tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45362964754327741552024-02-20T16:08:19.790-08:00My Poetry AnthologyHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-81716515719122454782008-04-29T20:13:00.000-07:002008-04-29T20:15:17.088-07:00My PoemsThis anthology is a collection of poems I chose from the Language of Literature Book, some poems from a book of love poems I found at the library, and a few poems of my own. Most of these poems interest me, but some I just put on here to get credit.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-71888745065316755882008-04-29T20:11:00.000-07:002008-04-29T20:13:13.762-07:00A Summer Love Poem By Nikki Giovanniclouds float by on a summer sky<br />i hop scotch over to you<br />rainbows arch from ground to gold<br />i climb over to you<br />thunder grumbles<br />lightning tumbles <br />and i bounce over to you<br />sun beams and catches me<br />smiling over to you<br /><br />From: Love Poems<br />by Nikki GiovanniHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-62111024150043404772008-04-29T20:08:00.000-07:002008-04-29T20:10:39.118-07:00Love Is By Nikki GiovanniSome people forget that love is<br />tucking you in and kissing you "Good Night"<br />no matter how young or old you are<br /><br />Some people don't remember that love is<br />listening and laughing and asking questions<br />no matter what your age<br /><br />Few recognize that love is<br />commitment responsibility no fun at all<br />unless<br /><br />Love is<br />You and Me<br /><br /><br />From ; Love Poems<br />by Nikki GiovanniHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-70087149860205793932008-04-29T20:03:00.000-07:002008-04-29T20:06:56.147-07:00And I Have You By Nikki GiovanniRain has drops Sun has shine<br />Moon has beams That make you mine<br /><br />Rivers have banks Sands for shores<br />Hearts have heartbeats That make me yours<br /><br />Needles have eyes Though pins may prick<br />Elmer has glue To make things stick<br /><br />WInter has Spring Stockings feet<br />Pepper has mint To make it sweet<br /><br />Teachers have lessons Soup du jour<br />Lawyers sue bad folks Doctors care<br /><br />All and all this much is true<br />You have me And I have you<br /><br /><br />From: Love Poems, <br />By Nikki GiovanniHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-84623056267770923852008-04-29T19:59:00.000-07:002008-04-29T20:02:04.833-07:00My DadMy Dad is always there for me,<br />He sometimes doesnt think I see<br />He has been there since my birth,<br />I know he is the best father on this Earth.<br />I could never live without his love, <br />I thank God for this gift from above.<br /><br />By Hillary RenkerHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-91727753290540042922008-04-29T19:57:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:59:28.669-07:00MeBasketball is what I play,<br />I would never dream of taking ballet.<br />My favorite colors are orange and pink, <br />Even though that is not the color of my sink.<br />I am seventeen years old, <br />but I'm not as old as mold.<br />I'm getting really cold.<br /><br />By Hillary Renker.<br />THank you, very much. Thank You.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-33089447695444949562008-04-29T19:52:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:53:30.190-07:00To youI wanted you to have the perfect birthday,<br />So I tried to find a present that would make it that way,<br />I searched in everyplace I knew,<br />But nothing I found was good enough for you.<br /><br />By Hillary RenkerHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-11488762487466513592008-04-29T19:47:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:52:02.334-07:00My MomMy mom's name is Janet Lee,<br />She is very important to me<br />She decided to have me in the first place,<br />She's the real reason for the nose on my face.<br /><br />She listens to me when I'm a nervous wreck,<br />It seems she is always writing me checks,<br />She's patient with me when I fail all my tests, <br />even when i failed my temps<br /><br />Everynight she cooks a meal,<br />No matter how sick she might feel<br />She takes our clothes and makes them clean,<br />She deserves to be treated like a queen.<br /><br />By Hillary RenkerHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-74319662512210393192008-04-29T19:39:00.001-07:002008-04-29T19:41:57.906-07:00My TribeMy tribe wears jerseys, and socks, and tennis shoes<br />My tribe eats energy bars, and gatorade, and water.<br />My tribe listens to a warm up tape, and balls bouncing, and the stop clock buzzer.<br />My tribe drives to different schools, gyms, and courts.<br />My tribe goes to the gym to practice and play<br />In my trive we like to dribble, shoot and play.<br />My tribe is from Strongsville where the mustangs roam.