers. They spout under the electric light, fluid and fluctuating, a hot rain—and freeze again to red slippers, myriadly multiplied in the mirror side of the window.
They balance upon arched insteps like springing bridges of crimson lacquer; they swing up over curved heels like whirling tanagers sucked in a wind-pocket; they flatten out, heelless, like July ponds, flared and burnished by red rockets.
Snap, snap, they are cracker sparks of scarlet in the white, monotonous block of shops.
They plunge the clangor of billions of vermilion trumpets into the crowd outside, and echo in faint rose over the pavement.
People hurry by, for these are only shoes, and in a window farther down is a big lotus bud of cardboard, whose petals open every few minutes and reveal a wax doll, with staring bead eyes and flaxen hair, lolling awkwardly in its flower chair.
One has often seen shoes, but whoever saw a cardboard lotus bud before?The flaws of gray, windy sleet beat on the shop-window where there are only red slippers.
I really enjoyed this poem because of its vivid imagery and uniqueness. It's funny how the simple and mundane things that we pass by in life, like red slippers, often sprak creativity. thanks,
Alisha
Red Slippers
by Amy Lowell
Red slippers in a shop-window; and outside in the street, flaws of gray, windy sleet!
Behind the polished glass the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceiling like stalactites of blood, flooding the eyes of passers-by with dripping color, jamming their crimson reflections against the windows of cabs and tram-cars, screaming their claret and salmon into the teeth of the sleet, plopping their little round maroon lights upon the tops of umbrellas.
The row of white, sparkling shop-fronts is gashed and bleeding, it bleeds red slippers. They spout under the electric light, fluid and fluctuating, a hot rain—and freeze again to red slippers, myriadly multiplied in the mirror side of the window.
They balance upon arched insteps like springing bridges of crimson lacquer; they swing up over curved heels like whirling tanagers sucked in a wind-pocket; they flatten out, heelless, like July ponds, flared and burnished by red rockets.
Snap, snap, they are cracker sparks of scarlet in the white, monotonous block of shops.
They plunge the clangor of billions of vermilion trumpets into the crowd outside, and echo in faint rose over the pavement.
People hurry by, for these are only shoes, and in a window farther down is a big lotus bud of cardboard, whose petals open every few minutes and reveal a wax doll, with staring bead eyes and flaxen hair, lolling awkwardly in its flower chair.
One has often seen shoes, but whoever saw a cardboard lotus bud before?The flaws of gray, windy sleet beat on the shop-window where there are only red slippers.
Alligator Pie
Alligator pie, alligator pie,
If I don't get some I think I'm gonna die.
Give away the green grass, give away the sky,
But don't give away my alligator pie.
Alligator stew, alligator stew,
If I don't get some I don't know what I'll do.
Give away my furry hat, give away my shoe,
But don't give away my alligator stew.
Alligator soup, alligator soup,
If I don't get some I think I'm gonna droop.
Give away my hockey stick, give away my hoop,
But don't give away my alligator soup.
Hey guys,
This is Hannah. I have loved this poem since i was a kid and i used to read it all the time. This poem is written by Dennis Lee. Tell me what you think of it.
If I don't get some I think I'm gonna die.
Give away the green grass, give away the sky,
But don't give away my alligator pie.
Alligator stew, alligator stew,
If I don't get some I don't know what I'll do.
Give away my furry hat, give away my shoe,
But don't give away my alligator stew.
Alligator soup, alligator soup,
If I don't get some I think I'm gonna droop.
Give away my hockey stick, give away my hoop,
But don't give away my alligator soup.
Hey guys,
This is Hannah. I have loved this poem since i was a kid and i used to read it all the time. This poem is written by Dennis Lee. Tell me what you think of it.
Break Away
Hey! this is Cathy, and i found this poem by Anne Sexton. do u l'adores? :D
Your daisies have comeon the day of my divorce.
They arrive like round yellow fish,
sucking with love at the coral of our love.
Yet they wait, in their short time,
like little utero half-borns,
half killed, thin and bone soft.
Your daisies have comeon the day of my divorce.
They arrive like round yellow fish,
sucking with love at the coral of our love.
Yet they wait, in their short time,
like little utero half-borns,
half killed, thin and bone soft.
Stairway to Heaven
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
And when she gets there she knows if the stores are closed
With a word she can get what she came for
Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
And you know sometimes words have two meanings
In a tree by the brook there's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven
Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west
And my spirit is crying for leaving
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees
And the voices of those who stand looking
Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forest will echo with laughter
And it makes me wonder
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow
Don't be alarmed now
It's just a spring clean for the May Queen
Yes there are two paths you can go by
but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on
Your head is humming and it won't go in case you don't know
The piper's calling you to join him
Dear lady can't you hear the wind blow and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll
Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
And when she gets there she knows if the stores are closed
With a word she can get what she came for
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
This is one of the greatest songs ever written.
It has amazing lyrics and rythem, and the guitar is amazing.
I encourage any music fans, of rock or rap, to listen because this is an automatic classic anywhere.
Led Zepplin Rocks!
The Curse
Here is a poem that I have written. It is still a work in progress. This is what Catlin would refer to as an "EMO" poem. I personally think its ... you know. Please be critical.
Drenched in solitude, fire calling,
No longer significant, hail falling,
Blood be crimsoned, tears be pure,
Confused with anger, cannot endure.
Curse of secrecy, silenced voices,
Silence kills, the night rejoices,
Wrong decisions, unbinding sin,
Hell inflaming, voices within.
Abandoned light, darkened skies,
Let soils be stained, echoing cries,
Storms of fire, burn today,
With only blood, to wash away.
Perfection broken, Earth put to curse,
Will never heal, becoming worse,
Beg for mercy, unforgiving cries,
The solemn world, life slowly dies.
Sarah Ying.
Drenched in solitude, fire calling,
No longer significant, hail falling,
Blood be crimsoned, tears be pure,
Confused with anger, cannot endure.
Curse of secrecy, silenced voices,
Silence kills, the night rejoices,
Wrong decisions, unbinding sin,
Hell inflaming, voices within.
Abandoned light, darkened skies,
Let soils be stained, echoing cries,
Storms of fire, burn today,
With only blood, to wash away.
Perfection broken, Earth put to curse,
Will never heal, becoming worse,
Beg for mercy, unforgiving cries,
The solemn world, life slowly dies.
Sarah Ying.
A Series of Limericks (Read at your own discretion...)
We found these limericks funny. I think you'll find that they speak for themselves. Enjoy!
-Ajay, Grace, Charanya & Caitlin
A young schizophrenic named Struther,
Who learned of the death of his Brother,
Said, "I know that its bad,
But I don't feel too sad.
After all, I still have each other."
Who learned of the death of his Brother,
Said, "I know that its bad,
But I don't feel too sad.
After all, I still have each other."
~
There was a young man of Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When they asked him, Why?
He said, with a sigh,
"It's because I always try to get as many words into the last line as I possibly can."
~
Archimedes, the well known truth-seeker,
Jumping out of his bath, cried "Eureka!"
He ran half a mile,
Wearing only a smile,
And became the very first streaker.
~
A bather whose clothing was strewed,
By winds that left her quite nude,
Saw a man come along,
And unless we are wrong,
You expected this line to be lewd.
A bather whose clothing was strewed,
By winds that left her quite nude,
Saw a man come along,
And unless we are wrong,
You expected this line to be lewd.
~
The limerick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
But the good ones I've seen
So seldom are clean -
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.
The limerick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
But the good ones I've seen
So seldom are clean -
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.
