Poetry Monster

"Because I Could Not Stop For Death" – A Discussion of the Poem by Emily Dickinson

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 –

Emily Dickinson was an innovative and talented American poet who wrote nearly 1800 poems during her brief lifetime from 1830 to 1886. Dickinson became publicly well known as a poet only after her death because she chose to publish only a very small number of her poems, somewhere between seven and twelve, during her lifetime.

Emily Dickinson’s Life

Emily Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, to a well known family. Her grandfather helped to found Amherst College and her father, a lawyer, served for numerous years in the Massachusetts legislature and in the United States Congress. Dickinson had a one year older brother and a three years younger sister.

As a young girl and teenager Dickinson acquired many friends, some lasting a lifetime, received approval and attention from her father, and behaved fittingly for a girl during the Victorian era. She received a classical education from the Amherst Academy and was required by her father to read the Bible. Though she attended church regularly only for a few years, her Christian foundation remained strong throughout her life.

Dickinson attended nearby Mount Holyoke College for only one year, due to numerous reasons, and then was brought back home by her brother, Austin. The Dickinson family lived in a home overlooking the town’s cemetery, where she is buried, for a few years before moving into the home her grandfather had built, called “The Homestead.”

At home in Amherst, Dickinson became a capable housekeeper, cook, and gardener. She attended local events, became friends with some of her fathers’ acquaintances, and read a number of books given to her by her friends and her brother. Most books had to be smuggled into the home for fear that her father would disapprove of them.

Emily Dickinson enjoyed the writings of an impressive list of contemporaries such as Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, and Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. She also read from the Victorians, Charlotte Bronte, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Thomas Carlyle, and George Eliot, and the Romantic poet Lord Byron. She also loved “David Copperfield” by Charles Dickens. When she discovered Shakespeare she asked, “Why is any other book needed?” In her home she hung portraits of Eliot, Browning, and Carlyle.

Dickinson grew more reclusive into the 1850’s. She began writing poems and received favorable response from her friends. Throughout the rest of her life she adopted the friendly practice of giving poems to her friends and bouquets of flowers from her garden. Her garden was so varied and well-cared that she was better known as a gardener than a poet.

During the Civil War years of the early 1860’s, Emily Dickinson wrote more than 800 poems, the most prolific writing period of her life. During this period Dickinson saw the death of several friends, a teacher, and the declining health of her mother who she had to tend closely. These unhappy events saddened Dickinson and led her to treat the subject of death in many of her poems.

Following the Civil War and for the remaining 20 years of her life, Dickinson rarely left the property limits of The Homestead. Her father, mother, and sister Lavinia all lived with her at home, and her brother lived next door at The Evergreens with his wife, Susan, a longtime friend to Emily, and their children. She enjoyed the company of her family and wrote often to her friends, but residents of Amherst only knew her as the “woman in white” when they infrequently saw her greeting visitors.

After several friends, a nephew, and her parents died, Dickinson wrote fewer and fewer poems and stopped organizing them, as she had been doing for many years. She wrote that, “the dyings have been too deep for me.” Dickinson developed a kidney disease which she suffered from for the remaining two years of her life. The final short letter that she wrote to her cousins read, “Little Cousins, Called Back. Emily.”

Characteristics of Dickinson’s Poetry

Emily Dickinson’s sister, Lavinia, gathered Emily’s poems and published them in 1890. Editors changed some of her words, punctuations, and capitalizations to make them conform to a certain standard. Later editions restored Dickinson’s unique style and organized them in a roughly chronological order.

Emily Dickinson’s poems have many identifiable features. Her poems have been memorized, enjoyed, and discussed since their first publication. Many critics consider her to have been extraordinarily gifted in her abilities to create concise, meaningful, and memorable poems.

The major themes in her poetry include Friends, Nature, Love, and Death. Not surprisingly, she also refers to flowers often in her poems. Many of her poems’ allusions come from her education in the Bible, classical mythology, and Shakespeare.

Dickinson did not give titles to her poems, an unusual feature. Others have given titles to some of her poems, and often the first line of the poem is used as a title.

She wrote short lines, preferring to be concise in her images and references. A study of her letters to friends and mentors shows that her prose style was composed of short iambic phrases, making her prose very similar to her poetry.

