Essay assginment
Bruce220
APlethoraofPoetry.docx
Introduction to Poetry / Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with a rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
How to Eat a Poem / Eve Merriam
Don’t be polite.
Bite in.
Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that
may run down your chin.
It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.
You do not need a knife or fork or spoon
or plate or napkin or tablecloth.
For there is no core
or stem
or rind
or pit
or seed
or skin
to throw away.
Narrative and Lyric
Jabberwocky
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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 grey 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,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’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.
Sumer Ic Icumen In
By Anonymous
Sumer ic icumen in.
Lhude sing cuccu;
Groweth sed and bloweth med
And springeth the wode nu.
Sing cuccu!
Awe bleteth after lomb,
Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc stereth, bucke verteth;
Murie sing cuccu.
Cuccu, cuccu,
Well singes thu, cuccu,
Ne swik thu naver nu.
Sing cuccu nu! Sing cuccu!
Sing cuccu! Sing cuccu nu!
I’m not gonna miss you
By Glen Campbell
I'm still here, but yet I'm gone I don't play guitar or sing my songs They never defined who I am The man that loves you 'til the end
You're the last person I will love You're the last face I will recall And best of all, I'm not gonna miss you I'm not gonna miss you I'm not gonna miss you
I'm never gonna hold you like I did Or say I love you to the kids You're never gonna see it in my eyes It's not gonna hurt me when you cry
I'm never gonna know what you go through All the things I say or do All the hurt and all the pain One thing selfishly remains
I'm not gonna miss you I'm not gonna miss you
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod
Eugene Field
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,As they rocked in the wooden shoe;And the wind that sped them all night longRuffled the waves of dew;The little stars were the herring-fishThat lived in the beautiful sea.“Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—Never afraid are we!”So cried the stars to the fishermen three,Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.All night long their nets they threwTo the stars in the twinkling foam,—Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,Bringing the fishermen home:‘Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemedAs if it could not be;And some folk thought ‘twas a dream they’d dreamedOf sailing that beautiful sea;But I shall name you the fishermen three:Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,And Nod is a little head,And the wooden shoe that sailed the skiesIs a wee one’s trundle-bed;So shut your eyes while Mother singsOf wonderful sights that be,And you shall see the beautiful thingsAs you rock in the misty seaWhere the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:—Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.![https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/ce/ee/1f/ceee1f81a43f035e608963e2a1cd4f54.jpg]()
Sex and Love
![http://thaafterparty.com/wp-content/themes/replay/framework/extensions/timthumb/timthumb.php?src=http%3A%2F%2Fthaafterparty.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2016%2F06%2Flove-and-sex-dallas-internet-radio-stations.jpg&w=610]()
|
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
XLIII. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) |
||||
|
|
||||
|
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
|
when you have forgotten Sunday: the love story
by Gwendolyn Brooks
—And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday—
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
To nowhere,
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I’m-happy-why?
And if-Monday-never-had-to-come—
When you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went in to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies—
I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Bright bedclothes,
Then gently folded into each other—
When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well.
Hazel Tells Laverne by Katheryn Machan (NOTE: This is the title of the poem, not “The Princess and the Frog”. The poem is based on the short story by William Robert Symonds)
William Robert Symonds, "The Princess and the Frog"
last night im cleanin out my howard johnsons ladies room when all of a sudden up pops this frog musta come from the sewer swimmin aroun an tryin ta climb up the sida the bowl so i goes ta flushm down but sohelpmegod he starts talkin bout a golden ball an how i can be a princess me a princess well my mouth drops all the way to the floor an he says kiss me just kiss me once on the nose well i screams ya little green pervert am i hitsm with my mop an has ta flush the toilet down three times me a princess
Untitled
By Alta
I love it when you shove it.
Ancient Egyptian Love Lyric (c. 570-1085 bce)
Is there anything sweeter than this hour?
For I am with you, and you lift up my heart –
For is there not embracing and fondling when you visit me
And we give ourselves up to delights?
If you wish to caress my thigh,
Then I will offer you my breast also – it won’t thrust you away!
Would you leave because you are hungry?
Are you such a man of your belly?
Would you leave because you need something to wear?
I have a chestful of fine linen!
Would you leave because you wish something to drink?
Here, take my breasts! They are full to overflowing, and
All for you!
· Anonymous
This Guy's in Love With You
· Burt Bacharach and Hal David
·
You see this guy, this guy's in love with you Yes I'm in love who looks at you the way I do When you smile I can tell it know each other very well
How can I show you I'm glad I got to know you 'cause I've heard some talk they say you think I'm fine This guy's in love and what I'd do to make you mine Tell me now is it so don't let me be the last to know
My hands are shakin' don't let my heart keep breaking 'cause I need your love, I want your love Say you're in love and you'll be my guy, if not I'll just die
Tell me now is it so don't let me be the last to know My hands are shakin' don't let my heart keep breaking 'cause I need your love, I want your love Say you're in love and you'll be my girl, if not I'll just die
Nizam the Pederast (anonymous 9th century Arabia)
Nizam the pederast, whose delight in boys
Was known throughout Bagdad, one afternoon
In a secluded place saw in a clearing
The flash of limbs behind a nearby bush,
And looking closer came upon a youth
Who seemed more lovely than his dreams had promised,
Lying asleep in shade, his head pressed deep
Into crossed arms, his long slim body
Quite naked, the firm buttocks firmly offered.
Quick as a jackal pouncing,
Nizam jumped
Upon the lad, his robe about his waist,
The startled boy pierced by his lusty cock
Before you could say knife. Not until later,
When the boy lay panting on the flattened grass,
Did Nizam, pausing to embrace his love,
Discover him a her, surprised but pleased
At being given such pleasure at a source
No previous lover seemed to know about.
Nizam converted? Never. But the girl
Now gives her lovers strange instruction.
The Power Of Love"
Sung by Celine Dion
The whispers in the morning Of lovers sleeping tight Are rolling by like thunder now As I look in your eyes I hold on to your whole body And feel each move you make Your voice is warm and tender A love that I could not forsake [First chorus:] 'Cause I'm your lady And you are my man Whenever you reach for me I'll do all that I can Lost is how I'm feeling lying in your arms When the world outside's too much to take That all ends when I'm with you Even though there may be times It seems I'm far away Never wonder where I am 'Cause I am always by your side [First chorus] [Second chorus:] We're heading for something Somewhere I've never been Sometimes I am frightened But I'm ready to learn Of the power of love The sound of your heart beating Made it clear suddenly The feeling that I can't go on Is light years away [First chorus] [Second chorus] The power of love The power of love Sometimes I am frightened But I'm ready to learn Of the power of love The power of love As I look in your eyes The power of love
I Asked My Love (Abu Sa’id, 978-1066, Persian)
I asked my love: “Why do you make yourself so beautiful?”
“To please myself.
I am the eye, the mirror, and the loveliness;
The loved one and the lover and love.”
