Classics - Hello Poetry

Mar 2018

CA Guilfoyle

In the evening comes the dim light, the swooping away of day,
the blue, gray clouds, the turbulent air of wild birds
small specs, black and disappearing.
After awhile only quiet,
and then a certain silence settles in
it moves like fog, alongside the moon
it comes cold, blanketing the soul
a depth of space unknown
a well of darkness, undiscovered
the losing of this day, this light
and in the long, lingering hours
dwelling in the dark caved places
touching the soul and flooding the heart
the crashing waves will come
to break one wildly apart.

Oct 2016

William Shakespeare

Sonnet 030: When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe,
And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

Sep 2016

Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

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.

Sep 2016

Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is divinest Sense

435

Much Madness is divinest Sense—
To a discerning Eye—
Much Sense—the starkest Madness—
’Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail—
Assent—and you are sane—
Demur—you’re straightway dangerous—
And handled with a Chain—

Sep 2016

Sylvia Plath

I Am Vertical

But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
******* up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
The the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

Sep 2016

Sylvia Plath

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

Sep 2016

William Shakespeare

Sonnet 018: Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Jul 2016

E. E. Cummings

I Have Found What You Are Like

i have found what you are like
the rain,

            (Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
                                  with thinned

newfragile yellows

                      lurch and.press

—in the woods
                      which
                              stutter
                                        and

                                              sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
                  your kiss

Jul 2016

Ann M Johnson

In Memoriam (Classic Poets)

A poet upon his or her death " Does Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", for they have something to share with future generations through their poetry.
Robert Frost "When faced with two roads diverged in a yellow wood he took the one less traveled by and that made all the difference."
Was William Blake laid to rest under A Poison Tree? Or was he saying that we are like poison to our enemies? One beauty concerning poetry is that it can be left up to the interpretation of the reader. Even if it was written to mean one thing the readers can discover several possible meanings to the poem like discovering jewels each time it is read.
Perhaps lets for fun imagine" The Raven", giving the eulogy for Edgar Allan Poe, and talking about his life and the loves that inspired his poetry especially Poe's beloved" Annabel Lee" and "Lenore. "The Raven" proceeded to close his eulogy with the words " Nevermore".
Maybe when it was time for William Shakespeare to be laid to rest while dressed up in his Sunday best. His poem " Fear No More" could have been read leaving not one dry eye as many fans cried for a great poet and playwright had died. A big comfort to his fans is that his work is forevermore immortalized in print for future generations to enjoy. As Dylan Thomas best stated " And Death Shall Have No Dominion" because the poets words still live on in print to be read and enjoyed and discovered by many generations to come. The poems that a poet writes are there legacy that they leave for future generations.

Check out the classic poems referenced above: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas and Death Shall Have no Dominion, also by Dylan Thomas. The Road not Taken by Robert Frost. A Poison Tree by William Blake. The Raven, Annabel Lee, and Lenore, by Edgar Allen Poe. Fear No More by William Shakespeare. I had been thinking about this in memoriam idea for the last 3 to 4 years I finally got it done in time for Memorial Day. I hope you enjoy it. Please be inspired to leave a lasting poetic legacy for future generations to come.

#poetry #in #tribute #legacy #classic #memoriam

Jul 2016

Valsa George

When Poetry Haunted Me

Sudden was the descent of poetry on me
I tottered under its weight
My body heated up like the sun
A frying egg yolk on the pan
My blood started burning…. burning
A strange madness crept across my senses
Intoxicated as by an excess dose of ale
Or drunk with the vintage wine
Or by some mystical disengagement
I started levitating
Wings sprouted up suddenly on my sides
I reeled round and round
Flew up and up
Meteors flashed past
Stars blinked
Larger celestial bodies stood still
Strange sounds fleeted past my ears
My heart palpitated,
Like the rumblings of thunder
My eyes glowed like fire *****

A shout I heard afar
Over the heavens’ mysterious rim
Muffled though, I could decipher it;
“Welcome to the clan of poets”!
Around me, I saw multitudes of poets
Young and old, their faces blazing
Like a thousand lanterns lit
In that blinding brilliance
My filmy wings burnt outright!

Like Icarus, from the heights
I flopped down to the chasm below
In the scattered heap of flesh and bones
A faint stir …..
…………………..
The feeble flutter of a poetic heart
Before it was finally stilled!!

This is how I feel now....... in the blinding brilliance of poetic talents I see here, my wings are burnt !