Dickinson’s poems are generally short in length, rarely consisting of more than six stanzas, as in “Because I Could Not Stop for Death.” Many of her poems are only one or two stanzas in length. The stanzas are quatrains of four lines. Some poems have stanzas of three or two lines.

The rhythm in many of her poems is called common meter or ballad meter. Both types of meter consist of a quatrain with the first and third lines having four iambic feet and the second and fourth lines having three iambic feet. The iambic foot is a unit of two syllables with the first syllable unstressed and the second syllable stressed.

In her quatrains the rhyme scheme is most often abcb, where only the second and fourth lines rhyme. Such a rhyme scheme is typical of a ballad meter.

Many other poems are written in a meter that is typical of English hymns. This rhythm pattern is characterized by quatrains where lines one, two, and four are written in iambic trimeter and the third line is written in iambic tetrameter.

Often her rhymes are near rhymes or slant rhymes. A near rhyme means that the two rhyming words do not rhyme exactly. They only make a near match.

In Dickinson’s poems, capitalizations and punctuations are unorthodox. She regularly capitalized the nouns but sometimes she was inconsistent and a few nouns were not capitalized. For punctuation, she frequently used a dash instead of a comma or a period, and sometimes she used a dash to separate phrases within a line. Some editions of her poems have attempted to correct the punctuation of her poems.

A dozen or more composers have set Dickinson’s poems to music, including Aaron Copland who produced “Twelve Songs on Poems of Emily Dickinson” in 1951. 0ne of the interesting ways to treat some of Dickinson’s most famous poems, often learned in school, is to sing them to the tune of “Amazing Grace,” or “The Yellow Rose of Texas, or most humorously, the theme to “Gilligan’s Island.”

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

“Because I Could Not Stop for Death” is a brilliant poem, well constructed, easily understood, and filled with many poetic conventions. The first stanza is often quoted alone and represents one of the most inspired quatrains in American poetry.

In the first stanza Dickinson has created a wonderful metaphor that is carried throughout the poem. She has personified death, giving him a name, a conveyance, and a companion. The presence of Immortality in the carriage softens the idea of the arrival of Death. And the fact that He kindly stopped is both a reassurance that his arrival was not unpleasant and an expression of the poet’s wit. It is ironic in a humorous way to imagine Death being kind. The speaker in the poem is speaking of an event that happened in the past, another reassurance that there is survival after death. Dickinson’s Christian view of eternity and the immortality of life are evident in these stanzas.

The second stanza is about Death arriving slowly such as the result of a disease, which in fact Dickinson did succumb to at the end of her life. Again, there is an ironic reference to Death, this time to his civility, which rhymes with “immortality” from the first stanza and ties the two stanzas together. Notice that there are a couple of examples of alliteration, one in the first line with “knew no,” and another in the third line with “labor” and “leisure.”

The third stanza gives a picture of the journey. The children and the school in the first line refer to early life. The fields of ripening grain in the third line refer to life’s middle stage. Finally, the setting sun in the fourth line refers to the final stage of life. Notice the use of anaphora to effectively tie all of the stages of life together. The repetition of the phrase, “we passed,” at the beginning of the lines is known as anaphora. There is also a pleasant example of alliteration in the second line, “recess” and “ring.”

The fourth stanza contains two more examples of effective alliteration and creates the image of a person who is not dressed appropriately for a funeral. In fact, the gossamer gown is more like a wedding dress, which represents a new beginning rather than an end. Notice also the near rhyme in this stanza as well as in several other stanzas. Oddly, this stanza was not included in early editions of Dickinson’s poems; however it appears in all of the more recent editions.

The grave or tomb is described in the fifth stanza as a house. The description indicates that the poet feels at ease with the location. The last stanza indicates that centuries have passed, though ironically it seems shorter than the day. The “horses’ heads” is a comfortable alliteration and ties the vision back to the first stanza. The final word, “eternity,” which rhymes with “immortality” in the first stanza also brings all of the stanzas together and brings the poem to a calm close.

Source by Garry Gamber

Poetry Monster

Christian Poem of Encouragement

There are so many trials in this world we live in and with them all, I found that God is the only One who can help us through it. Do you feel at the end of your rope with work, family or friends? Does it seem like each day you get further down and you can’t seem to shake it off? Do friends seem to be the fair-weather type that only show up when “they” have a need and when you ask for their help or a listening ear, they run the other direction? Do you cry yourself to sleep at night not knowing why you were even born? I know… I have been there.