White Rose
by Walter Poe
In the storm
tumultuous waves
of destruction abound her
Yet tall is the white rose
strong in the face
Of the sensed doom around her
And she does not bow down
Pure is the white rose
In the compost earth
growing eternal strength
in the nights that so hurt
I see not the white rose
She is so far away
But I long to protect her
But only the words can I say
So I send her my words
And my poets heart
To help her when
there is hope to see her through
Be Strong little flower
Your heart will guide true
And as long as you want
I will always talk to you
Emotions...
You diss
I slit my wrist
When you cause me pain
I slit the left vain
You break my heart
That’s where it starts
When you pretend
To care
Well how do you dare
It’s just not fair
So I remain
So damn silent
See my stain
It was very violent
I’m just a shadow
A part of the past
A part that could never last
My trickling blood
Is dripping fast
I hear a thud
I just lie and stare
I cry
And wonder why
Why should I be the one to go
O h, because I’m emo…
found by too embarrassed to state... >.>
Theme: Death
eyy,
This is Thifiya and below is a poem about death & funeral. I found this poem very descriptive and I understood really well how the speaker was feeling. What do you guys think?
Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on
the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking,
talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues
shout blind on the phonographthe rhythm the rhythm--and your memory in my head three years after--
And read Adonais' last triumphant stanzas aloud--wept, realizing
how we suffer--And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember,
prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of An-
swers--and my own imagination of a withered leaf--at dawn--Dreaming back thru life, Your time--and mine accelerating toward Apoca-
lypse
-Allen Ginesberg
Yours Truly,
The one and only,
Thifiya G.
This is Thifiya and below is a poem about death & funeral. I found this poem very descriptive and I understood really well how the speaker was feeling. What do you guys think?
Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on
the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking,
talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues
shout blind on the phonographthe rhythm the rhythm--and your memory in my head three years after--
And read Adonais' last triumphant stanzas aloud--wept, realizing
how we suffer--And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember,
prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of An-
swers--and my own imagination of a withered leaf--at dawn--Dreaming back thru life, Your time--and mine accelerating toward Apoca-
lypse
-Allen Ginesberg
Yours Truly,
The one and only,
Thifiya G.
'Twas the Second Day before Christmas
Reminder everyone! Christmas shopping isn't far away!!!
This is a poem by Raymond Souster, just describing last minute christmas shopping. blah.
'Twas the Second Day before Christmas
While they last all manger accessories
marked drastically down --
wise men, three for ten dollars;
with gold, frankincense and myrrh, twenty-five;
frankincense, myrrh only, thirteen-fifty;
angels, your choice, two dollars each;
Joseph and Mary, each nine ninety-nine;
the Christ Child with swaddling clothes, twenty dollars,
without, fourteen even; and, oh yes,
assorted shepherds, four bucks each;
picturesque manger with straw, wooden cradle,
twelve seventy-five.
End of sale.
No returns or exchanges.
AnnzJessicacHenniew
The best of the Beatles
This is the best song by the beatles in my opinion!!
For No One
Your day breaks, your mind aches
You find that all her words of kindness linger on
When she no longer needs you
She wakes up, she makes up
She takes her time and doesn't
feel she has to hurry
She no longer needs you
And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!
You want her, you need her
And yet you don't believe her when
she says her love is dead
You think she needs you
And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!
You stay home, she goes out
She says that long ago she knew
someone but now he's gone
She doesn't need him
Your day breaks, your mind aches
There will be times when all
the things she says will fill
your head
You won't forget her
And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!
For No One
Your day breaks, your mind aches
You find that all her words of kindness linger on
When she no longer needs you
She wakes up, she makes up
She takes her time and doesn't
feel she has to hurry
She no longer needs you
And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!
You want her, you need her
And yet you don't believe her when
she says her love is dead
You think she needs you
And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!
You stay home, she goes out
She says that long ago she knew
someone but now he's gone
She doesn't need him
Your day breaks, your mind aches
There will be times when all
the things she says will fill
your head
You won't forget her
And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!
The Cremation of Sam Mcgee
This is Imad and this is a poem I found in the Prisms of Poetry book that I thought was pretty cool. Enjoy!
The Cremation of Sam Mcgee
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
Where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'Round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
Seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way
That he'd "sooner live in hell".
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
Over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
Till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
And that very night, as we lay packed tight
In our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead
Were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he,
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you
Won't refuse my last request."
To whimper was Sam McGee.
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;
Then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold
Till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread
Of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,
You'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed,
So I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn;
But God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
Of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all
That was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
And I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid,
Because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you
To cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,
And the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,
In my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,
While the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows --
O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay
Seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent
And the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
But I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing,
And it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,
And a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice,
but I saw in a trice It was called the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
And I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry,
"Is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor,
And I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around,
And I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared --
Such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,
And I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
To hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,
And the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
Down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
Went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
Ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:"
I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";
. . .Then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,
In the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
And he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear
You'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
It's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
The Cremation of Sam Mcgee
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
Where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'Round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
Seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way
That he'd "sooner live in hell".
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
Over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
Till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
And that very night, as we lay packed tight
In our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead
Were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he,
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you
Won't refuse my last request."
To whimper was Sam McGee.
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;
Then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold
Till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread
Of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,
You'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed,
So I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn;
But God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
Of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all
That was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
And I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid,
Because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you
To cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,
And the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,
In my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,
While the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows --
O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay
Seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent
And the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
But I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing,
And it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,
And a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice,
but I saw in a trice It was called the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
And I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry,
"Is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor,
And I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around,
And I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared --
Such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,
And I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
To hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,
And the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
Down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
Went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
Ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:"
I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";
. . .Then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,
In the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
And he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear
You'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
It's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Fire and Ice by Robert Frost
Hey guys,
this is a poem by robert frost. as soon as i read i automatically fell in love with it. i really hope you guys enjoy it too...
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also greatAnd would suffice.
Robert Frost
this is a poem by robert frost. as soon as i read i automatically fell in love with it. i really hope you guys enjoy it too...
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also greatAnd would suffice.
Robert Frost
Calling all pessimists!!
This is a poem i found that called "The Pessimist" for all those pessimists out there :).
Benjamin Franklin King (1857-1894)
The Pessimist
1Nothing to do but work,
2 Nothing to eat but food,
3Nothing to wear but clothes
4 To keep one from going nude.
5Nothing to breathe but air
6 Quick as a flash 't is gone;
7Nowhere to fall but off,
8 Nowhere to stand but on.
9Nothing to comb but hair,
10 Nowhere to sleep but in bed,
11Nothing to weep but tears,
12 Nothing to bury but dead.
13Nothing to sing but songs,
14 Ah, well, alas! alack!
15Nowhere to go but out,
16 Nowhere to come but back.
17Nothing to see but sights,
18 Nothing to quench but thirst,
19Nothing to have but what we've got;
20 Thus thro' life we are cursed.
21Nothing to strike but a gait;
22 Everything moves that goes.
23Nothing at all but common sense
24 Can ever withstand these woes.
- Ielaf :)
Benjamin Franklin King (1857-1894)
The Pessimist
1Nothing to do but work,
2 Nothing to eat but food,
3Nothing to wear but clothes
4 To keep one from going nude.
5Nothing to breathe but air
6 Quick as a flash 't is gone;
7Nowhere to fall but off,
8 Nowhere to stand but on.
9Nothing to comb but hair,
10 Nowhere to sleep but in bed,
11Nothing to weep but tears,
12 Nothing to bury but dead.
13Nothing to sing but songs,
14 Ah, well, alas! alack!
15Nowhere to go but out,
16 Nowhere to come but back.
17Nothing to see but sights,
18 Nothing to quench but thirst,
19Nothing to have but what we've got;
20 Thus thro' life we are cursed.
21Nothing to strike but a gait;
22 Everything moves that goes.
23Nothing at all but common sense
24 Can ever withstand these woes.
- Ielaf :)
1914 I. Peace
Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
1Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour
2 And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
3With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
4 To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
5Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
6 Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
7And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
8 And all the little emptiness of love!
9Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
10 Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
11 Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
12Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
13 But only agony, and that has ending;
14 And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
This poem speaks for itself.
