Tuesday, April 29, 2008
My Poems
This 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.
A Summer Love Poem By Nikki Giovanni
clouds float by on a summer sky
i hop scotch over to you
rainbows arch from ground to gold
i climb over to you
thunder grumbles
lightning tumbles
and i bounce over to you
sun beams and catches me
smiling over to you
From: Love Poems
by Nikki Giovanni
i hop scotch over to you
rainbows arch from ground to gold
i climb over to you
thunder grumbles
lightning tumbles
and i bounce over to you
sun beams and catches me
smiling over to you
From: Love Poems
by Nikki Giovanni
Love Is By Nikki Giovanni
Some people forget that love is
tucking you in and kissing you "Good Night"
no matter how young or old you are
Some people don't remember that love is
listening and laughing and asking questions
no matter what your age
Few recognize that love is
commitment responsibility no fun at all
unless
Love is
You and Me
From ; Love Poems
by Nikki Giovanni
tucking you in and kissing you "Good Night"
no matter how young or old you are
Some people don't remember that love is
listening and laughing and asking questions
no matter what your age
Few recognize that love is
commitment responsibility no fun at all
unless
Love is
You and Me
From ; Love Poems
by Nikki Giovanni
And I Have You By Nikki Giovanni
Rain has drops Sun has shine
Moon has beams That make you mine
Rivers have banks Sands for shores
Hearts have heartbeats That make me yours
Needles have eyes Though pins may prick
Elmer has glue To make things stick
WInter has Spring Stockings feet
Pepper has mint To make it sweet
Teachers have lessons Soup du jour
Lawyers sue bad folks Doctors care
All and all this much is true
You have me And I have you
From: Love Poems,
By Nikki Giovanni
Moon has beams That make you mine
Rivers have banks Sands for shores
Hearts have heartbeats That make me yours
Needles have eyes Though pins may prick
Elmer has glue To make things stick
WInter has Spring Stockings feet
Pepper has mint To make it sweet
Teachers have lessons Soup du jour
Lawyers sue bad folks Doctors care
All and all this much is true
You have me And I have you
From: Love Poems,
By Nikki Giovanni
My Dad
My Dad is always there for me,
He sometimes doesnt think I see
He has been there since my birth,
I know he is the best father on this Earth.
I could never live without his love,
I thank God for this gift from above.
By Hillary Renker
He sometimes doesnt think I see
He has been there since my birth,
I know he is the best father on this Earth.
I could never live without his love,
I thank God for this gift from above.
By Hillary Renker
Me
Basketball is what I play,
I would never dream of taking ballet.
My favorite colors are orange and pink,
Even though that is not the color of my sink.
I am seventeen years old,
but I'm not as old as mold.
I'm getting really cold.
By Hillary Renker.
THank you, very much. Thank You.
I would never dream of taking ballet.
My favorite colors are orange and pink,
Even though that is not the color of my sink.
I am seventeen years old,
but I'm not as old as mold.
I'm getting really cold.
By Hillary Renker.
THank you, very much. Thank You.
To you
I wanted you to have the perfect birthday,
So I tried to find a present that would make it that way,
I searched in everyplace I knew,
But nothing I found was good enough for you.
By Hillary Renker
So I tried to find a present that would make it that way,
I searched in everyplace I knew,
But nothing I found was good enough for you.
By Hillary Renker
My Mom
My mom's name is Janet Lee,
She is very important to me
She decided to have me in the first place,
She's the real reason for the nose on my face.
She listens to me when I'm a nervous wreck,
It seems she is always writing me checks,
She's patient with me when I fail all my tests,
even when i failed my temps
Everynight she cooks a meal,
No matter how sick she might feel
She takes our clothes and makes them clean,
She deserves to be treated like a queen.
By Hillary Renker
She is very important to me
She decided to have me in the first place,
She's the real reason for the nose on my face.