I know what it is like to live day to day and sometimes even minute to minute. I know the pain of heartache, but I have learned that when I am down the only way to look is up… up wards heaven and ask God for His help. No one on earth can fill the void you feel. No one can really love you 100% unconditionally as He does. That is why you must go through the valleys of this world. Through His strength you will learn and grow. You will see that after every heartache there is a blessing waiting. I know… I have been there.

One Saturday morning after prayer, this poem came to me so I wanted to share it with you in hopes it will encourage you to go on. If you are at a good place in your own life, maybe you will share it with others. There are so many hurting people in this world that could use an encouraging word of hope. They need people like you and me to share our hearts and words of a better life. God is their only answer.

Hold On to Jesus

I think of you, like I always do,

And pray you know that God loves you so.

You may not see Him, but He’s always there.

You may not hear Him, but He hears your prayer.

Take heart, dear friend, you’re in Good hands.

Hold on to Jesus though you can’t understand.

There will be valleys and mountains, too,

But if you walk with God He’ll see you through.

Then there’ll be days you’ll even cry

And question God and ask Him why.

It’s hard to explain from our earthly view,

But know God’s love is always true.

Sometimes we must go through all life’s pain

To make us strong so we can remain,

But through it all God is by our side

And He takes each tear… each tear we’ve cried.

Tears are blessings wrapped up really tight.

They multiply in heaven’s Light.

Only God knows where, why and how.

You will, too, but it won’t be now.

So hold on to Jesus, because one day you’ll see.

That this life is the first step to eternity.

© Sue Lueck Carlson

Source by Sue Lueck Carlson

Poetry Monster

Book Review: The Cotton Tree by Sahr Sankoh

In The Cotton Tree, Sahr Sankoh uses brutal honesty, sarcasm and satire to bring light to the pressing political issues of our times. The book contains 57 poems filled with wit and sarcasm about things we have all probably wanted to say at one time or another, but wouldn’t dare to put into words. Sankoh’s brilliant use of alliteration brings world events to new heights, poking light fun at a wide array of topics ranging from public transportation to Japanese horror movies to rap music and even touches on controversial topics such as the missing Malaysian flight. Sankoh provides extremely thoughtful, yet humorous insights into pressing issues in today’s society as well as pop culture, using light sarcasm and wit without being distasteful or tactless.

The Cotton Tree is different from most poetry books in that the poems aren’t the typical eight line rhyming poem that we were taught to compose in elementary school. Rather it is a unique collection of poems ranging of various lengths making light of often controversial topics of today’s culture. I especially like how Sankoh is brutally honest in the Forward section of the book, letting us know that we needn’t bother dissecting every line of every poem to find some deep and “hidden meaning.” His poetry is more of “what you see is what you get.” nature. However, there is a brief synopsis of each poem at the end of the book, which in my opinion,, only provides further insight into the brilliant workings of Sankoh enlightened imagination.

One poem that stands out for me is entitled “Starbucks Demeanor” in which Sankoh pokes fun at the popular coffee shop, and the type of clientele that most frequent that iconic coffee establishment, including what type of coffee each “genre” prefers. Another favorite is “The Cassette Tape Culture” which starts out as walk down memory lane about the simplicity of teenage years and how music was such a part of that culture then suddenly takes an unsurprised turn (but I won’t spoil it). If I have to choose a poem I liked the least I would say it would be “God Save the Wolf.” I personally felt this one was just a tad too distasteful and a bit over the top, in my opinion, but then I wouldn’t recommend The Cotton Tree to anyone under the age of sixteen as it touches on some rather adult topics at times.

Overall, The Cotton Tree is a delightfully humorous satirical journey into the world we live in today. One must take these poems with a grain of salt and know that they are meant to shed light and humor on sometimes otherwise dark and morbid topics. This book is not for those who are extremely sensitive or highly moral. It is a brilliant parody of today’s hot topics and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Sahr Sankoh has a way of making controversial topics seem less daunting. I definitely recommend this book if you have an open mind and a good sense of humor.