"Greatest Love Of All"
Sung by Whitney Houston
I believe the children are our future Teach them well and let them lead the way Show them all the beauty they possess inside Give them a sense of pride to make it easier Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be Everybody's searching for a hero People need someone to look up to I never found anyone who fulfilled my needs A lonely place to be And so I learned to depend on me [Chorus:] I decided long ago, never to walk in anyone's shadows If I fail, if I succeed At least I'll live as I believe No matter what they take from me They can't take away my dignity Because the greatest love of all Is happening to me I found the greatest love of all Inside of me The greatest love of all Is easy to achieve Learning to love yourself It is the greatest love of all I believe the children are our future Teach them well and let them lead the way Show them all the beauty they possess inside Give them a sense of pride to make it easier Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be [Chorus] And if, by chance, that special place That you've been dreaming of Leads you to a lonely place Find your strength in love
|
|
|||||||||||||
|
|
Childhood
Where the Sidewalk Ends
By Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white, and there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Cradle Song
![https://tyrnyx.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/rockabyebaby1.jpg]()
Hush-a-bye, baby in the tree top
When the wind blows the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all
Hush, Little Baby
Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring turns brass, Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass
And if that looking glass gets broke, Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat
And if that billy goat won't pull, Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull
And if that cart and bull turn over, Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover
And if that dog named Rover won't bark Papa's gonna buy you a horse and cart
And if that horse and cart fall down, You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.
All around the mulberry bush The monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought 'twas all in fun. Pop! goes the weasel.
A penny for a spool of thread,
A penny for a needle.
That's the way the money goes.
Pop! goes the weasel.
Up and down the City Road, In and out of the Eagle, That's the way the money goes. Pop! goes the weasel.
Half a pound of tuppenney rice, Half a pound of treacle, Mix it up and make it nice, Pop! goes the weasel.
Riddle:
As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives. Each wife had seven sacks, Each sack had seven cats, Each cat had seven kits. Kits, cats, sacks, and wives, How many were going to St. Ives?
A-B-C-D-E-F-G H-I-J-K-LMNOP Q-R-S, T-U-V W-X-Y and Z
Now I know my ABC's Next time won't you sing with me?
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are.
Baa Baa Black Sheep
Baa baa black sheep, Have you any wool? Yes, sir; yes, sir Three bags full. One for my master, And one for my dame, And one for the little boy Who lives down the lane.
Original rhyme:
Bah, Bah, a black Sheep, Have you any Wool? Yes, merry have I, Three Bags full. One for my master, One for my Dame, One for the little Boy That lives down the lane.
Little Bo-Peep
By Mother Goose (anonymous)
Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
And can't tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, and they'll come home,
Bringing their tails behind them.
Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep,
And dreamt she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke, she found it a joke,
For they were still all fleeting.
Then up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them;
She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,
For they'd left their tails behind them.
It happened one day, as Bo-Peep did stray
Into a meadow hard by,
There she espied their tails, side by side,
All hung on a tree to dry.
She heaved a sigh and wiped her eye,
And over the hillocks she raced;
And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should,
That each tail be properly placed.
Little Boy Blue
By Mother Goose
Little boy blue,
Come blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow,
The cow's in the corn.
But where is the boy
Who looks after the sheep?
He's under a haystack,
Fast asleep.
“For Want of a Nail” Lyrics
For want of a nail the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost. For want of a horse the rider was lost. For want of a rider the message was lost. For want of a message the battle was lost. For want of a battle the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
"Three blind mice! See, how they run..." by Mother Goose
Three blind mice! See, how they run! They all ran after the farmer's wife, Who cut off their tails with the carving knife! Did you ever see such a thing in your life? Three blind mice!
Jack and Jill Went up the hill To fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down And broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after.
Up Jack got And home did trot As fast as he could caper Went to bed And plastered his head With vinegar and brown paper.
"There was an old woman who lived in a shoe."
By Mother Goose
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, she didn't know what to do.
She gave them some broth without any bread;
And whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
The Inner City Mother Goose (1969) / Eve Merriam (1916-1992)
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the double lock will keep;
May no brick through the window break,
And no one rob me till I wake.
Wisdom by Eve Merriam
A wise old judge sat in a court,
The case was long, his judgment short;
Why change the way it’s always been?
Convict the man of darker skin.
Jack be nimble
Jack be quick
Snap the blade
And give it a flick
Grab the purse
It’s easily done
Then for kicks
Just for fun
Plunge the knife
And cut
And run…
Who Killed Nobody? By Eve Merriam
Who killed nobody?
I, said the policeman,
With my off-duty gun.
I killed no one.
Who saw him die?
I, said his mother,
Ai, my son, aii!
Who caught his blood?
I, said another,
For he was a Brother.
Who’ll carry the coffin?
We said his neighbors,
We’ll carry the coffin;
We’ve done it often.
All the people there
Fell a-sighing and a-sobbing
When they heard the bells toll….
They’re highly emotional people,
Tend to fly off the handle,
Said the policeman,
Stroking his off-duty gun
That killed no one.
B-I-N-G-O
There was a farmer who had a dog, And Bingo was his name-O. B-I-N-G-O! B-I-N-G-O! B-I-N-G-O! And Bingo was his name-O!
There was a farmer who had a dog, And Bingo was his name-O. (Clap)-I-N-G-O! (Clap)-I-N-G-O! (Clap)-I-N-G-O! And Bingo was his name-O!
There was a farmer who had a dog, And Bingo was his name-O! (Clap, Clap)-N-G-O! (Clap, Clap)-N-G-O! (Clap, Clap)-N-G-O! And Bingo was his name-O!
There was a farmer who had a dog, And Bingo was his name-O. (Clap, Clap, Clap)-G-O! (Clap, Clap, Clap)-G-O! (Clap, Clap, Clap)-G-O! And Bingo was his name-O!
There was a farmer who had a dog, And Bingo was his name-O. (Clap, Clap, Clap, clap)-O! (Clap, Clap, Clap, clap)-O! (Clap, Clap, Clap, clap)-O! And Bingo was his name-O!
There was a farmer who had a dog, And Bingo was his name-O. (Clap, Clap, Clap, Clap, Clap) (Clap, Clap, Clap, Clap, Clap) (Clap, Clap, Clap, Clap, Clap) And Bingo was his name-O
I’m a Little Teapot (The Teapot Song)
I’m a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout, Tip me over and pour me out.
I’m a very special pot, it’s true, Here, let me show you what I can do. I can change my handle and my spout, Tip me over and pour me out.
The Hokey Pokey
You put your right foot in,
You put your right foot out,
You put your right foot in,
And you shake it all about.
You do the Hokey Pokey,
And you turn yourself around,
That’s what it’s all about.