Sarah Y
1Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour
2 And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
3With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
4 To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
5Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
6 Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
7And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
8 And all the little emptiness of love!
9Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
10 Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
11 Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
12Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
13 But only agony, and that has ending;
14 And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
This poem speaks for itself.
Sarah Y
Games
Heres a poem that i found about games and comparing life to a game... I came across this after conversing about games -- Rahul
Gamesby Carolyn Rapanos
Is life a game?
Well, then what is a game?
Checkers, chess, dominoes?
Eliminate, checkmate, dominate,
Win or lose, love or hate,
Black and white, a grid-like fate,
If life ain’t joy it’s second-rate,
Can love be shunned, can love be late?
Is hell or heaven merely bait?
Locked away beneath a grate,
A plastic piece, a candidate,
For which hope can never permeate,
Who yells: Just wait, please just wait!
But a clock ticks and a dice rolls on a glossy plate,
A warped reflecting, scratched-up plate,
And you walk with all but a steady gait,
And your death is merely a determined date,
Your power’s gone. Exterminate.
Gamesby Carolyn Rapanos
Is life a game?
Well, then what is a game?
Checkers, chess, dominoes?
Eliminate, checkmate, dominate,
Win or lose, love or hate,
Black and white, a grid-like fate,
If life ain’t joy it’s second-rate,
Can love be shunned, can love be late?
Is hell or heaven merely bait?
Locked away beneath a grate,
A plastic piece, a candidate,
For which hope can never permeate,
Who yells: Just wait, please just wait!
But a clock ticks and a dice rolls on a glossy plate,
A warped reflecting, scratched-up plate,
And you walk with all but a steady gait,
And your death is merely a determined date,
Your power’s gone. Exterminate.
since feeling is first
Hey, this is Amal and Angelina (first joint post on this blog!) and we are here to present to you this completely awesome and wonderful poem that we found by e.e.cummings!
since feeling is first
e.e. cummings
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
since feeling is first
e.e. cummings
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
I'M PRETTY FAST
I'M PRETTY FAST
If I run in a race
and don’t come in last
would it be fair to say
that I’m pretty fast.
maybe I am, but,
when it’s time to go.
Compared to my bike
I’m a little bit slow.
But I see lots of cars
Go by with a zoom
Between my speed and their’s
There’s plenty of room.
I saw in school
where the shuttles depart.
I couldn’t compare
Even with a headstart
So if I run in a race,
and don’t come in last.
It would be fair to say,
that I’m pretty fast.
© 1999 RICHARD C. JOHNS
found by sylvia
Fool on the Hill
This is a nice song by the Beatles that I really think you all should read/hear.
- David Jeong
Day after day,
Alone on the hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still,
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool,
And he never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
Well on the way head in a cloud,
The man of a thousand voices is talking perfectly loud
But nobody ever hears him,
Or the sound he appears to make,
And he never seems to notice,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
And nobody seems to like him
They can tell what he wants to do.
And he never shows his feelings,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
He never listens to them,
He knows that they're the fool
They don't like him,
The fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
- David Jeong
Day after day,
Alone on the hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still,
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool,
And he never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
Well on the way head in a cloud,
The man of a thousand voices is talking perfectly loud
But nobody ever hears him,
Or the sound he appears to make,
And he never seems to notice,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
And nobody seems to like him
They can tell what he wants to do.
And he never shows his feelings,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
He never listens to them,
He knows that they're the fool
They don't like him,
The fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
Emotions from Africa
Jambo, this is Charu
I thought of finding a poem by an African poet after Mr. G read us that poem by Wole Soyinka.
This one is about opression as well. Its very painful to read, not that it is poorly written, it just purely conveys the raw emotions of being a slave, and an African treated gruesomely.
Here it is:
If You Want To Know Me
This is what I am
empty sockets despairing of possessing of life
a mouth torn open in an anguished wound...
a body tattooed with wounds seen and unseen
from the harsh whip-strokes of slavery
tortured and magnificent
proud and mysterious
Africa from head to foot
This is what I am
-Noemia de Sousa
I thought of finding a poem by an African poet after Mr. G read us that poem by Wole Soyinka.
This one is about opression as well. Its very painful to read, not that it is poorly written, it just purely conveys the raw emotions of being a slave, and an African treated gruesomely.
Here it is:
If You Want To Know Me
This is what I am
empty sockets despairing of possessing of life
a mouth torn open in an anguished wound...
a body tattooed with wounds seen and unseen
from the harsh whip-strokes of slavery
tortured and magnificent
proud and mysterious
Africa from head to foot
This is what I am
-Noemia de Sousa
Ode to A turkey comment
hey guys,
Jack I love the ode that you posted about a turkey!
funy much?!
when i first read the title i was like what! an ode to a turkey??
and then i went back and actually read the poem...
i still kinda think its strange but it must of taken a while lot of effort and thinking to write about a turkey!
thanks so much!
Soundarya Selvam
Jack I love the ode that you posted about a turkey!
funy much?!
when i first read the title i was like what! an ode to a turkey??
and then i went back and actually read the poem...
i still kinda think its strange but it must of taken a while lot of effort and thinking to write about a turkey!
thanks so much!
Soundarya Selvam
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Abandoned
Here is another poem I wrote. Please spam the comment section with ANYTHING.
Abandoned
You seem to always capture me,
In a state of emptiness,
And then you fill me with joy.
You seem to always be there for me,
When I am weak,
and then you make strong again.
You seem to always stand beside me,
When I stand alone,
Against the world.
But now that you are gone,
I am sucked into the void in myself,
Shattering with weakness,
Crumbling under the weight of the world.
Abandoned
-Jack Gao
Just One Wish - Rahul Sharma
Hey, Rahul here
Heres a lyrical poem I've come up with that i hope to add in my anthology...
Just One Wish
If I had just one wish,
It would be to never see you cry.
And I would have never to say goodbye
If I had just one wish,
It would be to save you from your trouble.
You wouldn’t have to cook, for I would eat the stubble
If I had just one wish,
It would be to love you forever
Although I should you however.
If I had just one wish,
It would be to always see you happy.
Even if our situation was actually pretty crappy
If I had just one wish
Just one wish
One wish
I’d Wish
__________________________________________
I tried to make the fact that this speaker is making so many wishes ironic to the fact that the poem is called Just One Wish... I hope you guys kind of got that
Heres a lyrical poem I've come up with that i hope to add in my anthology...
Just One Wish
If I had just one wish,
It would be to never see you cry.
And I would have never to say goodbye
If I had just one wish,
It would be to save you from your trouble.
You wouldn’t have to cook, for I would eat the stubble
If I had just one wish,
It would be to love you forever
Although I should you however.
If I had just one wish,
It would be to always see you happy.
Even if our situation was actually pretty crappy
If I had just one wish
Just one wish
One wish
I’d Wish
__________________________________________
I tried to make the fact that this speaker is making so many wishes ironic to the fact that the poem is called Just One Wish... I hope you guys kind of got that
Jack's very own poem
I have decided to this time post my own poem and not infarct anymore copyrights. I am planning to put this into the anthology. PLEASE comment on anything about this (it doesn't even have to have a legitimate reason) and help me polish this up. Thank you.
Oh, by the way, it might be hard to read, try to pronounce the words as they are and say them quickly, maybe you will understand. If not (most likely result) I have included a translation at the very bottom of this post.