<br />-Hillary RenkerHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-62913995795999559432008-04-29T19:32:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:37:53.407-07:00Mirror By Sylvia PlathI am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.<br />Whatever I see I swallow immediately<br />Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.<br />I am not cruel, only truthful-<br />The eye of a little god, four-cornered.<br />Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.<br />It is pin, with speckles. I have looked at it so long<br />I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.<br />Faces and darkness separate us over and over.<br /><br />Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, <br />Searching my reaches for what she really is.<br />Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.<br />I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.<br />She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.<br />I am important to her. She comes and goes.<br />Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.<br />In me she was drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman<br />Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath wrote openly and honestly about the reality of her life. Her poems read liek confessions that exposed their troubled lives.<br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-25666467571831481212008-04-29T19:26:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:32:26.309-07:00Life for My Child is Simple By Gwendolyn BrooksLife for my child is simple, and is good.<br />He knows his wish. Yes, but that is not all.<br />Because I know mine too.<br />And we both want joy of undeep and unabiding things,<br />Like kicking over a chair or throwing blocks out of a window<br />Or tipping over an ice box pan<br />Or snatching down curtains or fingering an electric outlet<br />Or a journey or a friend or an illegal kiss.<br />No. There is more to it than that.<br />It is that he has never been afraid.<br />Rather, he reaches out and lo the chair falls with a beautiful crash,<br />And the blocks fall, down on the people's heads,<br />And the water comes slooshing sloppily out across the floor.<br />And so forth.<br />Not that success, for him, is sure, infallible.<br />But never has he been afraid to reach.<br />His lesions are legion.<br />But reaching is his rule.<br /><br />Gwendolyn Brooks wrote about the effects of racism and poverty. <br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-35992806759218848852008-04-29T19:20:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:26:28.774-07:00Any Human to Another By Countee CullenThe ills I sorrow at<br />Not me alone<br />Like an arrow, <br />Pierce to the marrow,<br />Through the fat<br />And past the bone.<br /><br />Your grief and mine<br />Must intertwine<br />Like sea and river, <br />Be fused and mingle, <br />Diverse yet single, <br />Forever and forever.<br /><br />Let no man be so proud<br />And confident,<br />To think he is allowed<br />A little tent<br />Pitched in a meadow<br />Of sun and shadow<br />All his little own.<br /><br />Joy may be shy, unique,<br />Friendly to a few, <br />Sorrow never scorned to speak<br />To any who<br />Were false or true.<br /><br />Your every frief<br />Like a blade<br />Shining and unsheathed<br /><br />Must strike me down.<br />Of bitter aloes wreathed, <br />My sorrow must be laid<br />On your head like a crown<br /><br />Countee Cullen was born in 1903. He was influenced by the English romantic poets. He taught french.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-67724094675992908972008-04-29T19:06:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:16:36.247-07:00A Black Man Talks of Reaping By Arna BontempsI have sown beside all waters in my day.<br />I planted deep, within my heart the fear<br />That wind or fowl would take the grain away.<br />I planted safe against this stark, lean year.<br /><br />I scattered seed enough to plant the land<br />In rows from Canada to Mexico, <br />But for my reaping only what the hand<br />Can hold at once is all that I can show.<br /><br />Yet what i sowed and what the orchard yields<br />My brother's sons are gathering stalk and root,<br />Small wonder then my children glean in fields<br />They have not sown, and feed on bitter fruit.<br /><br />Arna Bontemps was born on October 13th, 1902 in Louisiana. He had a teaching position in Harlem.<br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-34115869761106730862008-04-29T19:03:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:17:06.971-07:00I, Too By Langston HughesI, too, sing America.<br /><br />I am the darker brother, <br />They send me to eat in the kitchen<br />When company comes,<br />But I laugh, <br />And eat well,<br />And grow strong.