You put your left foot in, You put your left foot out, You put your left foot in, And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You put your right hand in, You put your right hand out, You put your right hand in, And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You put your left hand in, You put your left hand out, You put your left hand in, And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You put your right shoulder in, You put your right shoulder out, You put your right shoulder in, And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You put your left shoulder in, You put your left shoulder out, You put your left shoulder in, And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You put your right hip in, You put your right hip out, You put your right hip in And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You put your left hip in, You put your left hip out, You put your left hip in, And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You put your whole self in, You put your whole self out, You put your whole self in And you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey, And you turn yourself around, That’s what it’s all about.
You Are My Sunshine
You are my sunshine, My only sunshine, You make me happy When skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, How much I love you, Please don’t take my sunshine away.
Short’nin Bread
Put on the skillet, slip on the lid, Mama’s gonna make a little short’nin’ bread. That ain’t all she’s gonna do, Mama’s gonna make a little coffee, too. Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread. Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread.
Three little children, lyin’ in bed, Two were sick and the other ‘most dead; Sent for the doctor and the doctor said, “Give those children some short’nin’ bread.”
Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread. Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread.
When those children, sick in bed, Heard that talk about short’nin’ bread, Popped up well to dance and sing, Skipped around and cut the pigeon wing.
Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread. Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread.
Slip to the kitchen, slip up the led, Filled my pockets full of short’nin’ bread; Stole the skillet, stole the led, Stole the gal makin’ short’nin’ bread.
Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread. Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread.
Caught me with the skillet, caught me with the led, Caught me with the gal makin’ short’nin’ bread; Paid six dollars for the skillet, six dollars for the led, Spent six months in jail eatin’ short’nin’ bread.
Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread. Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’, short’nin’, Mama’s little baby loves short’nin’ bread.
Miss Mary Mack
Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack All dressed in black, black, black With silver buttons, buttons, buttons All down her back, back, back. She asked her mother, mother, mother For 50 cents, cents, cents To see the elephants, elephants, elephants Jump over the fence, fence, fence. They jumped so high, high, high They reached the sky, sky, sky And they didn't come back, back, back 'Til the 4th of July, ly, ly!
Big Sister
I have a big sister;
She’s taller and older;
On tiptoe I only
Reach up to her shoulder;
But I have a secret
That I haven’t told her.
(It’s how to grow faster
Until I grow past her.)
I watch what she’s eating;
I watch what she’s drinking;
I don’t let her notice
Or see what I’m thinking;
But each time that she
Takes a bite, I take two;
And that way she only eats half what I do.
I have a big sister;
She’s taller and older;
On tiptoe I only
Reach up to her shoulder;
But I have a secret
That I haven’t told her.
(The way I will beat her
Is just to outeat her!)
· Mary Ann Hoberman
Tickle Tickle
Me papa tickle me feet
He call it “finger treat”
me scream and run each time he come
me papa tickle me feet
He tickle me tummy, me chest, me arm
His fingers fly so wild
He say, “Come here, little man.”
You my ticklin’ chile.”
Me papa say he love me
Me papa look so proud
He say “Sonny, what a joy
To see you laugh out loud.”
He tickle me ribs, me neck, me back
His fingers grow stronger each day
Me twist and swing and laugh and kick
But he hold me anyway
Me eyes, the water
Me throat be sore
Me weak, me dizzy
But me want more
He throw me high up in the air
And catch me from behind
Me say, “Go higher!” and he say,
Don’t you know you’re mine?”
Me papa tickle me feet
He call it “finger treat”
Me scream and run (but OH, WHAT FUN!)
When papa tickle me feet.
· Dakari Hru
Grounded
I’m grounded.
I said a bad word and I’m grounded.
I just wanted to hear how it sounded.
It sounded great,
So I said it again
And taught it to my brother.
We agreed it was a good bad word,
But it didn’t sound good to my mother!
· Florence Parry Heide
How to Assemble a Toy
This is the whatsit that fits on the knob
Of the gadget that turns the thingamabob.
This is the dingus that fits in the place
With the doodad net to the whosiface.
This is the jigger that goes in the hole
Where the gizmo turns the rigamarole.
Now slip the ding-dang into the slot
Of the jugamalug, and what have you got?
It’s a genuine neverwas such a not!
· John Ciardi
Mad Song (a.k.a Earworm)
I shut my door
To keep you out
Won’t do no good
To stand and shout
Won’t listen to
A thing you say
Just time you took
Yourself away
I lock my door
To keep me here
Until I’m sure
You disappear.
· Mary Cohn Livingston
Moving
We are moving away
So I must say good-bye
To my room and my swing
And that sweet part of sky
That sometimes hangs blue
And sometimes hangs gray
Over the fields
Where I used to play.
Good-bye to my old friends
Jason and Sue
They wave from their porches,
Are they crying, too?
The moving truck rubles
Past all that I know –
The school and the woods
And the creek down below.
And everything seems
To be pleading
“Don’t go!”
· Eileen Spinelli
Homework
Homework sits on top of Sunday, squashing Sunday flat.
Homework has the smell of Monday, homework’s very fat
Heavy books and piles of paper, answers I don’t know.
Sunday evening’s almost finished now I’m going to go
Do my homework in the kitchen. Maybe just a snack,
Then I’ll sit right down and start as soon as I run back
For some chocolate sandwich cookies. Then I’ll really do
All that homework in a minute. First I’ll see what new
Show they’ve got on television in the living room.
Everybody’s laughing there, but misery and gloom
And a full refrigerator are where I am at.
I’ll just have another sandwich. Homework’s very fat.
· Russel Hoban
Chocolate, Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
i
Love
you so
i
want
to
marry
you
and
life
forever
in the
flavor
of your
brown
· Arnold Adoff
Uggle
Uggle is a blanket
Worn to shreds
It’s been on every
One of my beds.
Once it went off
In a Good Will pack
And I had an awful time
Getting it back.
Once it was tossed
In an old trash bin
But I saw its fringe
And climbed right in.
Once it was bitten
By a moth
And once it was used
As a dusting cloth!
Why did I love it
More than my cat,
My dog my doll and my
Sunday hat?
Because when dark
Night shadows flung
Monsters on the walls
When I was young
It was to Uggle
That I clung….
Later when I
Was four or five
And knew that
Shadows weren’t alive
Uggle was part
Of every night
Like the stars and
The bedside light,
Like loving eyes and
A hand held tight….
Like somebody, almost,
But not quite….
· Mary O’Neill
WHATIF
By Shel Silverstein
Last night, while I lay thinking here,
Some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
And pranced and partied all night long
And sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I’m dumb in school?
Whatif they’ve closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I got beat up?
Whatif there’s poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me/
Whatif I don’t grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won’t bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don’t grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems swell, and then
The nightmare Whatifs strike again!
THE LITTLE BOY AND THE OLD MAN
By Shel Silverstein
Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the little old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.
·
Rockabye
Rockaby baby, in the treetop.
Don’t you know a treetop
Is no safe place to rock?
And who put you up there, and your cradle too?
Baby, I think someone down here’s
Got it in for to you.
A Poem is a Little Path
A poem is a little path
That leads you through the trees.
