Rain By Shel Silverstein

I opened my eyes

And looked up at the rain,

And it dripped in my head

And flowed into my brain,

And all that I hear as I lie in my bed

Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,

I walk very slow,

I can't do a handstand--

I might overflow,

So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--

I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

This poem reminds me of all those rainy days where I would be inside and love to spend hours looking outside. I do not really like to walk around the rain, yet always wanted to just run out and sing in the rain.

Go and Catch a Falling Star By John Donne

Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me, All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No where Lives a woman true, and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet; Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three. This poem reminds me of all the times where I find myself outside at night and look up at the stars. It reminds of the many times where I see a shooting star and quickly try to come up with a wish. I get a little frazzled because I want to make sure that I make a good wish, nothing stupid like a new gift, but something that may mean a little more to me later on.

Lines Written In Early Spring By William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

After reading some of Wordsworth poems, I noticed how beautiful his poetry was. His imagery is so beautiful. Many of his poems are about nature, and he does a great job at capturing the true beauty of nature.

Funeral Blues By W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Clearly this poet had lost a numerous amount of people he loved. By the tone of the poem, it seemed like he was writing from tremendous experience. I think be wrote this poem to help heal his pain, which I think is great. I have found myself that writing through hard times helps heal pain.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The imagery in this poem is really beautiful. I love the outdoors and this poems describes all sorts of nature like clouds, flowers, and bays. Although they are all different, they all have their own kind of beauty.

Life is Fine By Langston Hughes

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!

I really love the rhyming of the poem. It makes the poem flow so well and the topic of this poem is a relief, because Langston Hughes usually writes about slavery and about other problems that African Americans have faced. This poem brings back memories of summer.

Phenomenal Woman By Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

The woman in the poem seems very confident about herself. I think that having confidence and good self-esteem is extremely important. If you don't feel confident, how do you expect someone else to believe in you or even be around you. I have found that it is difficult to be friends with someone who has very low self esteem.

There Is Another Sky By Emily Dickinson

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

I love the nature of this poem. It is so short and sweet and gives some good imagery of the nature around us all. Dickinson states something good and then contradicts it and says something dark. It is just beautiful.

Now I Lay Me Down to Rest By Linda Knaus

Soon I’ll lay me down to rest,
but first I have to get undressed,
comb the tangles from my hair,
change my dirty underwear,
have a sandwich and a drink,
clean the plate and rinse the sink,
feed the goldfish, take a bath,
do my spelling and my math,
check my head for ticks and lice,
leave some cheese out for the mice,
fold and put away my pants,
sing a song and do a dance,
say goodnight to Dad and Mother,
pick a fight with my twin brother,
blow my nose and set the clock,
take the dog out for a walk,
turn the light out, pull the shade,
have a glass of lemonade,
trim my toenails, clean my ears,
eat a jar of pickle spears,
kiss Aunt May and Uncle Keith,
wash my face and brush my teeth,
take the garbage to the curb,
learn a pronoun from a verb
so I can pass tomorrow’s test—
but now I’m too awake to rest.

Some of my favorite poems rhyme, as does this one, and I really cute poems that deal with children and what they do. I love the list of ALL things possible to do before you go to bed. The child should be able to go to sleep, yet cannot because he has spent so much time doing so many things.

Desire By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.

I believe if you desire or want something, you should do anything to achieve it. Fight your hardest and do whatever it takes to get it. Because desire is a strong feeling and you won't be satisfied unless you get it.

Death By John Donne

DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go--
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

Over the past year, it seems that death follows me everywhere. So many people that I know have died this year, and it just makes me really sad. Of course, I don't think of it as often, yet when I do, I want to cry. And most recently my uncle died of cancer. I wasn't too close to him and he had problems for years, yet I miss him.