She listens to me when I'm a nervous wreck,
It seems she is always writing me checks,
She's patient with me when I fail all my tests,
even when i failed my temps
Everynight she cooks a meal,
No matter how sick she might feel
She takes our clothes and makes them clean,
She deserves to be treated like a queen.
By Hillary Renker
My Tribe
My tribe wears jerseys, and socks, and tennis shoes
My tribe eats energy bars, and gatorade, and water.
My tribe listens to a warm up tape, and balls bouncing, and the stop clock buzzer.
My tribe drives to different schools, gyms, and courts.
My tribe goes to the gym to practice and play
In my trive we like to dribble, shoot and play.
My tribe is from Strongsville where the mustangs roam.
-Hillary Renker
My tribe eats energy bars, and gatorade, and water.
My tribe listens to a warm up tape, and balls bouncing, and the stop clock buzzer.
My tribe drives to different schools, gyms, and courts.
My tribe goes to the gym to practice and play
In my trive we like to dribble, shoot and play.
My tribe is from Strongsville where the mustangs roam.
-Hillary Renker
Mirror By Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pin, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she was drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Sylvia Plath wrote openly and honestly about the reality of her life. Her poems read liek confessions that exposed their troubled lives.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pin, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she was drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Sylvia Plath wrote openly and honestly about the reality of her life. Her poems read liek confessions that exposed their troubled lives.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Life for My Child is Simple By Gwendolyn Brooks
Life for my child is simple, and is good.
He knows his wish. Yes, but that is not all.
Because I know mine too.
And we both want joy of undeep and unabiding things,
Like kicking over a chair or throwing blocks out of a window
Or tipping over an ice box pan
Or snatching down curtains or fingering an electric outlet
Or a journey or a friend or an illegal kiss.
No. There is more to it than that.
It is that he has never been afraid.
Rather, he reaches out and lo the chair falls with a beautiful crash,
And the blocks fall, down on the people's heads,
And the water comes slooshing sloppily out across the floor.
And so forth.
Not that success, for him, is sure, infallible.
But never has he been afraid to reach.
His lesions are legion.
But reaching is his rule.
Gwendolyn Brooks wrote about the effects of racism and poverty.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
He knows his wish. Yes, but that is not all.
Because I know mine too.
And we both want joy of undeep and unabiding things,
Like kicking over a chair or throwing blocks out of a window
Or tipping over an ice box pan
Or snatching down curtains or fingering an electric outlet
Or a journey or a friend or an illegal kiss.
No. There is more to it than that.
It is that he has never been afraid.
Rather, he reaches out and lo the chair falls with a beautiful crash,
And the blocks fall, down on the people's heads,
And the water comes slooshing sloppily out across the floor.
And so forth.
Not that success, for him, is sure, infallible.
But never has he been afraid to reach.
His lesions are legion.
But reaching is his rule.
Gwendolyn Brooks wrote about the effects of racism and poverty.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Any Human to Another By Countee Cullen
The ills I sorrow at
Not me alone
Like an arrow,
Pierce to the marrow,
Through the fat
And past the bone.
Your grief and mine
Must intertwine
Like sea and river,
Be fused and mingle,
Diverse yet single,
Forever and forever.
Let no man be so proud
And confident,
To think he is allowed
A little tent
Pitched in a meadow
Of sun and shadow
All his little own.
Joy may be shy, unique,
Friendly to a few,
Sorrow never scorned to speak
To any who
Were false or true.
Your every frief
Like a blade
Shining and unsheathed
Must strike me down.
Of bitter aloes wreathed,
My sorrow must be laid
On your head like a crown
Countee Cullen was born in 1903. He was influenced by the English romantic poets. He taught french.
Not me alone
Like an arrow,
Pierce to the marrow,
Through the fat
And past the bone.
Your grief and mine
Must intertwine
Like sea and river,
Be fused and mingle,
Diverse yet single,
Forever and forever.
Let no man be so proud
And confident,
To think he is allowed
A little tent
Pitched in a meadow
Of sun and shadow
All his little own.