It takes you to the cliffs and shores,
To anywhere you please.
Follow it and trust your way
With mind and heart as one,
And when the journey’s over
You’ll find you’ve just begun.
· Charles Ghigna
Maturity and Epiphany
Advice
Someone dancing inside us
learned only a few steps:
the “Do-Your Work” in 4/4 time,
the “What-Do-You-Expect” waltz.
He hasn’t noticed yet the woman
standing away from the lamp,
the one with black eyes,
Who knows the rhumba,
and strange steps in jumpy rhythms
from the mountains in Bulgaria.
If they dance together,
something unexpected will happen
If they don’t, the next world
will be a lot like this one.
· Bill Holm (1943-2009)
How To Treat Elves
Morris Bishop
I met an elf man in the woods,The wee-est little elf!Sitting under a mushroom tall--'Twas taller than himself!"How do you do, little elf," I said,"And what do you do all day?""I dance 'n fwolic about," said he,"'N scuttle about and play;""I s'prise the butterflies, 'n whenA katydid I see,'Katy didn't' I say, and heSays 'Katy did!' to me!"I hide behind my mushroom stalkWhen Mister Mole comes froo,'N only jus' to fwighten himI jump out'n say 'Boo!'"'N then I swing on a cobweb swingUp in the air so high,'N the cwickets chirp to hear me sing'Upsy-daisy-die!'"'N then I play with the baby chicks,I call them, chick chick chick!'N what do you think of that?" said he.I said, "It makes me sick."It gives me sharp and shooting painsTo listen to such drool."I lifted up my foot, and squashedThe God damn little fool.
Poem about My Rights
by June Jordan (1936-2002)
June Jordan
![http://www.radcliffe.harvard.edu/sites/radcliffe.harvard.edu/files/imagefield_crop/field_image/collection_exhibit/collection_jjordan10013_0.jpg]()
Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about why I can’t
go out without changing my clothes my shoes
my body posture my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening/
alone on the streets/alone not being the point/
the point being that I can’t do what I want
to do with my own body because I am the wrong
sex the wrong age the wrong skin and
suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/
or far into the woods and I wanted to go
there by myself thinking about God/or thinking
about children or thinking about the world/all of it
disclosed by the stars and the silence:
I could not go and I could not think and I could not
stay there
alone
as I need to be
alone because I can’t do what I want to do with my own
body and
who in the hell set things up
like this
and in France they say if the guy penetrates
but does not ejaculate then he did not rape me
and if after stabbing him if after screams if
after begging the bastard and if even after smashing
a hammer to his head if even after that if he
and his buddies fuck me after that
then I consented and there was
no rape because finally you understand finally
they fucked me over because I was wrong I was
wrong again to be me being me where I was/wrong
to be who I am
which is exactly like South Africa
penetrating into Namibia penetrating into
Angola and does that mean I mean how do you know if
Pretoria ejaculates what will the evidence look like the
proof of the monster jackboot ejaculation on Blackland
and if
after Namibia and if after Angola and if after Zimbabwe
and if after all of my kinsmen and women resist even to
self-immolation of the villages and if after that
we lose nevertheless what will the big boys say will they
claim my consent:
Do You Follow Me: We are the wrong people of
the wrong skin on the wrong continent and what
in the hell is everybody being reasonable about
and according to the Times this week
back in 1966 the C.I.A. decided that they had this problem
and the problem was a man named Nkrumah so they
killed him and before that it was Patrice Lumumba
and before that it was my father on the campus
of my Ivy League school and my father afraid
to walk into the cafeteria because he said he
was wrong the wrong age the wrong skin the wrong
gender identity and he was paying my tuition and
before that
it was my father saying I was wrong saying that
I should have been a boy because he wanted one/a
boy and that I should have been lighter skinned and
that I should have had straighter hair and that
I should not be so boy crazy but instead I should
just be one/a boy and before that
it was my mother pleading plastic surgery for
my nose and braces for my teeth and telling me
to let the books loose to let them loose in other
words
I am very familiar with the problems of the C.I.A.
and the problems of South Africa and the problems
of Exxon Corporation and the problems of white
America in general and the problems of the teachers
and the preachers and the F.B.I. and the social
workers and my particular Mom and Dad/I am very
familiar with the problems because the problems
turn out to be
me
I am the history of rape
I am the history of the rejection of who I am
I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of
myself
I am the history of battery assault and limitless
armies against whatever I want to do with my mind
and my body and my soul and
whether it’s about walking out at night
or whether it’s about the love that I feel or
whether it’s about the sanctity of my vagina or
the sanctity of my national boundaries
or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity
of each and every desire
that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic
and indisputably single and singular heart
I have been raped
be-
cause I have been wrong the wrong sex the wrong age
the wrong skin the wrong nose the wrong hair the
wrong need the wrong dream the wrong geographic
the wrong sartorial I
I have been the meaning of rape
I have been the problem everyone seeks to
eliminate by forced
penetration with or without the evidence of slime and/
but let this be unmistakable this poem
is not consent I do not consent
to my mother to my father to the teachers to
the F.B.I. to South Africa to Bedford-Stuy
to Park Avenue to American Airlines to the hardon
idlers on the corners to the sneaky creeps in
cars
I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name
My name is my own my own my own
and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this
but I can tell you that from now on my resistance
my simple and daily and nightly self-determination
may very well cost you your damn life
What Do You Say When a Man Tells You, You Have the Softest Skin? By Mary Mackey
Do you say
Its progesterone, progesterone makes it soft
When he says
You have big brown eyes
Do you say of course
I’m nearsighted?
My body grew in rings like a tree trunk
At the center I’m always 10
At the center I’m always wearing
Pink plastic glasses
Braces
Wire wrapped around my head
A mouth full of rubber bands
I have buck teeth I can spit through
Corrective shoes
Pimples
No legs
No butt
No breasts
One day my mother buys me falsies
Overnight I grow from 28AA to 36D
I look down and notice I can’t see my feet
I feel like a fork-lift
I imagine they are realies
In gym the girls steal my bra
And throw it in the pool
My rubber breasts float away
Like humpbacked whales
I dive for them
Over and over
I dive for my breasts
And come up flat
What do you say when a man tells you
You’re beautiful?
Do you tell him,
“I’m still fishing
I’m still fishing for my body.”
Ill Literate Poem
Literary your Highness won’t possibly understand
The
Whole story
But
It wasn’t
Long ago
Dhat mi tich her maker mi ill literate
When
She scratched deep
Into my brown hairless skin
w/her educated grin
&
Told me
Dhat SPA nish
Was a necessary no-no
In classes / in first last & first first pledge
Unto death thy rwb&ble nightmare
Dhat hell / d mi tongue
Always short of words
In cookie & milk-breaks / reli gris instruction /
Gym / art appreciation / then after
The yardbreaks
End evin after scoo wez over
When my screw-down seat wez left
w/out my harassed bodi
SPIK ENGLISH! SPA NISH IS BADD FOR U!