If you didn't get that, try this
Oh, by the way, it might be hard to read, try to pronounce the words as they are and say them quickly, maybe you will understand. If not (most likely result) I have included a translation at the very bottom of this post.
Oerdr
Kon fuzhen rayns inth eswar old,
Inwi trwee ly vin.
Pea poles awunth ing,
Why aoming ning ana thur.
Und urm ine ng wer zif urm,
Thad ialaw gezpeep ose peeks.
An indhy denmee ningss arthe,
Ma thur tunof the yi ong.
Leyes arl ikin effe cusion,
Sprai dinglai kwai aldfy er.
Am ply fai inga teach stay zhe,
Unt ew song muwun ge tzihert
Frod, desaip shunan de tre kery,
May inwep onsof paule ticks.
Wi chja stha penstoo b,
Thega venor sof hourkun tree.
y can twee beetru thiful land,
sae egg zach tilywa tweem een.
Thiwa earldwab eeab eterp layce,
If we had order instead of chaos.
- Jack Gao
If you didn't get that, try this
Order
Confusion reigns in this world,
In which we live in.
People say one thing,
While meaning another.
Undermining words form
The dialogs people speaks.
And Hidden meanings are the
Mother tongue of the young.
Lies are like infections,
Spreading like wildfire
Amplifying at each stage,
Until someone gets hurt.
Fraud, deception and trickery,
Main weapons of politics.
Which just happens to be
The governors of our country
Why can’t we be truthful, and
Say exactly what we mean?
The world would be a better place,
If we had order instead of chaos.
- Jack Gao
Translated by Jack Gao
If you didn't get that, then there are serious problems with my poem (in which case spam the comments section with critisism).
Thank you,
Jack Gao
Question for Mr.G (no, that's not the title of my poem)
hi. i don't have a poem to post, but i have a question that hopefully Mr.G or anyone else can answer for me.
are anagrams and ambigrams forms of poetry? if yes, can they be considered concrete?
thanks,
cathy
are anagrams and ambigrams forms of poetry? if yes, can they be considered concrete?
thanks,
cathy
Single Memory of You
Hey, this is Angelina and I'm really, really sorry for littering the blog with my completely pointless posts, but this time, I need your comments v. badly. I wrote this poem and am pondering whether or not to put it in my anthology. It's not great, and I feel like it's missing something, but I can't think of what it is. Please help me out! All comments welcome and greatly needed! Thanks, guys!
Single Memory of You
My radio alarm clock
Rang at six
Signaling the beginning of my day
Somewhere down in the distance
I barely hear it, as I
Stare at words
Scribbled in my notebook
They are your words
Written in that slant
You always wrote in
Barely legible
It takes me a while
To figure out
Exactly what you
Had tried to say
I rise out of the old chair
That always squeaked
When you sat on it
I stare out the window
At the still, pitch-black sky
I wonder what I had done
To make you leave me
Without a single goodbye
Just some words
Scribbled hurriedly
In my notebook
I blow at the ink
Hoping, perhaps, that
It would still be wet
A sign that you
Had not gone
For too long
The paper flutters
In my seemingly
Eternal sorrow
I close the notebook
Slamming it shut
Shutting out the memory
Of you and me
On the beach
With the warm sand
Between our toes
And the cool water
Lapsing at our ankles
In happier times
Running out
From the room that
Suddenly had become
Too suffocating
For me to stay in
I threw my notebook
In the nearest
Trashcan
Just like all the times
I saw the landlord do so
With some unsuspecting
Rat
Single Memory of You
My radio alarm clock
Rang at six
Signaling the beginning of my day
Somewhere down in the distance
I barely hear it, as I
Stare at words
Scribbled in my notebook
They are your words
Written in that slant
You always wrote in
Barely legible
It takes me a while
To figure out
Exactly what you
Had tried to say
I rise out of the old chair
That always squeaked
When you sat on it
I stare out the window
At the still, pitch-black sky
I wonder what I had done
To make you leave me
Without a single goodbye
Just some words
Scribbled hurriedly
In my notebook
I blow at the ink
Hoping, perhaps, that
It would still be wet
A sign that you
Had not gone
For too long
The paper flutters
In my seemingly
Eternal sorrow
I close the notebook
Slamming it shut
Shutting out the memory
Of you and me
On the beach
With the warm sand
Between our toes
And the cool water
Lapsing at our ankles
In happier times
Running out
From the room that
Suddenly had become
Too suffocating
For me to stay in
I threw my notebook
In the nearest
Trashcan
Just like all the times
I saw the landlord do so
With some unsuspecting
Rat
Ode to a Turkey
Hey all, Below is a parody of Ode to a Nightingale by Keats (yes, the one we did in class...) Enjoy.
~Jack Gao
Ode to A Turkey
My head aches, and a gnawing hunger stings
My gut, as though I hadn't eaten lunch,
But been compelled to witness feasting kings
Who gorged themselves on turkey legs and punch:
'Tis not because of nature-given bliss,
But only due to joy to wander free--
That thou, a turkey, tender, fat and young,
Do widen my abyss,
Make emptier my stomach cavity,
Mocking me with disdain in gobble-tongue.
O, for a turkey dinner! piping hot,
Fresh from the oven, tempting to the sight,
Tasting of yams (with others in the pot),
Peas, and cranberry sauce, a glass of Sprite!
O for a baker to bake me chocolate chips.
To bake me cakes--like Grandma's chocolate cakes,
With filling frosting, moist and fresh outside;
To hold it to my lips,
That I might make the noise a person makes
Who on the wings of pure Elysian bliss does ride:
Ride out of here, to never know again
What thou upon a farm has never known,
The cruelty, the hunger, and the sin
Here, where the famished fight for every bone;
Where I must shake a few last beaded drops
Of orange Koolaid from my empty glass;
Where but to think is to desire dinner,
Or cherry soda pops,
Where not a solitary day does pass
But that I drool like some unhappy sinner.
Ride out of here! for I will leave this place,
Unaided by caffeine or cyclamate,
But now by fasting...drifting into space
(Though I could eat if Mama fixed a plate):
I'm going--I'm going! tender is the ham,
And simmers golden dressing in the pan,
Crispy and hot--delicious to the taste;
However, where I am
There isn't even a solitary can
Of pork and beans or Hunt's Tomato Paste.
I cannot smell what odors are wafting by,
Or what roast duck is stewing in its juice,
But, near starvation, guess each apple pie,
Each crepe suzette, each dish of chocolate mousse
That fairly cries, "I yearn to be consumed!
I long to be devoured with a will,
To have my substance seen, selected, chewed,
My inner meat exhumed,
My captor coddled till he's had his fill,
Emits a happy belch, his strength renewed."
Gardening, I loosen husk from corn. Some eves
I've known such joy to labor at this job.
Extracting from the earth these greenish leaves.
To have for supper sweet corn on the cob!
Now more than ever do I ache to fast,
To force those golden kernels to remain,
While thou art strutting haughtily about,
And shameless, moving past!
Still wouldst thou strut, and I have ears in vain...
From such a satisfying feast left out.
O thou wast born for death, infernal Bird!
I long to take an axe to thy red neck!
To sever off they head without a word,
Before thy beak can sound another peck!
Perchance the very peck that tempted men
Who slaved in days gone by for scraps of meat,
That made their vacant, growling stomachs ache,
That made them yearn within
For something tasty, something good to eat...
Perhaps a thick prime rib or sirloin steak.
Sirloin! the very word is like a bull
To force me back into my famished state!
Fondue! I would that I were fed and full,
Had emptied happily my o'er stuffed plate.
Fondue! a stew! thy flesh and feathers pale
Out of this era, to another place,
Well out of reach, and so is ruined my wish...
A deep sigh I exhale.