Joy may be shy, unique,
Friendly to a few,
Sorrow never scorned to speak
To any who
Were false or true.
Your every frief
Like a blade
Shining and unsheathed
Must strike me down.
Of bitter aloes wreathed,
My sorrow must be laid
On your head like a crown
Countee Cullen was born in 1903. He was influenced by the English romantic poets. He taught french.
A Black Man Talks of Reaping By Arna Bontemps
I have sown beside all waters in my day.
I planted deep, within my heart the fear
That wind or fowl would take the grain away.
I planted safe against this stark, lean year.
I scattered seed enough to plant the land
In rows from Canada to Mexico,
But for my reaping only what the hand
Can hold at once is all that I can show.
Yet what i sowed and what the orchard yields
My brother's sons are gathering stalk and root,
Small wonder then my children glean in fields
They have not sown, and feed on bitter fruit.
Arna Bontemps was born on October 13th, 1902 in Louisiana. He had a teaching position in Harlem.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
I planted deep, within my heart the fear
That wind or fowl would take the grain away.
I planted safe against this stark, lean year.
I scattered seed enough to plant the land
In rows from Canada to Mexico,
But for my reaping only what the hand
Can hold at once is all that I can show.
Yet what i sowed and what the orchard yields
My brother's sons are gathering stalk and root,
Small wonder then my children glean in fields
They have not sown, and feed on bitter fruit.
Arna Bontemps was born on October 13th, 1902 in Louisiana. He had a teaching position in Harlem.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
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
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
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
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Harlem By Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisen in the sun?
Or fester kuje a sore-
And then run?
Does it sink like rotten meat?
Ir crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?
Langston Hughes incorproated patterns of African-American music into his poetry. He was born in Missouri and began writing poems in the eighth grade.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Does it dry up
like a raisen in the sun?
Or fester kuje a sore-
And then run?
Does it sink like rotten meat?
Ir crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?
Langston Hughes incorproated patterns of African-American music into his poetry. He was born in Missouri and began writing poems in the eighth grade.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
If We Must Die By Claude McKay
If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blook may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one deahblow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
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.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blook may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one deahblow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
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.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Elevator Music By Henry Taylor
A tune with no more substance than the air, performed on underwater instruments,
is preper to this short lift from the earth.
It hovers as we draw into ourselves,
and turns our reverent eyes toward the light.
That count us to our varous destinies.
We're all in this together. The songs says,
and later we'll descend. The melody
is like a name we don't recall just now
that still keeps on insisting it's there.
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.
is preper to this short lift from the earth.
It hovers as we draw into ourselves,
and turns our reverent eyes toward the light.
That count us to our varous destinies.
We're all in this together. The songs says,
and later we'll descend. The melody
is like a name we don't recall just now
that still keeps on insisting it's there.
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.
Subterranean Homesick Blues By Bob Dylan
Johnny's in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off
Look out kid
It's somethin' you did
God knows when
But you're doin' it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin' for a new friend
The man in the coon-skin cap
In the big pen
Wants eleven dollar bills
You only got ten
Maggie comes fleet foot
Face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put
Plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway
Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May
Orders from the D. A.
Look out kid
Don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes
Don't try "No Doz"
Better stay away from those
That carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man
To know which way the wind blows
Get sick, get well
Hang around a ink well
Ring bell, hard to tell
If anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred
Get back, write braille
Get jailed, jump bail
Join the army, if you fail
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool
Lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders
Watch the parkin' meters
Ah get born, keep warm
Short pants, romance, learn to dance
Get dressed, get blessed
Try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts
Don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin'
And they put you on the day shift
Look out kid
They keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole
Light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals
Try to avoid the scandals
Don't wanna be a bum
You better chew gum
The pump don't work
'Cause the vandals took the handles
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off
Look out kid
It's somethin' you did
God knows when
But you're doin' it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin' for a new friend
The man in the coon-skin cap
In the big pen
Wants eleven dollar bills
You only got ten
Maggie comes fleet foot
Face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put
Plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway
Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May
Orders from the D. A.