IN AMERI CA U S-P-E-A-K IN G-L-I-S-H ONLY!
AN SO U’LL UNDER STAND
I WANT U
TO FACE D BLACKBOARD
AN RITE ONE HUNDRED X:
“SPANISH IS BAD FOR ME.
I WILL NOT SPEAK IT AGAIN!”
/wen I didn’t under stand an inglish wor /d
I wez dic tated to look-it up in
Dear o’l websters dichinery
And foun/dead he ate d SPA nish lan gwedge /
The chalk-children
Thought of me
As the
Estupido skinny prieto
Who made funny-talk
Which embarrassed
& raped my accent of
Romantic native sounds
&so literary your Highness
Can now guess the riddle which begins w/brown skin
&innocent minds &ends
w/watered-down hue &a
5&10 cent ribbons
That gets funny-talker
w/general diploma
to the highest pedestals
of dead-end alleys.
· Victor Hernandez Cruz
'This be the verse'
By Phillip Larkin (1922-1985)
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.They may not mean to, but they do.They fill you with the faults they hadAnd add some extra, just for you.But they were fucked up in their turnBy fools in old-style hats and coats,Who half the time were soppy-sternAnd half at one another's throats.Man hands on misery to man.It deepens like a coastal shelf.Get out as early as you can,And don't have any kids yourself.Sadie and Maud
Maud went to college.
Sadie stayed at home.
Sadie scraped life
With a fine-tooth comb.
She didn’t leave a tangle in.
Her comb found every strand.
Sadie was one of the livingest chits
In all the land.
Sadie bore two babies
Under her maiden name.
Maud and Ma and Papa
Nearly died of shame.
When Sadie said her last so-long
Her girls struck out from home.
(Sadie had left as heritage
Her fine-tooth comb.)
Maud, who went to college,
Is a thin brown mouse.
She is living all alone
In this old house.
· Gwendolyn Brooks
The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
Home
![http://www.valorrentals.com/AccountFiles/valor/LOGO-valor-homes-black.gif]()
I want my own home (anonymous)
I want my own home A home I’ll long to be in it A home where there is real peace A home I can get into Anytime I wanted too With the doors wide open A home with a TV A TV I can watch on As long as I can A home with a radio Where I can play in full audio To its loudness I can bear A home with foods Though it’s quite few But will never be accounted A home where me and my child Can play around without restriction Laugh with no inhibitions A simple home I’ve wanted to But too hard to be mine Too hard to be called mine Home
Home is pictures of memories on the wall. Home is sleeping in my own bed. Home is waking up to the smell of mom's cooking. Home is sharing the holidays with family. Home is playing the piano in the living room. Home is a warm place to be. Home is sweet. Home is the place for me. Home is filled with love. Home is blessed from heaven above. Home is where my heart is. Home has a strong foundation. It can weather any storm. Home is where I belong. When I go away, I know I can come back to stay. Home is a beautiful place.
They Went Home
They went home and told their wives, that never once in all their lives, had they known a girl like me, But... They went home. They said my house was licking clean, no word I spoke was ever mean, I had an air of mystery, But... They went home. My praises were on all men's lips, they liked my smile, my wit, my hips, they'd spend one night, or two or three. But...
Home sweet Home
A sea of defunct toys Canvas of walls smeared with colors of joy; patterns of art; Designs, that god only can understand Love filled books, can't confine themselves to shelves, pop out every now and then, Rest on pillow. Clothes say - hey, in that ugly closet who wants to stay! slippers not far behind stay on standby all the time little princess may need them anytime. Love finds itself sprinkled everywhere in wet hands on the wall, in larger than life footprints on invisible floor. chocolate stained sofa too smiles at you. The pen runs out of ink every time you need it. Blank pages of my diary are history too.... Coins from my wallet, attached by the piggy bank, that has mortgaged the doll's house. Happily the barbie pays back Installment by installment Love, that has gone into making her home up. Out in the balcony arm chairs sit alone through the day, waiting for the next morning tea; when the lazy love shall float around them, amidst the rain sprinkles. sweet nothings formless; yet form foundations.
Home is where the heart is
We are a circle where we roam near or far it is our home we are home Any place we come to be just remember you're with me where ever we are we are home (where ever we are we are home) There are times you look so lost stand with me and be a part of the home in my heart our home is of the heart
Home
Dream with pain from you Awake with pain from you I'm afraid to be alone I'm afraid to stay at home Gather myself to fall again I'm better off dead Then breathing until the end On second thought, maybe instead This is me, I'm so pathetic Let the world hear me cry Let them know I'm an addict Let them know I won't die I'll crawl through that familiar door I'm so sick of this place I've seen this all before It's uglier then my face Dream with pain from you Awake with pain from you I'm afraid to be alone I'm afraid to stay at home.
Home
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine And ask my business there. My business, - just a life I left, Was such still dwelling there? I fumbled at my nerve, I scanned the windows near; The silence like an ocean rolled, And broke against my ear. I laughed a wooden laugh That I could fear a door, Who danger and the dead had faced, But never quaked before. I fitted to the latch My hand, with trembling care, Lest back the awful door should spring, And leave me standing there. I moved my fingers off As cautiously as glass, And held my ears, and like a thief Fled gasping from the house.
When the Boys Come Home by John Hay
There's a happy time coming, When the boys come home. There's a glorious day coming, When the boys come home. We will end the dreadful story Of this treason dark and gory In a sunburst of glory, When the boys come home. The day will seem brighter When the boys come home, For our hearts will be lighter When the boys come home. Wives and sweethearts will press them In their arms and caress them, And pray God to bless them, When the boys come home. The thinned ranks will be proudest When the boys come home, And their cheer will ring the loudest When the boys come home. The full ranks will be shattered, And the bright arms will be battered, And the battle-standards tattered, When the boys come home. Their bayonets may be rusty, When the boys come home, And their uniforms dusty, When the boys come home. But all shall see the traces Of battle's royal graces, In the brown and bearded faces, When the boys come home. Our love shall go to meet them, When the boys come home, To bless them and to greet them, When the boys come home; And the fame of their endeavor Time and change shall not dissever From the nation's heart forever, When the boys come home.
God Called You Home
By Lindsey Zacher
God looked around his garden And found an empty space; He then looked down upon this earth And saw your tired face. He put His arms around you And lifted you to rest; God's garden must be beautiful, He only takes the best. He knew you were in pain, He knew you might never Get well upon this earth again. He saw the road was getting rough And the hills were hard to climb, so He closed your weary eyelids and whispered 'Peace be thine.' It broke our hearts to lose you, But you never went alone, For part of us went with you The day God called you home
You are Like Home to Me
You feel like home to me, Like a comfortable easy chair. A place where I can be myself, Where I can go to be free. You feel like home to me, Like a warm cozy bed, On a dark Winter's night, Protecting me during sleep. You feel like home to me, A warm aromatic kitchen To feed my constant hunger, Filling me until I'm satisfied. You feel like home to me, A place where love grows, A place I can call mine, A place where I can grow old.