Adolescence II By Rita Dove

Although it is night, I sit in the bathroom, waiting. Sweat prickles behind my knees, the baby-breasts are alert. Venetian blinds slice up the moon; the tiles quiver in pale strips. Then they come, the three seal men with eyes as round As dinner plates and eyelashes like sharpened tines. They bring the scent of licorice. One sits in the washbowl, One on the bathtub edge; one leans against the door. "Can you feel it yet?" they whisper. I don't know what to say, again. They chuckle, Patting their sleek bodies with their hands. "Well, maybe next time." And they rise, Glittering like pools of ink under moonlight, And vanish. I clutch at the ragged holes They leave behind, here at the edge of darkness. Night rests like a ball of fur on my tongue. This poem really seems to capture a dark moment during adolescence. It is so raw and that is a little confusing and makes it a little uncomfortable to read.

Homecoming By Robert Lowell

What was is ... since 1930;
the boys in my old gang
are senior partners. They start up
bald like baby birds
to embrace retirement.

At the altar of surrender,
I met you
in the hour of credulity.
How your misfortune came out clearly
to us at twenty.

At the gingerbread casino,
how innocent the nights we made it
on our Vesuvio martinis
with no vermouth but vodka
to sweeten the dry gin--

the lash across my face
that night we adored . . .
soon every night and all,
when your sweet, amorous
repetition changed.

Thinking of the past can bring some of the best memories. I love thinking back to my childhood; it always brings a smile to my face or I cannot stop laughing. And when you leave, it is always fun to get back with people. That will be me next year. Next year I will leave to go to college and when I come back I will want to reunite with others.

A City's Death by Fire BY Derek Walcott

After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,

I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;

Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I

Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.

All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,

Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar;

Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales

Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.

By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why

Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?

In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths;

To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath

Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails,

Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.

This poem is so descriptive; the image is so beautiful. Fire is one of the most interesting things to watch and the poet does a great job at describing the scene. I feel like I am there. The poet does a great job at capturing the emotions that a person goes through after they have lost everything during a fire.

Sick By Shel Silverstein

'I cannot go to school today, '

Said little Peggy Ann McKay.

'I have the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I'm going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I've counted sixteen chicken pox

And there's one more-that's seventeen,

And don't you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-

It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,

I'm sure that my left leg is broke-

My hip hurts when I move my chin,

My belly button's caving in,

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,

My 'pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb.

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,

I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,

My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There is a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?

What's that? What's that you say?

You say today is...Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

Every kid has tried to fake sick at one point, and by this age, it feels like I've used every excuse in the book. I never feel like I can just stay home from school, I feel like I have to make up some excuse of how I feel like I am dying and complaining about the numerous things that are wrong with me. I love the poet's rhyming and how it appeals to young children. I like the sudden humor at the end, where the poet explains that it's a Saturday and that she's okay.

Image-http://thegardensgift.blogspot.com/sick.jpg

Miracle Ice Cream By Adrienne Rich

Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue,

Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,

and, yes, you can feel happy

with one piece of your heart.

Take what's still given: in a room's rich shadow

a woman's breasts swinging lightly as she bends.

Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves.

Late, you sit weighing the evening news,

fast-food miracles, ghostly revolutions,

the rest of your heart.

The thought of ice cream brings memories of childhood summers. It brings the memories of times where everything was easy and everything could be enjoyed. No need to worry over anything else because the joy that it brings is the only thing that matters. Ice cream is delicious!!

In a Classroom By Adrienne Rich

Talking of poetry, hauling the books

arm-full to the table where the heads

bend or gaze upward, listening, reading aloud,

talking of consonants, elision,

caught in the how, oblivious of why:

I look in your face, Jude,

neither frowning nor nodding,

opaque in the slant of dust-motes over the table:

a presence like a stone, if a stone were thinking

What I cannot say, is me. For that I came.

Talking about poetry can be difficult. Everyone thinks too much into poetry, when really poetry should be about what YOU think and what YOU feel. There is no right and there is no wrong. Usually your first reaction is right. The one student is so stunned, the poet does a great job at explaining that he's like stone. He doesn't know how to react, which is what happens to a lot of kids. Poetry shouldn't be intimidating.