Source by Mehreen Ali Arshad

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Onomatopoeia Poems – Examples of Onomatopoeia Poetry and Its Features

Various types of poetry like lyrics, ballads, epic and sonnet examples are of great interest to study. The examples of onomatopoeia poetry will help you learn how the sound of the words can play crucial role in making of onomatopoeia.

Onomatopoeia is sometimes called echoism that means it echoes something. In other words, it denotes a word or a combination of words where whose sounds have some resemblance to the sound it denotes. For instance, the words like “hiss”, “buzz”, “bang” are associated with a particular sound or as you pronounce them, you will associate that particular sound in your mind.

The following lines of Alfred Tennyson’s “Come Down, O Maid” (1847) are often considered as a powerful example of onomatopoeia:

The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.

John Crowe Ransom, an American critic, has also remarked about the play of sound and its significance in poetry. He suggested that by making only two little changes in the consonants of the last lines above, you will miss the echoic effect because the meaning will get changed. For example, it will look like “And murdering of innumerable beeves”.

The sounds of onomatopoeic words are sometimes pleasant or sometimes boring! In “Meeting at Night” (1845), Robert Browning created squishy effects:

As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.
A tape at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match…

The concept of onomatopoeia, in general and broader sense, is applied to words to suggest what they denote; in movement, size, force, feel, or sound. The poetry with the use of such suggestions, the use sound and rhythmic movement are wonderful to read, recite and enjoy. It is very true that poetry can not be read but recited or sung!

Source by Rakesh Ramubhai Patel

Poetry Monster

Reviewing When We Were Slugs!

There are two things I don’t like about “When We Were Slugs”, the new poetry collection from James Manlow, the erstwhile Poet Laureate for Bournemouth. The first dislike is the cover, which to me seems a mess, a splodge. My second objection is the title, which is one of the poems, but which, whilst it may invite curiosity, has bathetic qualities. (That said, however, ‘When We Were Slugs’ is itself a fine poem). And now, having got my two objections out of the way, I’d like to record what a brilliant collection of poems this volume represents.

What I especially like about it is the combination of technical mastery and genuine insight; add to this that the poems are written in – to use Wordsworth’s hackneyed expression – the ‘language of men’, then we have a highly readable and relevant book. The book contains 24 poems, which are all good, but many are excellent: “Sea Poem”, which kicks off the collection, “Marilyn”, “The Dressing”, “Delilah”, “Entertaining the Dictator” (which is the outstanding poem of the whole collection), “Roots” and “The Year Gone”.

“Sea Poem” seems innocuous enough, but on examination one detects a subtle sonnet structure, but with many lines pared down to seven or so syllables; and there is a flexible use of pararhymes: for example: ‘interpret/limit’. But the waves of the poem build; it seems to be about something – the detritus that the waves throw up – but then in the final and Shakespearean couplet everything expands, including the poet’s consciousness: we get ‘The sea can’t control what’s found; / only go on making that tender, restless sound’. Notice the sudden, perfect rhyme, as if the true theme has suddenly locked into place; notice how the seven syllables of the penultimate line abruptly whoosh out into a full alexandrine of 12 syllables like something from a Spenser poem. And notice, too, how the last line shifts our attention from the rubbish of the sea to the emotion that it metaphorically represents, which speaks to us in tenderness as it lulls us, but at the same time is still restless in its movement, as we are. In short, the poem brilliantly communicates the ambivalent human condition. What is so good about this achievement is the very metaphor of the sea – that it has often been used in this way as a metaphor is undeniable, but Manlow here has made the metaphor his own. That is impressive.

If “Sea Poem” is impressive, then “Marilyn” is more so. It typically too represents a theme that Manlow is interested in and explores extremely well in several of the other poems: a seething sexuality that packs a punch! See “Delilah” too! Again, in “Marilyn”, the concluding couplet is superb, drawing together all the threads of the poem and her shattered life (this of course is Marilyn Monroe) and then suggesting even deeper, even darker, thoughts: “Towards the bright lights she brings her sorrow,/Thinking, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.” Wow – this truncated reference to Shakespeare and specifically Macbeth reflecting in the aftermath of his wife’s suicide is writing of the highest order. Nothing here is laboured, all is compact, and telling: the end is inevitable. Wonderful poetry.