HOMETOWN
After a supper of mountain rice And wood-roasted river crab I sit on a long bench outside The old house, looking at a river:
Alone, myself, again away From that other self in the city On this piece of ancestor land, My pulses slowed, I am at peace.
I have no wish but this place — To remain here in a stopped time With stars moving on that water And in the sky a brightness
Answering: I want nothing else But this stillness filling me From a pure darkness over the land That smells ever freshly of trees.
The night and I are quiet now But for small laughter from a neighbor, The quick sweep of a winged creature, And a warm dog, snuggled by my feet.
Luis Cabalquinto
Mending Wall
By Robert Frost
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."
“I Am Asking You to Come Back Home,” by Jo Carson
I am asking you to come back home before you lose the chance of seein’ me alive. You already missed your daddy. You missed your uncle Howard. You missed Luciel. I kept them and I buried them. You showed up for the funerals. Funerals are the easy part.
You even missed that dog you left. I dug him a hole and put him in it. It was a Sunday morning, but dead animals don’t wait no better than dead people.
My mamma used to say she could feel herself runnin’ short of the breath of life. So can I. And I am blessed tired of buryin’ things I love. Somebody else can do that job to me. You’ll be back here then; you come for funerals.
I’d rather you come back now and got my stories. I’ve got whole lives of stories that belong to you. I could fill you up with stories, stories I ain’t told nobody yet, stories with your name, your blood in them. Ain’t nobody gonna hear them if you don’t and you ain’t gonna hear them unless you get back home.
When I am dead, it will not matter how hard you press your ear to the ground.
Old Age![http://mrmagazinekey.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Old-Age-is-the-New-Internet-Gold.png]()
Warning - When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
By Jenny Joseph
![http://labyrinth_3.tripod.com/herbgarland.gif]()
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
My Get-Up-And-Go Has Got Up and Went
Anonymous
Old age is golden, or so I’ve heard said, But sometimes I wonder, as I crawl into bed, With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup, My eyes on the table until I wake up. As sleep dims my vision, I say to myself: Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf? But, though nations are warring, and Congress is vexed, We’ll still stick around to see what happens next!
How do I know my youth is all spent? My get-up-and-go has got up and went! But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin And think of the places my getup has been!
When I was young, my slippers were red; I could kick up my heels right over my head. When I was older my slippers were blue, But still I could dance the whole night through. Now I am older, my slippers are black. I huff to the store and puff my way back. But never you laugh; I don’t mind at all: I’d rather be huffing than not puff at all!
How do I know my youth is all spent? My get-up-and-go has got up and went! But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin And think of the places my getup has been!
I get up each morning and dust off my wits, Open the paper, and read the Obits. If I’m not there, I know I’m not dead, So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed!
How do I know my youth is all spent? My get-up-and-go has got up and went! But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin And think of the places my getup has been!
|
When You Are Old
WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face among a crowd of stars. · William Butler Yeats
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Death
|
John Donne |
|
|
|
72. "Death be not proud, though some have called thee" |
|
|
Because I could not stop for Death (479)
Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –
Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –
People Who Died
By Jim Carroll
Teddy sniffing glue he was 12 years old Fell from the roof on east two-nine Cathy was 11 when she pulled the plug On 26 reds and a bottle of wine Bobby got leukemia, 14 years old He looked like 65 when he died He was a friend of mine
Refrain: Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends, and they died
G-berg and georgie let their gimmicks go rotten So they died of hepatitis in upper manhattan Sly in vietnam took a bullet in the head Bobby od'd on drano on the night that he was wed They were two more friends of mine Two more friends that died / I miss 'em--they died
Repeat refrain
Mary took a dry dive from a hotel room Bobby hung himself from a cell in the tombs Judy jumped in front of a subway train Eddie got slit in the jugular vein And eddie, I miss you more than all the others, And I salute you brother/ this song is for you my brother
Repeat refrain
Herbie pushed tony from the boys' club roof Tony thought that his rage was just some goof But herbie sure gave tony some bitchen proof "hey," herbie said, "tony, can you fly? " But tony couldn't fly . . . tony died
Repeat refrain:
Brian got busted on a narco rap He beat the rap by rattin' on some bikers He said, hey, I know it's dangerous, But it sure beats riker's But the next day he got offed By the very same bikers
Life is Fine
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
By Thomas Hardy
"Ah, are you digging on my grave
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No, yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave? My nearest dearest kin?" -- "Ah, no; they sit and think, 'What use! What good will planting flowers produce? No tendance of her mound can loose Her spirit from Death's gin.' "
"But some one digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate, And cares not where you lie."
"Then, who is digging on my grave? Say -- since I have not guessed!" -- "O it is I, my mistress dear, Your little dog, who still lives near, And much I hope my movements here Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave . . . Why flashed it not on me That one true heart was left behind! What feeling do we ever find To equal among human kind A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave To bury a bone, in case I should be hungry near this spot When passing on my daily trot. I am sorry, but I quite forgot It was your resting-place."
AROUND THE CORNER
By Charles Hanson Towne
Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end;
Yet days go by, and weeks rush on,
And before I know it a year is gone,
And I never see my old friend’s face,
For Life is a swift and terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well
As in the days when I rang his bell
And he rang mine. We were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men:
Tired with playing a foolish game,
Tired with trying to make a name.
“Tomorrow,” I say, “I will call on Jim,
Just to show that I’m thinking of him.”
But tomorrow comes – and tomorrow goes,
And the distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner! – yet miles away….
“Here’s a telegram, sir….”
“Jim died today.”
And that’s what we get, and deserve in the end:
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
Do not stand
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
mary elizabeth frye – 1932
Faith
Psalm 23King James Version (KJV)
23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
The Twenty-third Psalm Welfare Recipient's Version
Society is my shepherd: I shall not work. It alloweth me to lie down on a feather bed; It leadeth me beside the still factories. It destroyeth my ambition. It leadeth me in the paths of a goldbrick for politics' sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of inflation and deficit spending, I will fear no evil, For the welfare agencies are with me. Their generosity and their staff they comfort me. They prepareth the requisitions that filleth my table. By mortgaging the earnings of my grandchildren My head is filled with mirth That my cup runneth over without effort. Surely, the taxpayers shall care for me All the days of my life, And I shall dwell in the house of a parasite forever. (Christ in You Ministries)
Untitled 1 by Noah benShea
“Jacob, where do you find the strength to carry on in life?”
“Life is often heavy only because we attempt to carry it,” said Jacob. “But I do find strength in the ashes.”
“In the ashes?” asked Mr. Gold.
“Yes,” said Jacob with a confirmation that seemed to have traveled a great distance.