Was this a dream..? 'Twas here, before my face!
Oh, heck, forget it! Where's the tuna fish?
- Duane Dodson
Saturday, November 10, 2007
The Volcano -by Cathy
hey everyone! i'm not sure whether or not i should put this in my anthology. i'm hoping you guys will give me some brutaly honest constructive criticism! all comments are appreciated!
Deep within the mound,
Passion lies under pressure.
It waits to erupt.
can anyone get the metaphor? the magma in the volcano represents the feelings you keep bottled up and hidden inside of you, but yet you want to express. i'm not sure if i should rename this poem and have the title represent the vehicle (the metaphor, or hiden meaning), or leave the title as the tenor (the literal meaning-a volcano)
Deep within the mound,
Passion lies under pressure.
It waits to erupt.
can anyone get the metaphor? the magma in the volcano represents the feelings you keep bottled up and hidden inside of you, but yet you want to express. i'm not sure if i should rename this poem and have the title represent the vehicle (the metaphor, or hiden meaning), or leave the title as the tenor (the literal meaning-a volcano)
Phantom of the Mind
Imad posts a sonnet by John Barlas:
Phantom of the Mind
As the faint ghost of a forgotten strain
Haunts the deserted chambers of the mind:
A restless presence, dreamlike, undefined;
A spirit, the hands of death grasp all in vain,
Elusive of the embrace that would detain
Its phantom flight, formless and swift as wind,
Down thought's long echoing corridors, though behind
Some lingering sense of it may still remain.
Such is the past of lovers: dear delight,
Sweet lips that kissed sweet eyes that cried for me--
Follow not their strides and phantom flight
Through all the winding labyrinths of the night!
The noiseless doors close on them as they flee
Out of the dream and into the waking light
Epigrams!
Hey, it's...um...Angelina...again. Anyways, I found a few epigrams, which are pretty funny, so I thought I'd share them with you guys! Enjoy!
A Politician
a politician is an arse upon
which everyone has sat except a man
---e.e.cummings
A Poet Defended
You claim his poems are garbage. Balderdash!
Garbage includes some meat. His poems are trash.
---Paul Ramsey
Leader
A man shot himself
in the foot
“OW!” he howled,
hopping this way and
that. “Do something!
Do something!”
“We are! We are!”
shouted those around
him. “We're hopping!
We're hopping!”
---Bruce Bennett
A Politician
a politician is an arse upon
which everyone has sat except a man
---e.e.cummings
A Poet Defended
You claim his poems are garbage. Balderdash!
Garbage includes some meat. His poems are trash.
---Paul Ramsey
Leader
A man shot himself
in the foot
“OW!” he howled,
hopping this way and
that. “Do something!
Do something!”
“We are! We are!”
shouted those around
him. “We're hopping!
We're hopping!”
---Bruce Bennett
The Listeners
Hey, it's Angelina and I have yet another poem to share with you guys. I thought it was really good, so even if it is a little long, give it a try!
The Listeners
“Is there anybody there?” said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
“Is there anybody there?” he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his gray eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
‘Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head: --
“Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,” he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
--- Walter de la Mare
The Listeners
“Is there anybody there?” said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
“Is there anybody there?” he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his gray eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
‘Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head: --
“Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,” he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
--- Walter de la Mare
Friday, November 9, 2007
A Buzz at Night by Melaniee
Heyy guys here another one of my haikus i hope you can give me some input...i created it courtesy of the Prisms of poetry for inspiration since they mention thinking of bees and stars relation and i thought OMG thats soo true they are quite the same hope you like it=)
Yellow and Black in colour
A Bee high in the sky
Replaced by stars at night time
Yellow and Black in colour
A Bee high in the sky
Replaced by stars at night time
David's iPod Poem
MY MOM
This is a short and sweet peom written by a classmate of mine back in elementary school. It's amazing how I even remembered it after all these years. Anyways, I'm sure he won't mind me sharing it.
-Ivan
MY MOM
When nobody seems to love me,
And trouble's everywhere,
When skies turn dark above me,
And joy turns to despair,
When everything just falls apart,
And no one seems to care,
I just look down deep inside my heart,
And know that mom is there.
-Ivan
MY MOM
When nobody seems to love me,
And trouble's everywhere,
When skies turn dark above me,
And joy turns to despair,
When everything just falls apart,
And no one seems to care,
I just look down deep inside my heart,
And know that mom is there.
Boa Constrictor by Shel Silverstein
Loved Shel's poems when I was young :)
Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .
- David Jeong
Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .
- David Jeong
Nother poem
hm, its Kevin, as Ivan can tell, this was the SECOND poem that i saw, the first was pretty dark and death, suicidal, but then again, the topic is kinda dark in the first place.
Author:
Lori Sue Williams, USA
Poem
ANOTHER LINK IN THE CHAIN
Why does everyone use me and abuse me?
They take what they need, then they toss me aside.
Is this how the rest of my life's going to be?
I may not show it, but it hurts deep inside.
You may say that I am a sensitive soul,
but, I feel like I give and get nothing back.
Inside I'm developing a big, dark hole.
When I look deep inside, all I see is black.
People make promises they don't mean to keep,
but, I always honor my word if I can.
I know that nobody's losing any sleep
over blowing me off or forgetting plans.
But, to me, it's another link in the chain
that binds me to all my insecurities.
These things happen to me again and again,
and feed into all my inadequacies.
Just once, I wish people would think of me first,
before they go and take advantage of me.
Their self-centeredness directly makes me hurt,
and they're never around to see the crying.
Author:
Lori Sue Williams, USA
Poem
ANOTHER LINK IN THE CHAIN
Why does everyone use me and abuse me?
They take what they need, then they toss me aside.
Is this how the rest of my life's going to be?
I may not show it, but it hurts deep inside.
You may say that I am a sensitive soul,
but, I feel like I give and get nothing back.
Inside I'm developing a big, dark hole.
When I look deep inside, all I see is black.
People make promises they don't mean to keep,
but, I always honor my word if I can.
I know that nobody's losing any sleep
over blowing me off or forgetting plans.
But, to me, it's another link in the chain
that binds me to all my insecurities.
These things happen to me again and again,
and feed into all my inadequacies.
Just once, I wish people would think of me first,
before they go and take advantage of me.
Their self-centeredness directly makes me hurt,
and they're never around to see the crying.
The Dolphins' Way,
In Me Aspirations of the living
sea The dolphins do move within me The aura of
their soul, I feel deep down To be in the water
and not on ground Sifting through the
ocean, an expressing show Communi-
cation of a song and a blow Pro-
tecting even those not of their
kind They ask nothing in return,
they do not mind The most gracious
and unselfish of all that wander I
wish to swim with them, nothing could
be fonder The dolphins mean so much
to me, you see I need to thank them,
for showing us how to be
(Donovan 1997)
Rahul here,
This is a concrete poem about dolphins by Donovan in 1997.
I guess it doesnt work....
In Me Aspirations of the living
sea The dolphins do move within me The aura of
their soul, I feel deep down To be in the water
and not on ground Sifting through the
ocean, an expressing show Communi-
cation of a song and a blow Pro-
tecting even those not of their
kind They ask nothing in return,
they do not mind The most gracious
and unselfish of all that wander I
wish to swim with them, nothing could
be fonder The dolphins mean so much
to me, you see I need to thank them,
for showing us how to be
(Donovan 1997)
Rahul here,
This is a concrete poem about dolphins by Donovan in 1997.
I guess it doesnt work....
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Golden Sun
Rahul here,
Heres a haiku I've made when writting this I recalled a conversation of the sun ending all life oneday and I came up with this. The sense of this haiku is that we look at the sun as a symbol of life but even this gigantic figure with has been around for BILLIONS of years must one day die.