Space prohibits further analysis, but I must just comment on “Entertaining the Dictator” before I end this review. This poem is the greatest poem of the collection. First, it’s a villanelle, a notoriously difficult form to master; second, all that I have talked about before (the oblique rhymes, the seething sexuality, the powerful ending) is here in abundance. But also too we have disgust and revulsion, and what might be termed political poetry. Manlow isn’t preaching; rather, he is observing and describing, and doing so, via the repetitive villanelle form, in a somewhat mechanical way. Yet the cumulative effect of doing this adds up to a complete indictment of fascism (or dictatorships more generally) and also in the final line a complete indictment of us: “Yet we’d done nothing, and no one had said a word”. This takes us right back to Hitler and the collective failure of anybody to oppose him till it was too late, and he had complete control.

Thus, I strongly recommend this collection to all poetry lovers: people who love form, structure, clarity and ideas. For those who love ‘free’ verse, self-indulgent waffle, anything-goes-but-it’s-my-poetry, then I suggest you avoid this collection, for it’s real poetry and likely to upset you, especially the rhyme bits!

Source by James Sale

Poetry Monster

A Lost Love Poem

One day I will cease living

That day will definitely come

I am tired of this wild chase

And my hands are about to give up

I am about to give up, YOU forever

I leave you in tears and smiles

I wish you a great success

For I am in another world

A world of peace and books

And now I do not miss you

Or If I do, that is not painful

My heart cries on this decision

But I’ve refused any protest within me

And with a heavy heart, I say Bye

To someone that I’d never think of leaving

This time is the last time, I will keep my words

Since, you have zero care for me, you won’t miss

Me at all, so my agony is your blessing

That I am leaving you for good

Believe it or not, time will prove

Wherever I look for you, all goes in vain

Someday baby, you will love me someday

Looks impossible yet I’ll wait for that day

My life means nothing, if you aren’t around

To you baby, my heart and soul are bound

Listen love, and listen with all ears open

I love you, always do, and come what happen

My eyes see you though you stay invisible

My mind reads you though it is impossible

My heart loves as if you are its favorite

My sense misses you as if you’re love’s net

Come my sweet come just for once come

Let me feel your love for once in hope’s rum

Whether I make you mine or not, remember

Our souls were meant to be always together

This is the most hard decision for me

Yet, this is necessary…

A Lambert chuckle was it, resting deep

Into frightful circle of trees, thereof, opening

Lantern of hope dies, shall I be more esteemed?

Rumbling with the grave of a sinner, tears wiped or not?

Shrugged is the gestures, of a dead man talking

Twittering in moans, voices of the wild mixed

Shallow timber puffs symphonies of death out loud

The decay is here’ where the deceased live no more

The final decay arrives; you shall see the color of her eyes!

The devil lives in them and smiles; Ah, the chanting death dies!

I rest my case with God Almighty

And HE will decide what is to come

But, for me, I leave you now

For good, Yes For good!

It will please you to hear that

Yes, I have lost, and You win

And I go down with this defeat

The first in my life, so farewell

Source by Kashif Ali

Poetry Monster

How to Write a Poem Just For Fun

Have you ever tried having fun rhyming words? Poems are fun in all ages! This is good for brain exercise. When my children were younger, we tried talking in short sentences with full end rhymes. The words and sentences seemed funny or out of context, but everyone never got bored because the mind was working and the thinking cells to the max!

My students enjoyed writing diamond poems and fill in the blank exercises, but what they liked most was writing number poems. See this example.

Your phone number is 525-4944. You could use your telephone or cell phone number to specify the number of syllables, accents or words in each line.

The Android

How are you today?
I’m good.
May God light your way.

Are you busy?
I am working now. How about you?
Bored and sleepy,
Here, so creepy!

The poem is set up as a triplet and a quatrain, where lines four, six and seven set the rhyme pattern. The poem can also be a syllabic poem, where the phone numbers set up the number of syllables. Try this poetic experiment.

Also, you can try changing the verbs in your poems. Change the present verb tense to a past tense or a past tense to a present form, although the poem might sound muddled because poems are formed or meant to be with a tone and the overall structure, not as dictated by rigid tenses. See this example.

Glass (my original poem)

She broke the glass.
She and her wicked teeth broke it.
Her gums did not bleed while she swallowed the chips.
The monster in her, with its slimy green saliva, feasted on my precious glass.
But after a while, she burped her black heart out.