“You see, Mr. Gold, each of us is alone. Each of us is in the great darkness of our ignorance. And, each of us is on a journey.”
“In the process of our journey, we must bend to build a fire for light, and warmth, and food.”
“But when our fingers tear at the ground, hoping to find the coals of another’s fire, what we often find are the ashes.”
“And, in these ashes, which will not give us light or warmth, there may be sadness, but there is also testimony.”
“Because these ashes tell us that somebody else has been in the night, somebody else has bent to build a fire, and that somebody else has carried on.”
“And that can be enough sometimes.”
Untitled 2 by St. Patrick
I take for my sureties:
The power of God to guide me,
The might of God to uphold me.
The wisdom of God to teach me.
The eye of God to watch over me.
The ear of God to hear me.
The word of God to give me speech.
The hand of God to protect me.
The shield of God to shelter me.
Christ be with me, Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ within me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ at my right, Christ at my left,
Christ in the hear of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks to me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
Footprints in the Sand (anonymous)
One night I dreamed a dream. As I was walking along the beach with Jesus. Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, One belonging to me and one to Jesus.
After the last scene of my life flashed before me, I looked back at the footprints in the sand. I noticed that at many times along the path of my life, especially at the very lowest and saddest times, there was only one set of footprints.
This really troubled me, so I asked Jesus about it. "Jesus, you said once I decided to follow you, You'd walk with me all the way. But I noticed that during the saddest and most troublesome times of my life, there was only one set of footprints. I don't understand why, when I needed You the most, You would leave me."
He whispered, "When you saw only one set of footprints, It was then that I carried you."
Deck of Cards / Anonymous
During the North African Campaign,
a bunch of soldier boys had been on a long hike,
and they arrived in a little town called Casino.
The next morning, being Sunday, several of the boys went to church.
A Sargent commanded the boys in church,
and after the chaplain had read the prayer,
the text was taken up next.
Those of the boys who had a prayer books took them out,
but, this one boy had only a deck of cards,
and so he spread them out.
The Sargent saw the cards and said, "Soldier, put away those cards".
After the services were over, the soldier was taken prisoner,
and brought before the Provost Marshall.
The Marshall said “Sergeant, why have you brought this man here?"
"For playing cards in church Sir."
"And what have you to say for yourself Son?"
"Much, Sir," replied the soldier.
The Marshall said, "I hope so, for if not,
I shall punish you more than any man was ever punished."
The soldier said, "Sir, I have been on the march for about six days,
I have neither Bible nor prayer book, but I hope to satisfy you, Sir,
with the purity of my intentions."
And with that, the boy started his story.
"You see sir, when I look at the Ace,
it reminds me that there is but one God,
and the deuce, reminds me that the bible is divided
into two parts, the old and the new testament.
When I see the trey, I think of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.
And when I see the four, I think of the four Evangelists who preached
the Gospel. There was Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
And when I see the five, it reminds me of the five wise virgins
who trimmed their lamps, there were ten of them,
Five were wise and were saved, five were foolish,
and were shut out.
When I see the six, it reminds me that in six days,
God made this great Heaven and Earth.
When I see the seven, it reminds me that on the seventh day,
God rested from His great work.
And when I see the eight, I think of the eight righteous persons
God saved when he destroyed this Earth.
There was Noah, his wife, their three sons, and their wives.
And when I see the nine, I think of the lepers our Savior cleansed,
and, nine out of the ten, didn't even thank him.
When I see the ten, I think of the ten commandments,
God handed down to Moses on a table of stone.
When I see the king, it reminds me that there is but one King of Heaven,
God Almighty.
And when I see the Queen, I think of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
Who is Queen of Heaven, and the Jack of Knaves is the Devil.
When I count the number of spots in a deck of cards,
I find 365, the number of days in a year.
There are 52 cards, the number of weeks in a year.
There are four suits, the number of weeks in a month.
There are twelve picture cards, the number of months in a year.
There are thirteen tricks, the number of weeks in a quarter.
So, you see Sir, my pack of cards serves me as a Bible,
an Almanac, and a prayer book.
And Friends, the story is true, I know,
I was that soldier.
Social Consciousness
Revolutionary Spanish Lesson by Martín Espada
Whenever my name
is mispronounced,
I want to buy a toy pistol,
put on dark eyeglasses,
push my beret at an angle,
comb my beard to a point,
hijack a busload
of Republican tourists
from Wisconsin,
force them to chant
anti-American slogans
in Spanish,
and wait
for the bilingual SWAT team
to helicopter overhead,
begging me
to be reasonable.
Black Lives Matter
By Dax
I can't breathe I can't breathe Ay ya I can't breathe
Yeah This a revolution in our time everybody's fighting Change coming, yes That's why it's an acronym for riot Everybody has a voice don't you dare stay silent If you say nothing you are an accessory to violence Let these words dry the tears of my people that are crying We can bring back hope but not people that are dying This is what happens when the people you've oppressed ask for change In a country that they built but you've ignored and deny it This for Sandra Bland, George Floyd, and every single family Police brutality has intervened in and destroyed Couple bad cop couple can't define all you other boys So every good cop needs to stand up and make some noise Black, white, Asian doesn't matter 'cause we can't avoid So let's all come together join hands And yes get annoyed at people who believe racism makes sense In a country built off minority slave work employed Nobody's born racist, man, it's something you learn Deep rooted in your brain from the day of your birth I think it's time that we repair all of these bridges we've burned And let love out of our hearts onto cheeks we turned Spread love, show love, lets get rid of this curse Don't wait for anyone to act, man, you go first 400 years wasted, let's get rid of this hurt 'Cause that's the only way we'll ever see peace on earth
I can't breathe I can't breathe Ay ya I can't breathe
Change is what we really need Cut me open, cut you open, red's the color every single human beings bleeds Let's come together cops, citizens and in between And rally for the rights of everybody in humanity Black, blue, white, green Playing for the same the team I'm not MLK but, boy, that doesn't mean I can't dream Black lives matter shouldn't anger you or make you scream all lives matter 'Cause we aren't treated equally Remember when we were kids and didn't see color And when we played in kindergarten and I called you my brother Then we grew up and they taught us we should hate on each other Even though we one in the same and we all came from our mothers I hope y'all understand Hate is not a trait it was learned, man Equality is the quality we need inside this earth, man Give and receive it's the karma that you earn, man (stand)
I can't breathe I can't breathe Ay ya I can't breathe
I can't breathe I can't breathe Ay ya I can't breathe
AMERICA (Sondheim, Bernstein from West Side Story)
ROSALIA
Puerto Rico,
You lovely island . . .
Island of tropical breezes.
Always the pineapples growing,
Always the coffee blossoms blowing . . .
ANITA
Puerto Rico . . .
You ugly island . . .
Island of tropic diseases.
Always the hurricanes blowing,
Always the population growing . . .
And the money owing,
And the babies crying,
And the bullets flying.
I like the island Manhattan.
Smoke on your pipe and put that in!