His Excuse For Loving By Ben Johnson

Let it not your wonder move, Less your laughter, that I love. Though I now write fifty years, I have had, and have, my peers. Poets, though divine, are men; Some have loved as old again. And it is not always face, Clothes, or fortune gives the grace, Or the feature, or the youth; But the language and the truth, With the ardor and the passion, Gives the lover weight and fashion. If you then would hear the story, First, prepare you to be sorry That you never knew till now Either whom to love or how; But be glad as soon with me When you hear that this is she Of whose beauty it was sung, She shall make the old man young, Keep the middle age at stay, And let nothing hide decay, Till she be the reason why All the world for love may die. Love is one of the greatest things that can happen to a person. It can change a person in so many good ways. It makes you happier, make you feel younger. Everyone could benefit from something like that.

Boy at the Window By Richard Wilbur

Seeing the snowman standing all alone

In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.

The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare

A night of gnashings and enormous moan.

His tearful sight can hardly reach to where

The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes

Returns him such a God-forsaken stare

As outcast Adam gave to paradise.

The man of snow is, nonetheless, content,

Having no wish to go inside and die.

Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.

Though frozen water is his element,

He melts enough to drop from one soft eye

A trickle of the purest rain, a tear

For the child at the bright pane surrounded by

Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.

Every chid feels the joy of seeing a snowman outside. A child feels proud that they made it and don't want to see it melt. This poem reminded me of the old days where I would be home on snow-days. It reminded me of the times where I built a snowman and felt like it was a real person. I wanted it to play with me, yet I realized he was fake and would melt, which sometimes bring tears to my eyes.

Fire-Truck By Richard Wilbur

Right down the shocked street with a

siren-blast

That sends all else skittering to the

curb,

Redness, brass, ladders and hats hurl

past,

Blurring to sheer verb,

Shift at the corner into uproarious gear

And make it around the turn in a squall

of traction,

The headlong bell maintaining sure and

clear,

Thought is degraded action!

Beautiful, heavy, unweary, loud,

obvious thing!

I stand here purged of nuance, my

mind a blank.

All I was brooding upon has taken

wing,

And I have you to thank.

As you howl beyond hearing I carry you

into my mind,

Ladders and brass and all, there to

admire

Your phoenix-red simplicity, enshrined

In that not extinguished fire.

In this poem, the poet writes about something we have all seen before, a firetruck. It describes the fear that everyone on the street feels, wondering if anyone is hurt and what will happen. The poet also describes how firemen are heroes, risking their lives to save ordinary people that they don't know. He describes their bravery. We should all be thankful for firemen.

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.

This is probably one of the poems that I have read over and over again. It is such a well known poem. I think everyone can relate to what he is saying. Everyone has to make choices in life that are difficult. Sometimes you make the wrong choice, yet there are many other times where a person is fortunate, makes the best decision and turns out extremely happy and satisfied.

Image-http://gryphonscry.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/yellow_wood.jpg

The Crazy Woman By Gwendolyn Brooks

I shall not sing a May song. A May song should be gay. I'll wait until November And sing a song of gray. I'll wait until November That is the time for me. I'll go out in the frosty dark And sing most terribly. And all the little people Will stare at me and say, "That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May." Everyone acts crazy at some point in their lives. This poem reminded me of the times where you did something ridiculous and only you and your friends understood what was going on. You weren't doing anything crazy, you were just having innocent fun with friends.

To Be in Love By Gwendolyn Brooks

To be in love

Is to touch with a lighter hand.
In yourself you stretch, you are well.
You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.
Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.
His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said.
When he
Shuts a door-
Is not there_
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.
You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.
Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh when to apprize
Is to mesmerize,
To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash.

This poem really describes what it feels like to be truly in love with someone. It shows how love connects two people together. You are two halves to a whole. The ways she explains it is actually true, no cliche, just the truth.

Messy Room By Shel Silverstein

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!

His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

This poem reminds me of my room. Whenever I get stressed, my room becomes the messiest thing in the world. You can't find anything and sometimes you can't even see the floor. It's a very small room and seems messy very quickly.

Image-http://www.boston.com/yourlife/family/blog/messy%20room.jpg

I, Too By Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong. Tomorrow, I'll be at the table When company comes. Nobody'll dare Say to me, "Eat in the kitchen," Then. Besides, They'll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed-- I, too, am America.