Glass (changing the verb tense from the past to present form)

She breaks the glass.
She and her wicked teeth break it.
Her gums do not bleed while she swallows the chips.
The monster in her, with its slimy green saliva, feasts on my precious glass.
But after a while, she burps her black heart out.

Moreover, you can write occasional poetry. These poems include celebration, mourning, fortuitous events, and birthdays, among others, expressing varied emotions related to people, events and objects. Check this.

A Prayer Poem For Calamities

Lord, we can do nothing but wait at what would come to us.
We are nothing but dust, yet you make us your children.
Our hands cannot reach out, but only measure from one arm.
Our feet cannot run, but only walk a few steps till the next turn.

We cannot hide God, but just stay where we are. When the earth shakes, the waters rise and darkness visit our lands, we can only cry for your mercy and seek your face.

Where are you dearest God?

Please protect us and those we love. Hold each falling leaf and sweep with your breath every rattle of doom. God come! Come God to us, and carry the weak earth, every crippled nation, and mend those teeth all cracked from the mouth of life.

We are so afraid dear God.
Forgive our transgressions.
Help us rest with you, forever!
Halt the chaos, and give us tranquility!
Be our strength!

Most Sacred Heart, we trust in Thee.
All angels and saints, hear our prayers.
Into your hands, God Almighty, we commend our lives.

Write your poems now! Express yourself!

Source by Rosalinda Flores-Martinez

Poetry Monster

Article on Poetry and Two Poems

Writing Poetry for Tomorrow

What does a man need to be a poet, or tomorrow’s literary giant? Questions many a student has asked, from Harvard all the way to the community college in one’s hometown. What is the answer? Well, I can give you mine, and I’m sure if you asked a hundred writers, or a hundred scholars, you’d get two hundred different answers.

I’m sure some would say: hard work, while others might say, the right college, or a break, or it is who you know. Money can play a part in it others would say, and timing, I mean, given the opportunity. And it may very well be all of these, but let me iron out what I think might lay underneath the cellar, for its been cleaned out pretty well above it.

What is genius to you? Well, to me it is when something comes natural, easy. And so it should be in the premise we are now talking about. How about experiences in isolation, seclusion (be it in a willing environment or not: like engulfed in drugs or alcohol or prison, war, or some melancholy hole, or illness. How about exquisiteness or beauties per se; let’s try a good sense of humor when the chips are down especially–wit might fit better; and how about strong, if not strange empathy and passion. All the schools and brains in the world cannot replace these requirements. Should you have these, and the money, time and schooling all the better; should you not, your possibly going to get tired of writing anyhow, you have nothing to say; rather report, it would be better.

Hollow-eyed girl

Little hollow-eyed girl

staring-up at the big world

wearing a pink flannel nightgown–

barefoot and all….

Sleeping parents unaware

she slipped out of bed (to somewhere)

whispers a voice, unexpectantly

(a thin mouth quivering):

“You do look kind of like a

picture that might have been….”

The mother reaches out to gather

the child into her embrace

“Poor little thing,” she thinks

(still in her dream).

The child stands back–

Deserted once by her mother

Tossed back to oblivion.

Yet the echoes of


Is heard–over and over

(like the humming of a train on tracks).

“But aren’t you cold?”

Asks the dreaming woman,

“Come, take my hand!”

The child stern–: now stares

With pale lips–

Puckered with disappointment

She whimpers a tear.

With pathetic eagerness

She asks again (the child bemused)


“I don’t know the way…and

You don’t have time…”

And as she wakes up, the child


#585 [3/24/05]

3rd Day of Spring

Birds shit while in flight

Male bees screw, and then die

And People, they just lie!

#586 [3/24/05]

Source by Dennis Siluk Dr.h.c.

Poetry Monster

Friendship Day Poems

On this warm occasion of Friendship Day, It would be great to share some nice Friendship Day poems with your dear friends and companions. If you can write your own poem it would work wonders. Just in case you’re lost for words you can always send one out of the many poems that have been written for friends. Poets have penned down their feelings for friends in the sweetest of words.