OTHERS
I like to be in America!
O.K. by me in America!
Ev'rything free in America
For a small fee in America!
ROSALIA
I like the city of San Juan.
ANITA
I know a boat you can get on.
ROSALIA
Hundreds of flowers in full bloom.
ANITA
Hundreds of people in each room!
ALL
Automobile in America,
Chromium steel in America,
Wire-spoke wheel in America,
Very big deal in America!
ROSALIA
I'll drive a Buick through San Juan.
ANITA
If there's a road you can drive on.
ROSALIA
I'll give my cousins a free ride.
ANITA
How you get all of them inside?
ALL
Immigrant goes to America,
Many hellos in America;
Nobody knows in America
Puerto Rico's in America!
ROSALIA
I'll bring a T.V. to San Juan.
ANITA
If there a current to turn on!
ROSALIA
I'll give them new washing machine.
ANITA
What have they got there to keep clean?
ALL
I like the shores of America!
Comfort is yours in America!
Knobs on the doors in America,
Wall-to-wall floors in America!
ROSALIA
When I will go back to San Juan.
ANITA
When you will shut up and get gone?
ROSALIA
Everyone there will give big cheer!
ANITA
Everyone there will have moved here!
Puerto Rican Obituary
By Pedro Pietri
They worked They were always on time They were never late They never spoke back when they were insulted They worked They never took days off that were not on the calendar They never went on strike without permission They worked ten days a week and were only paid for five They worked They worked They worked and they died They died broke They died owing They died never knowing what the front entrance of the first national city bank looks like
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel All died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow passing their bill collectors on to the next of kin All died waiting for the garden of eden to open up again under a new management All died dreaming about america waking them up in the middle of the night screaming: Mira Mira your name is on the winning lottery ticket for one hundred thousand dollars All died hating the grocery stores that sold them make-believe steak and bullet-proof rice and beans All died waiting dreaming and hating
Dead Puerto Ricans Who never knew they were Puerto Ricans Who never took a coffee break from the ten commandments to KILL KILL KILL the landlords of their cracked skulls and communicate with their latino souls
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel From the nervous breakdown streets where the mice live like millionaires and the people do not live at all are dead and were never alive
Juan died waiting for his number to hit Miguel died waiting for the welfare check to come and go and come again Milagros died waiting for her ten children to grow up and work so she could quit working Olga died waiting for a five dollar raise Manuel died waiting for his supervisor to drop dead so he could get a promotion
Is a long ride from Spanish Harlem to long island cemetery where they were buried First the train and then the bus and the cold cuts for lunch and the flowers that will be stolen when visiting hours are over Is very expensive Is very expensive But they understand Their parents understood Is a long non-profit ride from Spanish Harlem to long~sland cemetery
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel All died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow Dreaming Dreaming about queens Clean-cut lily-white neighborhood Puerto Ricanless scene Thirty-thousand-dollar home The first spics on the block Proud to belong to a community of gringos who want them lynched Proud to be a long distance away from the sacred phrase: Que Pasa
These dreams These empty dreams from the make-believe bedrooms their parents left them are the after-effects of television programs about the ideal white american family with black maids and latino janitors who are well train to make everyone and their bill collectors laugh at them and the people they represent
Juan died dreaming about a new car Miguel died dreaming about new anti-poverty programs Milagros died dreaming about a trip to Puerto Rico Olga died dreaming about real jewelry Manuel died dreaming about the irish sweepstakes
They all died like a hero sandwich dies in the garment district at twelve o'clock in the afternoon social security number to ashes union dues to dust
They knew they were born to weep and keep the morticians employed as long as they pledge allegiance to the flag that wants them destroyed They saw their names listed in the telephone directory of destruction They were train to turn the other cheek by newspapers that mispelled mispronounced and misunderstood their names and celebrated when death came and stole their final laundry ticket
They were born dead and they died dead
Is time to visit sister lopez again the number one healer and fortune card dealer in Spanish Harlem She can communicate with your late relatives for a reasonable fee Good news is guaranteed
Rise Table Rise Table death is not dumb and disable Those who love you want to know the correct number to play Let them know this right away Rise Table Rise Table death is not dumb and disable Now that your problems are over and the world is off your shoulders help those who you left behind find financial peace of mind
Rise Table Rise Table death is not dumb and disable If the right number we hit all our problems will split and we will visit your grave on every legal holiday Those who love you want to know the correct number to play Let them know this right away We know your spirit is able Death is not dumb and disable RISE TABLE RISE TABLE
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel All died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow Hating fighting and stealing broken windows from each other Practicing a religion without a roof The old testament The new testament according to the gospel of the internal revenue the judge and jury and executioner protector and eternal bill collector
Secondhand shit for sale Learn how to say Como Esta Usted and you will make a fortune They are dead They are dead and will not return from the dead until they stop neglecting the art of their dialogue for broken english lessons to impress the mister goldsteins who keep them employed as lavaplatos porters messenger boys factory workers maids stock clerks shipping clerks assistant mailroom assistant, assisant assistant to the assistant's assistant assistant lavaplatos and automatic artificial smiling doormen for the lowest wages of the ages and rages when you demand a raise because is against the company policy to promote SPICS SPICS SPICS
Juan died hating Miguel because Miguel's used car was in better running condition than his used car Miguel died hating Milagros because Milagros had a color television set and he could not afford one yet Milagros died hating Olga because Olga made five dollars more on the same job Olga died hating Manuel because Manuel had hit the numbers more times than she had hit the numbers Manuel died hating all of them Juan Miguel Milagros and Olga because they all spoke broken english more fluently than he did
And now they are together in the main lobby of the void Addicted to silence Off limits to the wind Confine to worm supremacy in long island cemetery This is the groovy hereafter the protestant collection box was talking so loud and proud about
Here lies Juan Here lies Miguel Here lies Milagros Here lies Olga Here lies Manuel who died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow Always broke Always owing Never knowing that they are beautiful people Never knowing the geography of their complexion
PUERTO RICO IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE PUERTORRIQUENOS ARE A BEAUTIFUL RACE
If only they had turned off the television and tune into their own imaginations If only they had used the white supremacy bibles for toilet paper purpose and make their latino souls the only religion of their race If only they had return to the definition of the sun after the first mental snowstorm on the summer of their senses If only they had kept their eyes open at the funeral of their fellow employees who came to this country to make a fortune and were buried without underwears
Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel will right now be doing their own thing where beautiful people sing and dance and work together where the wind is a stranger to miserable weather conditions where you do not need a dictionary to communicate with your people Aqui Se Habla Espanol all the time Aqui you salute your flag first Aqui there are no dial soap commericals Aqui everybody smells good Aqui tv dinners do not have a future Aqui the men and women admire desire and never get tired of each other Aqui Que Paso Power is what's happening Aqui to be called negrito means to be called LOVE
- Pedro Pietri , Monthy Review Press (1973)
|
||||
|
171