Even golden sun,
Fiery and bright with life,
Must some day burn out.
Heres a haiku I've made when writting this I recalled a conversation of the sun ending all life oneday and I came up with this. The sense of this haiku is that we look at the sun as a symbol of life but even this gigantic figure with has been around for BILLIONS of years must one day die.
Even golden sun,
Fiery and bright with life,
Must some day burn out.
hey guys! :D Bagavathy here! i just found this really nice poem about friendship. this poem gave me another insight into the world of the people who live on the streets. everytime i walk by these people, i always feel sorry for them, but i never thought about the fact that they don't have good friends to guide them through what's right and wrong. this poem made me feel pity on the man on the streets.
what i really liked was the first and second last line. if you read it carefully, you get the impression that no one really cared for him or gave thought for him at all, but when he was dead they gave him some attention. this is kind of relevant to the real world. anyways...
read the poem and give it a little thought,
because this poem truly touched my heart.
The Dummy
by Michael Mack~~
In that forgotten part of town
Where wasted hopes and dreams abound,
A wrinkled man with life near end,
In hopes to have at least one friend,
Fashioned bits of wood and things
And made a dummy run by strings.
He sat alone for hours on end,
Conversing with his only friend
And found delight within the fact
That he controlled it's every act.
He told it how he never had
A chance, since all his luck was bad
Although he'd tried so to succeed -
The dummy nodded and agreed.
And how his journeys in romance
Had never given him a chance,
And wasn't it a crying shame
That he was always held to blame
When everyone knew, oh so well,
That life is but a living Hell,
Controlled by lust and power and greed?
The dummy nodded and agreed.
With patience that would rival saints,
That dummy sat through all complaints
And, with each little expert tug,
He'd droop his head or bow or shrug
And give some comfort to the man
Who held his lifelines in his hand
And helped to fill a lonely need
When he just nodded and agreed.
Senility increased with time
As did the old man's phantomime,
And feverish fingers pulled with glee
The dummy's dance of misery.
They never left each other's side
Until the day both stopped and died.
We found them lying, hand in hand,
The dummy - and his wooden friend.
what i really liked was the first and second last line. if you read it carefully, you get the impression that no one really cared for him or gave thought for him at all, but when he was dead they gave him some attention. this is kind of relevant to the real world. anyways...
read the poem and give it a little thought,
because this poem truly touched my heart.
The Dummy
by Michael Mack~~
In that forgotten part of town
Where wasted hopes and dreams abound,
A wrinkled man with life near end,
In hopes to have at least one friend,
Fashioned bits of wood and things
And made a dummy run by strings.
He sat alone for hours on end,
Conversing with his only friend
And found delight within the fact
That he controlled it's every act.
He told it how he never had
A chance, since all his luck was bad
Although he'd tried so to succeed -
The dummy nodded and agreed.
And how his journeys in romance
Had never given him a chance,
And wasn't it a crying shame
That he was always held to blame
When everyone knew, oh so well,
That life is but a living Hell,
Controlled by lust and power and greed?
The dummy nodded and agreed.
With patience that would rival saints,
That dummy sat through all complaints
And, with each little expert tug,
He'd droop his head or bow or shrug
And give some comfort to the man
Who held his lifelines in his hand
And helped to fill a lonely need
When he just nodded and agreed.
Senility increased with time
As did the old man's phantomime,
And feverish fingers pulled with glee
The dummy's dance of misery.
They never left each other's side
Until the day both stopped and died.
We found them lying, hand in hand,
The dummy - and his wooden friend.
Friendship
HEYY CHICKOZZ AND CHIKAS...this is Melaniee again and i found this really sweet poem about friendship and thought it was really touching... i hope you guys enjoy it like i did and maybe even give it a thought every now and then spanxx (omggg the pink text colour thing isn't working=( o well the poem is nice no matter the colour)
Remember
Remember that a little love goes a long way.
Remember that a lot... goes forever.
Remember that friendship is a wise investment.
Life's treasures are people... together.
Realize that it's never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have health and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a star.
And don't ever forget... for even a day...
How very special you are.
~Douglas Pagels
Remember
Remember that a little love goes a long way.
Remember that a lot... goes forever.
Remember that friendship is a wise investment.
Life's treasures are people... together.
Realize that it's never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have health and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a star.
And don't ever forget... for even a day...
How very special you are.
~Douglas Pagels
Princess Love
Hey guyss by the title you should know who this is, welll anyways, this is Melanie with her adorable princess Nirushyka and together we thought of this poem...it may seem simple but trust me....we got off into a daze. BTW, we will post another one of our favorites in a while...i just learned how to use this thangg=) hopee youu enjoy it babess...ii luv u guys ilke a beaver luvzz woodd=)
A Dream
A prince on a horse
gallops into the palace
with my glass slipper.
-Nirushyka K. & Melanie S.
A Dream
A prince on a horse
gallops into the palace
with my glass slipper.
-Nirushyka K. & Melanie S.
If
Hey, this is Charanya! My teacher showed me this poem a while back when he just had his son. I think it really reflects the pride a parent would have in trying to inspire and teach their child how to survive unfortunate experiences in life. Here is the poem by Rudyard Kipling.
IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
Ode to Pity by Jane Austen
This is one of my (Ielaf Khalil) favourite poems by Jane Austen. Hope you guys like it. What do you understand of it? Which part do you like? My favourite is the last line. :)
Ode to Pity
Ever musing I delight to tread
The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove
Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed
On disappointed Love.
While Philomel on airy hawthorn
Bush Sings sweet and Melancholy,
And the thrush Converses with the Dove.
Gently brawling down the turnpike road,
Sweetly noisy falls the Silent Stream--
The Moon emerges from behind a Cloud
And darts upon the Myrtle Grove her beam.
Ah! then what Lovely Scenes appear,
The hut, the Cot, the Grot, and Chapel queer,
And eke the Abbey too a mouldering heap,
Cnceal'd by aged pines her head doth rear
And quite invisible doth take a peep.
Jane Austen
Ode to Pity
Ever musing I delight to tread
The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove
Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed
On disappointed Love.
While Philomel on airy hawthorn
Bush Sings sweet and Melancholy,
And the thrush Converses with the Dove.
Gently brawling down the turnpike road,
Sweetly noisy falls the Silent Stream--
The Moon emerges from behind a Cloud
And darts upon the Myrtle Grove her beam.
Ah! then what Lovely Scenes appear,
The hut, the Cot, the Grot, and Chapel queer,
And eke the Abbey too a mouldering heap,
Cnceal'd by aged pines her head doth rear
And quite invisible doth take a peep.
Jane Austen
Mirror
Hey. It's Amal and I have another poem to share with you. I thought it was interesting, so give it a chance!
Mirror by Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of the little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles.
I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart.
But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake.
A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her.
She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Mirror by Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of the little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles.
I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart.
But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake.
A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her.
She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
Hey, this is Angelina, and I just found a pretty cool poem that I wanted to share with you guys. It's a different version of Shakespeare's sonnet “Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?” by Howard Moss. As a referencing point, I'm including the Shakespearean version as well. Enjoy!
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all to short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Not lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
--- William Shakespeare
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
Who says you're like one of the dog days?
You're nicer. And better.
Even in May, the weather can be gray,
And a summer sub-let doesn't last forever.
Sometimes the sun's too hot;
Sometimes it's not.
Who can stay young forever?
People break their necks or just drop dead!
But you? Never!
If there's just one condensed reader left
Who can figure out the abridged alphabet,
After you're dead and gone,
In this poem you'll live on!
--- Howard Moss
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all to short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Not lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
--- William Shakespeare
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
Who says you're like one of the dog days?
You're nicer. And better.
