Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Weather Vane

Weather Vane by Herbert Merrill

Here in this inland place where no
Seas resound or rivers flow,
We have an ocean made of air.
As deep as heaven and as fair.
As restless as the moving sea.
And bounded by eternity.

And High above all bottom things,
High on the courthouse tower,
A lordly fish, all copper finned
And copper scaled, to tell the
To stem the tide and swim the sea
That thunders over roof and tree.

From: Saturday Evening Post Jan 22, 1949 p.114

Monday, May 4, 2009

The Lesson

The Lesson by Maya Angelou
I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.
Bryan Hernandez

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Songs of Innocence

PIPING down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of peasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he, laughing, said to me:
'Pipe a song about a lamb!'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again;'
So I piped: he wept to hear.
'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!'
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
'Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.'
So he vanished from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
By: William Blake
Submited by: Irene Tracey

Thursday, April 30, 2009

When We Two Parted

When We Two Parted

by George Gordon Byron

When we two parted     In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted     To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold,     Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold     Sorrow to this.  The dew of the morning     Sunk chill on my brow--  It felt like the warning    Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken,     And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,     And share in its shame.  They name thee before me,     A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me--    Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee,     Who knew thee too well-- Long, long shall I rue thee,     Too deeply to tell.  In secret we met--    In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget,     Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee     After long years, How should I greet thee?--    With silence and tears.
Submitted by: Jessica Clegg

As soon as fred gets out of bed

Samantha Wills
As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed by Jack Prelutsky
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.

At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.

One Struggle More, And I Am Free

One Struggle More, And I Am Free

By Lord Byron

One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before !
Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;
Man was not form'd to live alone:
I'll be that light, unmeaning thing
That smiles with all, and weeps with none.
It was not thus in days more dear,
It never would have been, but thou
Hast fled, and left me lonely here;
Thou 'rt nothing --- all are nothing now.

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe !
The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,
Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill :
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,
The heart, --- the heart is lonely still !

On many a lone and lovely night
It sooth'd to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deem'd the heavenly light
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,
" Now Thyrza gazes on that moon " ---
Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave !

When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed,
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,
" 'T is comfort still,"   I faintly said,
" That Thyrza cannot know my pains: "
Like freedom to the time-worn slave,
A boon 'tis idle then to give,
Relenting Nature vainly gave
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live !

My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
When love and life alike were new !
How different now thou meet'st  my gaze !
How tinged by time with sorrow's hue !
The heart that gave itself with thee
Is silent --- ah, were mine as still !
Though cold as e'en  the dead can be,
It feels,  it sickens with the chill.

Thou bitter pledge !    thou mournful token !
Though painful,  welcome to my breast !
Still,  still preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou'rt press'd.
Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled:
Oh !   what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead ?

Submitted By: David Ferullo

Lyin' Larry

Larry's such a liar--
He tells outrageous lies.
He says he's ninety-nine years old
Instead of only five.
He says he lives up on the moon.
He says that he once flew.
He says he's really six feet four
Instead of three feet two.
He says he had a billion dollars
'Stead of just a dime.
He says he rode a dinosaur
Back in some distant time.
He says his mother is the moon
Who taught him magic spells.
He says his father is the wind
That rings the morning bells.
He says he can take stones and rocks
And turn them into gold.
He says he can take burnin' fire
And turn it freezin' cold.
He said he'd send me seven elves
To help me with my chores.
But Larry's such a liar--
He only sent me four.

By Shel Silverstein.

Submitted by: Enoch Lee

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On Anothers Sorrow

by William Blake

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can he who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief & care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,

And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear;

And not sit both night & day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give his joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh
And thy maker is not by;
Think not thou canst weep a tear
And thy maker is not near.

O! he gives to us his joy
That our grief he may destroy;
Till our grief is fled & gone
He doth sit by us and moan. 



Home by Lisa Emry

Home is the place your heart resides
Home is the place that you decide
Home is the womb that holds the soul
Home is the place where one is whole

Home is the glow you hold in your eye
Home is the emotion that makes you cry
Home is safe and a place of peace
Home is where all strivings cease

Home is protective against the others
Home is full of sisters and brothers
Home is where you find your rest
Home is where you feel your best

Home is a memory that follows your being
Home is a dream for those agreeing
Home is the place where reserves fall
Home is the place you yearn to call

Home is where the family meets
Home is a place of restful retreats
Home is the place you know you'll be heard
Home is the pace where nothing blurs

Home is all these wonderful things
Home is the place you develop wings
Home is the place that you'll find one day
Home is the place where your heart will stay
Artem Shakhramanyan (Eng 102-013)