Here’s one from H.W. Longfellow, one that brings out the true essence of friendship –

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroke;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

-H. W. Longfellow

Aren’t friends truly the angels that we meet on earth? That’s what Aizabel Parinas says in this short but cute poem –

I believe in angels,

The kind that heaven sends,

I am surrounded by angels,

But I call them friends.

– Aizabel Parinas

It’s sad how often we forget to connect to old friends in our fast paced lives. The busy schedules, the tiring days, the mundane work, take away too much of our lives. But is it worth to forget a friend amidst the busy schedule? Well, check out this poem and it might just make you feel like calling an old friend whom you haven’t talked to for years –

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 I am 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 the telegram, Sir. . .

‘Jim died today’.”

And that’s what we get, and deserve in the end:

Around the corner, a vanished friend.

– by Charles Hanson Towne

Source by Richard Dupont

Poetry Monster

Don’t Throw Away That Poem!: Tips For Successful Poem Scrapbooking

“Roses are red

Violets are green

I’m really sorry I hit my brother

But he was being mean.”

Kids not only say the darndest things, they write them, too. Whether this poetry springs out of creative writing exercises in the schools, or in HEARTSONGS, HOPE THROUGH HEARTSONGS and JOURNEY THROUGH HEARTSONGS 13-year-old now-deceased-but-never-forgotten writer Mattie J.T. Stepanek’s case, out of special circumstances, degenerative muscular dystrophy, that bring forth a remarkable gift, the rhymes can easily be lost through time, moving, throwing away of school papers, or just simply forgotten.

While our children’s poetry may not become best-selling books and CDs (Stepanek teamed up with young country star Billy Gilman to produce a CD), those sweet or questioning verses of childhood and angry, angsty teenage songs bring pleasure, joy and comfort. They are as much a part of history as official family records. How many of us wish we had saved our poems form clutter, neglect, forgetfulness, or the (we hope) well-intentioned suggestions of parents that “You just aren’t a poet”—or even a parent throwing away our written longings? You can bet Mattie Stepanek’s mom would never throw away his first poems!

Whether we have the gift to become a poet or not, whether or not our children are Emily Dickinsons, those scribblings and typings are part of our life, our thoughts, our feelings. They are gifts in themselves, and loving children everywhere have the creativity to give them as presents. Mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, are moved beyond words when they receive a card on construction paper, or even computer-created by a junior Bill Gates or Charles Schulz. That card may contain a poem about “The Greatest Dad in the World.” Do you want to throw it away and keep all the store-bought greetings you take for granted? It may even move your spouse to wrestle with love poems, and you want to save those too.

The answer is scrapbooking. Poetry on paper is perfect for preserving in the pages of scrapbooks. You may want to create a scrapbook for family poems and created cards, or several scrapbooks if you have more than one poet in the family. You can organize the family scrapbooks by writer, poem subject (Dad, mom, the family dog or cat) or by occasions: birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries, graduations, new homes, weddings, births, and so forth. Or you can include poems in scrapbooks you’ve created to record these occasions, scrapbooks that contain decorations, invitations, announcements, pressed flowers, and so forth.

Some tips for successful poem preserving:

* While it’s tempting to include the yellowing paper your son wrote his first poem on, consider recopying it on pretty paper and include it. You can include the original paper if you wish, but do so beside the typed or handwritten version.

Do the same if a poem has smudges or spills.

* If you haven’t dated a poem by your child, look at the writing and compare it to different ages. Always list your child’s age.

* Always date family poems, either on paper or by making a note on a printed label or in handwriting.

* If you can’t guess when a family poem was written, look at the occasion. If it was your 50th birthday or a particular wedding anniversary, you know the date (unless your memory is like a man’s!)

* When you’ve started scrapbooking family poems, always choose heavy paper for future poems, or paper that holds up well.

* If the poem goes with a photo, include the original even if the image of the photo is on the paper the poem is printed on. Or include a photo from the event or a photo of the family member the poem is about for an illustrated poem!

* Consider typing up a page that includes sample quotes from family poems, a kind of “Best Of the Jones Family” list.

* Finally, if anyone in your family doesn’t mind hearing their recorded voice, record a CD or cassette of the poems and include it with the scrapbook.

You may never get your poems read nationwide, but you and your family will treasure the memories they bring. So start writing, and happy scrapbooking!

Source by Kristin Johnson