Even in May, the weather can be gray,
And a summer sub-let doesn't last forever.
Sometimes the sun's too hot;
Sometimes it's not.
Who can stay young forever?
People break their necks or just drop dead!
But you? Never!
If there's just one condensed reader left
Who can figure out the abridged alphabet,
After you're dead and gone,
In this poem you'll live on!
--- Howard Moss
White and Nerdy [Parody of Ridin']
Heyy,
This is Thifiya and below, I posted a lyric from a song (as lyrics are a form of poetry) and it's a parody of another song. I've always thought that this was pretty funny; actually I thought it was hilarious!! So I hope you like it just as much as I like it. It's called White and Nerdy, a parody of Ridin' by Chamillionaire.
"Can’t you see I’m white and nerdy?
Look at me, I’m white and nerdy
I wanna roll with
The gangstas
But so far they all think I’m too white and nerdy
"First in my class here at MIT
Got skills, I’m a champion at D&D
MC Escher--that’s my favorite MC
Keep your 40, I’ll just have an Earl Grey tea.
My rims never spin, to the contrary
You’ll find that they’re quite stationary.
All of my action figures are cherry
Steven Hawking’s in my library.
My MySpace page is all totally pimped out
Got people beggin’ for my top eight spaces.
Yo, I know pi to a thousand places
Ain’t got no grills but I still wear braces."
(Weird Al Yankovic, "White and Nerdy"--parody of "Ridin'" by Chamillionaire)
This is Thifiya and below, I posted a lyric from a song (as lyrics are a form of poetry) and it's a parody of another song. I've always thought that this was pretty funny; actually I thought it was hilarious!! So I hope you like it just as much as I like it. It's called White and Nerdy, a parody of Ridin' by Chamillionaire.
"Can’t you see I’m white and nerdy?
Look at me, I’m white and nerdy
I wanna roll with
The gangstas
But so far they all think I’m too white and nerdy
"First in my class here at MIT
Got skills, I’m a champion at D&D
MC Escher--that’s my favorite MC
Keep your 40, I’ll just have an Earl Grey tea.
My rims never spin, to the contrary
You’ll find that they’re quite stationary.
All of my action figures are cherry
Steven Hawking’s in my library.
My MySpace page is all totally pimped out
Got people beggin’ for my top eight spaces.
Yo, I know pi to a thousand places
Ain’t got no grills but I still wear braces."
(Weird Al Yankovic, "White and Nerdy"--parody of "Ridin'" by Chamillionaire)
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
hey! Bagavathy here! i found this poem interesting so enjoy!! :]
Fireflies in the Garden
by Robert Frost
Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.
Fireflies in the Garden
by Robert Frost
Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.
Darker Side of the Moon
Hey everyone, this is Vivek.
I hope i don't get sued for this, so I kind of edited the title of the poem. However, this is my own haiku dedicated to the awsome band Pink Floyd. If you haven't heard them, you have got to, because they create real poetry.
Darker Side of the Moon
Even the silver moon
- Enlightening the murky night
Boasts of a darker side
I hope i don't get sued for this, so I kind of edited the title of the poem. However, this is my own haiku dedicated to the awsome band Pink Floyd. If you haven't heard them, you have got to, because they create real poetry.
Darker Side of the Moon
Even the silver moon
- Enlightening the murky night
Boasts of a darker side
Mother and I, Walking
Hello Everyone !
Initially, I was turned of this poem after reading the first few lines , but I think it gets better towards the end. It also seems appropriate, since winter is at our doorstep, bringing long, cold nights. Thanks - Alisha
Father is gone again,
the streets empty.
Everyone is inside,
listening to radios
in the warm glow of their stoves.
The cold cries under our boots.
We wade through wind. It pushes
snow under my scarf and collar,
up the sleeves of my jacket.
Mother opens her old muskrat coat,
pulls me inside.
Her scent wraps around me.
The back of my head presses
into the warm rise of her belly
When I lower my eyes, I see
our feet, mine between hers,
the tracks of one animal
crossing the open,
strange and nocturnal,
moving towards home.
- Lorna Crozier
Initially, I was turned of this poem after reading the first few lines , but I think it gets better towards the end. It also seems appropriate, since winter is at our doorstep, bringing long, cold nights. Thanks - Alisha
Father is gone again,
the streets empty.
Everyone is inside,
listening to radios
in the warm glow of their stoves.
The cold cries under our boots.
We wade through wind. It pushes
snow under my scarf and collar,
up the sleeves of my jacket.
Mother opens her old muskrat coat,
pulls me inside.
Her scent wraps around me.
The back of my head presses
into the warm rise of her belly
When I lower my eyes, I see
our feet, mine between hers,
the tracks of one animal
crossing the open,
strange and nocturnal,
moving towards home.
- Lorna Crozier
Unwritten
Hey my poetic peeps!
Seeing as no one has done what I'm about to do yet, I'll be the first. Since songwriting can be considered a form of poetry, I've chosen to post an excerpt from one of my favourite songs, and one that you have probably all heard before, Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield. I love the lyrics, as well as the song itself (very upbeat). Plus, it has a little English-related twist. Enjoy!
Seeing as no one has done what I'm about to do yet, I'll be the first. Since songwriting can be considered a form of poetry, I've chosen to post an excerpt from one of my favourite songs, and one that you have probably all heard before, Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield. I love the lyrics, as well as the song itself (very upbeat). Plus, it has a little English-related twist. Enjoy!
UNWRITTEN
Lyrics by Natasha Bedingfield, Danielle Brisebois and Wayne Rodrigues
I am unwritten
Can’t read my mind
I’m undefined
I’m just beginning
The pen’s in my hand
Ending unplanned
Staring
At the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate
The words that
You cannot find
Reaching
For something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Put yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is
Where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
~~~
~Caitlin~
Almost Paradise
Almost Paradise
His eyes, intense, dark,
Yet the softest shade of brown
Close enough for me
To see the specks of
Gold and black
And when he smiled
Laughed that special
Laugh of his
My hear skips a beat
My mouth goes dry
My eyes, involuntarily
Close, heightening my
Other senses.
I can feel how close he is
Close enough to
Reach out, and touch
Those slender, long fingers
Perfectly shaped
Breathe in that scent
Slightly musky, undeniably his.
I force my eyes open
Determined to stay in my
Self-made utopia.
But he was gone, vanished
As though in thin air
But those few seconds
Beside him was
Almost paradise.
-- Anonymous
His eyes, intense, dark,
Yet the softest shade of brown
Close enough for me
To see the specks of
Gold and black
And when he smiled
Laughed that special
Laugh of his
My hear skips a beat
My mouth goes dry
My eyes, involuntarily
Close, heightening my
Other senses.
I can feel how close he is
Close enough to
Reach out, and touch
Those slender, long fingers
Perfectly shaped
Breathe in that scent
Slightly musky, undeniably his.
I force my eyes open
Determined to stay in my
Self-made utopia.
But he was gone, vanished
As though in thin air
But those few seconds
Beside him was
Almost paradise.
-- Anonymous
A Local Poet
Hiya! Its Charu,
I'm starting to get the hang of blogging, and I'm lovin' all the poems you guys have posted.
Most of the poems posted are by someone who's deceased, so I thought I'd slip in a poem by a local poet whom I've had the pleasure of meeting. Her name's Angela Rawlings, and she's super cool. Her first book was titled 'Wide Slumber for lepidopterists;' a lepidoperist is someone who catches or studies insects and butterflies. The book is like the dreamscape life of a pupae that turns into a buuterfly. Here's an excerpt from it:
Pins through epidermis
a wall, a tooth
Place specimen under lamp to increase
drying time.
tsniaga tsurht rotcelloc
a#tilps# tips nehT
a moth with barbed spines
vulva, uvula
-Angela Rawlings
I'm starting to get the hang of blogging, and I'm lovin' all the poems you guys have posted.