Look out kid
Don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes
Don't try "No Doz"
Better stay away from those
That carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man
To know which way the wind blows
Get sick, get well
Hang around a ink well
Ring bell, hard to tell
If anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred
Get back, write braille
Get jailed, jump bail
Join the army, if you fail
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool
Lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders
Watch the parkin' meters
Ah get born, keep warm
Short pants, romance, learn to dance
Get dressed, get blessed
Try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts
Don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin'
And they put you on the day shift
Look out kid
They keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole
Light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals
Try to avoid the scandals
Don't wanna be a bum
You better chew gum
The pump don't work
'Cause the vandals took the handles
My City By James Weldon Johnson
When i come down to sleep death's endless night,
The threshold of the unknown dark to cross,
What to me then will be the keenest loss,
When this bright world blurs on my fading sight?
Will it be that no more I shall see the trees
Or smell the flowers or hear the singing birds
Or watch the flashing streams or patient herds?
No, I am sure it will be none of these.
But, ah! Manhattan's sights and sounds, her smells,
Her crowds, her throbbing force, the thrill that comes
From being of her a part, her subtle spells,
Her shining towers, her avenues, her slums-
O God! the stark, unutterable pity,
To be dead, and never again behold my city!
James Weldon Johnson:
He expresses deep feelings about Manhattan. It was based on the racism and injustive that he felt.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
The threshold of the unknown dark to cross,
What to me then will be the keenest loss,
When this bright world blurs on my fading sight?
Will it be that no more I shall see the trees
Or smell the flowers or hear the singing birds
Or watch the flashing streams or patient herds?
No, I am sure it will be none of these.
But, ah! Manhattan's sights and sounds, her smells,
Her crowds, her throbbing force, the thrill that comes
From being of her a part, her subtle spells,
Her shining towers, her avenues, her slums-
O God! the stark, unutterable pity,
To be dead, and never again behold my city!
James Weldon Johnson:
He expresses deep feelings about Manhattan. It was based on the racism and injustive that he felt.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
Adolescence-III By Rita Dove
With Dad gone, Mom and I worked
The dusky rows of tomatoes.
As they glowed orange in sunlight
And rotted in shadow, I too
Grew orange and softer, swelling out
Starched cotton slips.
The texture of twilight made me think of
Lengths of Dotted Swiss. In my room
I wrapped scarred knees in dresses
That once went to big-band dances;
I baptized my earlobes with rosewater.
Along the window-sill, the lipstick stubs
Glittered in their steel shells.
Looking out at the rows of clay
And chicken maure, I dreamed how it would happen:
He would meet me by the blue spruce,
A canrnation over his heart,saying,
"I have come for you, Madam;
I have loved you in my dreams."
At his touch, the scabs would fall away.
Over his shoulder, I see my father coming toward us:
He carries his tears in a bowl,
And blood hangs in the pine-soaked air.
Rita Dove:
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.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
The dusky rows of tomatoes.
As they glowed orange in sunlight
And rotted in shadow, I too
Grew orange and softer, swelling out
Starched cotton slips.
The texture of twilight made me think of
Lengths of Dotted Swiss. In my room
I wrapped scarred knees in dresses
That once went to big-band dances;
I baptized my earlobes with rosewater.
Along the window-sill, the lipstick stubs
Glittered in their steel shells.
Looking out at the rows of clay
And chicken maure, I dreamed how it would happen:
He would meet me by the blue spruce,
A canrnation over his heart,saying,
"I have come for you, Madam;
I have loved you in my dreams."
At his touch, the scabs would fall away.
Over his shoulder, I see my father coming toward us:
He carries his tears in a bowl,
And blood hangs in the pine-soaked air.
Rita Dove:
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.
The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,
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