<br /><br />Tomorrow, <br />I'll be at the table<br />When company comes.<br />Nobody'll dare<br />Say to me, <br />"Eat in the kitchen,"<br />Then.<br /><br />Besides, <br />They'll see how beautiful I am<br />And be ashamed-<br /><br />I, too, am America<br /><br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-20014265352675844252008-04-29T18:48:00.001-07:002008-04-29T19:17:47.551-07:00Harlem By Langston HughesWhat happens to a dream deferred?<br /><br />Does it dry up<br />like a raisen in the sun?<br />Or fester kuje a sore-<br />And then run?<br />Does it sink like rotten meat?<br />Ir crust and sugar over-<br />like a syrupy sweet?<br /><br />Langston Hughes incorproated patterns of African-American music into his poetry. He was born in Missouri and began writing poems in the eighth grade.<br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-44415704840676084912008-04-29T18:34:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:17:30.592-07:00If We Must Die By Claude McKayIf we must die, let it not be like hogs<br />Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,<br />While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,<br />Making their mock at our accursed lot.<br />If we must die, O let us nobly die, <br />So that our precious blook may not be shed<br />In vain; then even the monsters we defy <br />Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!<br />O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!<br />Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,<br />And for their thousand blows deal one deahblow!<br />What though before us lies the open grave?<br />Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,<br />Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!<br /><br />Claude McKay was born September 15, 1889. He was a Jamaican poet and writer. He wrote three novels and was involved in the Harlem Renaissance.<br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-24789635244680652962008-04-29T18:13:00.000-07:002008-04-29T18:31:06.499-07:00Elevator Music By Henry TaylorA tune with no more substance than the air, performed on underwater instruments, <br />is preper to this short lift from the earth.<br />It hovers as we draw into ourselves,<br />and turns our reverent eyes toward the light.<br />That count us to our varous destinies.<br />We're all in this together. The songs says,<br />and later we'll descend. The melody <br />is like a name we don't recall just now <br />that still keeps on insisting it's there.<br /><br /><br />Henry Taylor is Professor of Literature and Co-Director of the MFA Program in Creative Writing at American University in Washington, DC. He was the winner of the 1986 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry. He is the author of five volumes of poetry.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-34299120463060453532008-04-29T16:59:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:15:01.156-07:00Subterranean Homesick Blues By Bob DylanJohnny's in the basement<br />Mixing up the medicine<br />I'm on the pavement<br />Thinking about the government<br />The man in the trench coat<br />Badge out, laid off<br />Says he's got a bad cough<br />Wants to get it paid off<br />Look out kid<br />It's somethin' you did<br />God knows when<br />But you're doin' it again<br />You better duck down the alley way<br />Lookin' for a new friend<br />The man in the coon-skin cap<br />In the big pen<br />Wants eleven dollar bills<br />You only got ten<br /><br />Maggie comes fleet foot<br />Face full of black soot<br />Talkin' that the heat put<br />Plants in the bed but<br />The phone's tapped anyway<br />Maggie says that many say<br />They must bust in early May<br />Orders from the D. A.<br />Look out kid<br />Don't matter what you did<br />Walk on your tip toes<br />Don't try "No Doz"<br />Better stay away from those<br />That carry around a fire hose<br />Keep a clean nose<br />Watch the plain clothes<br />You don't need a weather man<br />To know which way the wind blows<br /><br />Get sick, get well<br />Hang around a ink well<br />Ring bell, hard to tell<br />If anything is goin' to sell<br />Try hard, get barred<br />Get back, write braille<br />Get jailed, jump bail<br />Join the army, if you fail<br />Look out kid<br />You're gonna get hit<br />But users, cheaters<br />Six-time losers<br />Hang around the theaters<br />Girl by the whirlpool<br />Lookin' for a new fool<br />Don't follow leaders<br />Watch the parkin' meters<br /><br />Ah get born, keep warm<br />Short pants, romance, learn to dance<br />Get dressed, get blessed<br />Try to be a success<br />Please her, please him, buy gifts<br />Don't steal, don't lift<br />Twenty years of schoolin'<br />And they put you on the day shift<br />Look out kid<br />They keep it all hid<br />Better jump down a manhole<br />Light yourself a candle<br />Don't wear sandals<br />Try to avoid the scandals<br />Don't wanna be a bum<br />You better chew gum<br />The pump don't work<br />'Cause the vandals took the handlesHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-22654813846878439362008-04-29T16:54:00.000-07:002008-04-29T19:18:18.154-07:00My City By James Weldon JohnsonWhen i come down to sleep death's endless night,<br />The threshold of the unknown dark to cross,<br />What to me then will be the keenest loss,<br />When this bright world blurs on my fading sight?