Most of the poems posted are by someone who's deceased, so I thought I'd slip in a poem by a local poet whom I've had the pleasure of meeting. Her name's Angela Rawlings, and she's super cool. Her first book was titled 'Wide Slumber for lepidopterists;' a lepidoperist is someone who catches or studies insects and butterflies. The book is like the dreamscape life of a pupae that turns into a buuterfly. Here's an excerpt from it:
Pins through epidermis
a wall, a tooth
Place specimen under lamp to increase
drying time.
tsniaga tsurht rotcelloc
a#tilps# tips nehT
a moth with barbed spines
vulva, uvula
-Angela Rawlings
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
The Pain of Pleasure
Hey hey hey my gentle friends of ENG2D7! i'm very excited for my first blog EVER. alright. so this is a sonnet written by moi last year for eng class. it was quite hard following every single rule in sonnet writing, (yes, EVERY rule was followed, hence the lack of sense in the poem...) but i was pretty proud of the mark i got for it, so i thought i'd share this with you :D Happy blogging!
The Pain of Pleasure
To know the warmth of love is one’s great gift
And yet we can’t feel love without a cost
When morals take a turn and make a shift
Your world will fall, and that’s when trust is lost
Your heart cries out and feelings all run free
The snake of envy bites into the soul
To suffer pain and hurt to a degree,
Until you lose the pieces of your whole
Allow yourself to fall in love once more
For if you never fall, you’ll never rise
Dig deep, reflect, and search inside your core
To feel the warmth and tenderness reprise
I’ll love with every inch of my own skin
And only then will mortal life begin
To know the warmth of love is one’s great gift
And yet we can’t feel love without a cost
When morals take a turn and make a shift
Your world will fall, and that’s when trust is lost
Your heart cries out and feelings all run free
The snake of envy bites into the soul
To suffer pain and hurt to a degree,
Until you lose the pieces of your whole
Allow yourself to fall in love once more
For if you never fall, you’ll never rise
Dig deep, reflect, and search inside your core
To feel the warmth and tenderness reprise
I’ll love with every inch of my own skin
And only then will mortal life begin
-Cathy Zuo
The Furthest Distance in the World
This is Ann, sharing a favourite poem of mine. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it as much as I did when I first read it. The kind of forbidden love portrayed here is quite beautiful and quite reminiscent of tragic love stories.
The Furthest Distance in the World by Rabindranath Tagore
The furthest distance in the world
Is not between life and death
But when I stand in front of you
Yet you don't know that I love you.
The furthest distance in the world
Is not when I stand in front of you
Yet you can't see my love
But when undoubtedly knowing the love from both
Yet cannot
Be together.
The furthest distance in the world
Is not being apart while being in love
But when plainly can not resist the yearning
Yet pretending You have never been in my heart.
The furthest distance in the world
Is not
But using one's indifferent heart
To dig an uncrossable river
For the one who loves you.
The Furthest Distance in the World by Rabindranath Tagore
The furthest distance in the world
Is not between life and death
But when I stand in front of you
Yet you don't know that I love you.
The furthest distance in the world
Is not when I stand in front of you
Yet you can't see my love
But when undoubtedly knowing the love from both
Yet cannot
Be together.
The furthest distance in the world
Is not being apart while being in love
But when plainly can not resist the yearning
Yet pretending You have never been in my heart.
The furthest distance in the world
Is not
But using one's indifferent heart
To dig an uncrossable river
For the one who loves you.
Ballers and Friends
HI. Well... heres my posted poem....
By Daniel Shelton
from the first time i saw him
i knew he would go
straight to the top
and beside him i'd flow,
he'd hit every three
and stuff all your shots,
the absolute king
of the ball on our lot.
now jeremy told me not to try
he was that good,
but for the love of the game
i'd put him to shame,
the first match i'd lost
and my pride seemed to fall,
i swore to this kid
i'd be back and we'd ball.
i'm not the best
i do miss my share,
but i've got the heart
and he's got the spark,
now my mind is made up
it's time to return
back to the lot
and stuff this kid's shots.
i remember it clear
the look on his face
when i blocked his first shot
hard into his face
he stared in amazement
he knew it was time,
he knew we weren't playing
the game on the line
we played with our hearts
and realized it then...
that we're ballers....
.... we're friends....
Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
Hey, Grace here!
I've always liked the poems in Roald Dahl's Revolting Rhymes, so here's one of them. Even though it's clearly based on the fairytale, "Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf", it pulls a more disturbing twist on the famous fairytale. Hopefully, you'll find it as amusing as I did.
Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
by Roald Dahl
As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, "May I come in?''
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
"He's going to eat me up!'' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, "That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!''
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
"I've got to have a second helping!''
Then added with a frightful leer,
"I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.''
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
"What great big ears you have, Grandma.''
"All the better to hear you with,'' the Wolf replied.
"What great big eyes you have, Grandma.''
said Little Red Riding Hood.
"All the better to see you with,'' the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said,
"But Grandma,what a lovely great big furry coat you have on.''
"That's wrong!'' cried Wolf.
"Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.''
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, "Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.''
I've always liked the poems in Roald Dahl's Revolting Rhymes, so here's one of them. Even though it's clearly based on the fairytale, "Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf", it pulls a more disturbing twist on the famous fairytale. Hopefully, you'll find it as amusing as I did.
Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
by Roald Dahl
As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, "May I come in?''
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
"He's going to eat me up!'' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, "That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!''
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
"I've got to have a second helping!''
Then added with a frightful leer,
"I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.''
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
"What great big ears you have, Grandma.''
"All the better to hear you with,'' the Wolf replied.
"What great big eyes you have, Grandma.''
said Little Red Riding Hood.
"All the better to see you with,'' the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said,
"But Grandma,what a lovely great big furry coat you have on.''
"That's wrong!'' cried Wolf.
"Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.''
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, "Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.''
Poetry
Ola Muchachas! Patty here, I was just reading this poem and thought it was pretty cool. What do you think? Sadly...I can't seem to format it to how it supposed to look but thats ok!
Ciao!
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond
all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one
discovers in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a
high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
they are
useful. When they become so derivative as to become
unintelligible,
the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the bat
holding on upside down or in quest of something to
eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless
wolf under
a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse
that feels a flea, the base-
ball fan, the statistician--
nor is it valid
to discriminate against "business documents and
school-books"; all these phenomena are important. One must make
a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the
result is not poetry,
nor till the poets among us can be
"literalists of
the imagination"--above
insolence and triviality and can present
for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them,"
shall we have
it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,
the raw material of poetry in
all its rawness and
that which is on the other hand
genuine, you are interested in poetry.
- Marianne Moore
Ciao!
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond
all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one
discovers in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a
high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
they are
useful. When they become so derivative as to become
unintelligible,
the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the bat
holding on upside down or in quest of something to
eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless
wolf under
a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse
that feels a flea, the base-
ball fan, the statistician--
nor is it valid
to discriminate against "business documents and
school-books"; all these phenomena are important. One must make
a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the
result is not poetry,
nor till the poets among us can be
"literalists of
the imagination"--above
insolence and triviality and can present
for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them,"
shall we have
it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,
the raw material of poetry in
all its rawness and
that which is on the other hand
genuine, you are interested in poetry.
- Marianne Moore
Sick by Shel Silverstein
This poem by Shel Silverstein is simple and kinda cute. I can surely picture myself at Peggy's age doing what she is trying to fake sick and skip school. I really hope you guys enjoy it!
~SoUnDaRya SeLvAm
*****
"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay,
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is---Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
*****
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