<br />Will it be that no more I shall see the trees<br />Or smell the flowers or hear the singing birds<br />Or watch the flashing streams or patient herds?<br />No, I am sure it will be none of these.<br /><br />But, ah! Manhattan's sights and sounds, her smells, <br />Her crowds, her throbbing force, the thrill that comes<br />From being of her a part, her subtle spells, <br />Her shining towers, her avenues, her slums-<br />O God! the stark, unutterable pity, <br />To be dead, and never again behold my city!<br /><br />James Weldon Johnson:<br />He expresses deep feelings about Manhattan. It was based on the racism and injustive that he felt.<br /><br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-8683701076931803292008-04-29T16:44:00.000-07:002008-04-29T16:52:44.433-07:00Adolescence-III By Rita DoveWith Dad gone, Mom and I worked<br />The dusky rows of tomatoes. <br />As they glowed orange in sunlight<br />And rotted in shadow, I too<br />Grew orange and softer, swelling out<br />Starched cotton slips.<br /><br />The texture of twilight made me think of<br />Lengths of Dotted Swiss. In my room<br />I wrapped scarred knees in dresses<br />That once went to big-band dances; <br />I baptized my earlobes with rosewater. <br />Along the window-sill, the lipstick stubs<br />Glittered in their steel shells.<br /><br />Looking out at the rows of clay<br />And chicken maure, I dreamed how it would happen:<br />He would meet me by the blue spruce, <br />A canrnation over his heart,saying,<br />"I have come for you, Madam;<br />I have loved you in my dreams."<br />At his touch, the scabs would fall away. <br />Over his shoulder, I see my father coming toward us: <br />He carries his tears in a bowl,<br />And blood hangs in the pine-soaked air.<br /><br />Rita Dove:<br />She often gives public readings of her poems and intends them to be read aloud. This poem is the third in a series of three poems about being young that she has written.<br /><br /><br />The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-14918921246414591082008-04-29T16:41:00.000-07:002008-04-29T16:42:42.627-07:00About Nikki GiovanniNikki was born in Knoxville, Tennessee, on June 7, 1943. She grew up in Cincinatti, Ohio. She in a University Distniguished Professor at Virginia Tech.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-33900132091068018642008-04-29T16:38:00.000-07:002008-04-29T16:40:45.705-07:00Telephone Poem By Nikki GiovanniCans and Strings and backyard trees<br />iggles coming through the wire<br />Summer, mud pies, lemonade stands<br />Hang Up No You Hang Up First<br /><br />Potatoes must be piled mile high<br />Then you add the leaves<br />Daddies always light the fires<br />Hang Up No You Hang Up First<br /><br />Marriage Children Divorces Jobs<br />Ambitions eat your days away<br />Girls I miss our silly times<br />Hang Up No You Hang Up FirstHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-58397527003456229202008-04-29T16:36:00.000-07:002008-04-29T16:38:09.967-07:00About Wendy CopeWendy Cope was born in Erith, London. She went to Farringtons School and went on to read history at St. Hilda's College, Oxford. <br />Three of her poetry books have been published.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-42027185972770081222008-04-29T16:33:00.000-07:002008-04-29T16:36:04.081-07:00The Orange By Wendy CopeAt lunchtime I bought a huge orange<br />THe size of it made us all laugh<br />I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave-<br />They got quarters and I had a half.<br /><br />And that orange, it made me so happy, <br />As ordinary things often do<br />just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park<br />This is peace and contentment. It's new.<br /><br />The rest of the day was quite easy.<br />I did all the jobs on my list<br />And enjoyed them and had some time over<br />I love you. I'm glad I existHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4536296475432774155.post-26069269126332407472008-04-29T16:18:00.000-07:002008-04-29T16:21:07.617-07:00About Robert FrostRobert Frost was born in San Francisco in 1874. He graduated from high school at the top of his class. He suffered from dark depression due to his personal life tragedies.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09522982847507885831noreply@blogger.com0