Music by Alexis Rolon

Music is my life
Music is my laughter that makes me cry
Music is the thing that changed my life
Music is my happiness I always feel in side
Music is my every thing
When you are down let music turn you around
What ever you are feeling let music take it over
Turn the music up real loud and jest scream it all out
Let the pain run write through you
Let the tears undue you
Do nothing more but sing your soul out
And tell everyone what you are about! ! !
Music is my life
Music is my laughter that makes me cry
Music is the thing that changed my life
Music is my happiness I always feel in side
Music is my every thing
Tell every one what you are all about
Jest expresses your self and let it out!
Let no one tell you ….
You can not live your dreams
If you want to sing, sing, sing the music
You like while you tell them what you are all about!
Music is my life
Music is my laughter that makes me cry
Music is the thing that changed my life
Music is my happiness I always feel in side
Music is my every thing
Music can be my heart beating for you
Music can be the sound of your voice
Music can be the butterflies in my belly when they talk about you
Music can be the cars beeping in the high way
Music is the thing that's get you off your feet
Music is my life
Music is my laughter that makes me cry
Music is the thing that changed my life
Music is my happiness I always feel in side
Music is my every thing
Music is everywhere around you! ! ! !

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The Pleasures of Ordinary Life by Judith Viorst

I've had my share of necessary losses,
Of dreams I know no longer can come true.
I'm done now with the whys and the becauses.
It's time to make things good, not just make do.
It's time to stop complaining and pursue
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

I used to rail against my compromises.
I yearned for the wild music, the swift race.
But happiness arrived in new disguises:
Sun lighting a child's hair. A friend's embrace.
Slow dancing in a safe and quiet place.
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

I'll have no trumpets, triumphs, trails of glory.
It seems the woman I've turned out to be
Is not the heroine of some grand story.
But I have learned to find the poetry
In what my hands can touch, my eyes can see.
The pleasures of an ordinary life.

Young fantasies of magic and of mystery
Are over. But they really can't compete
With all we've built together: A long history.
Connections that help render us complete.
Ties that hold and heal us. And the sweet,
Sweet pleasures of an ordinary life.

submitted by Julie Yu Brit Lit

NIGHT By Dong-Myung Kim

Night is
A lake shrouded in blue fog.
I am a fisherman
On a sleep's sailboat,
Fishing dreams.
The author is blaming him self because he dreams independence of his country
however, there is not such a thing that he can do for.
From. LI 206 - 004 student. Jungho Kim

ROCK by Chi-Hwan Yu

ROCK by Chi-Hwan Yu

When I die,
I will become a rock,
never touched
by compassion, joy or anger.
While being torn down by wind and rain,
It will only whip itself inwards
in eterenal, impersonal silence,
and at last forget its own existence;
Floating clouds, distant thunder!
Though it may dream,
it will never sing.
Though broken in pieces,
it will never utter a word.
I will become such a rock.
I think this one is interesting because it does not say anything directly
however the author wishes independence of his country Korea from Japan.
From. LI 206 - 004 student Jungho Kim.

Vincent Hayes. Poem: Sand Oasis



By: Vincent John Hayes


You tell me that it's hard sometimes

To make your feet align.

I hesitate to speak

But I think you're just hopelessly inclined

And hell-bent to abide

To the taunting gestures

Of blinded strangers.

These baseless fantasies are making your mind


Because you know damn well

That every road is a lonely one

In good time

And that's just osmosis

In its most basic nature

Taking and splitting all of your bliss

And leaves you searching for another

Sand Oasis  


Pack your baggage

And sharpen your beak

Yea, I'm gona stagger

Right from this could of defeat

In the roads that are to come

I'll find someone else just like me

See them dead where they fell

And I'll scavenge

On their cathartic meat.


Did you forget to pack away

Some light?

Is that why you chase the sun around the Earth?

Hoping that it might

Someday give a home to your cruse.

You know damn well that the sun will return

On its normal course

But that's not what you need

Not right now, no, of course

So says that holy ghost

With a wanderer's blisters on his feet.

Sometimes I wonder if anything of yours

Will ever be requited

When you're so navigational and spasmodic

I know the ideas are disquieting

And I can see the urges are leaking from your


To be sensational and nomadic

Hoping that it might cure

Your ugly stasis

Yea, she's gona search for her

 Sand Oasis.


Pack your baggage

And sharpen your beak

Yea, I'm gona stagger

Right from this could of defeat

In the roads that are to come

I'll find someone else just like me

See them dead where they fell

And I'll scavenge

On their cathartic meat.


Broken down and sorry

She's contemplative

And wants to know exactly why

She was never happy

She's failed to find that common purpose

And knows that this is the end of her story

But just the beginning of so many more divorces

Still to come are future remorses

And their courses for settling down

Without a sound

But now, at least, there no more reasons to be sad

Or frowning

She's picked off those scabs

Of arthritis

And has finally found her

Sand Oasis

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I am Apache

EN-102-006 Ian Brett
I Am Apache

by Harvey A. Mendez
Sunday, July 04, 2004

The poem won third place in 1994
in The National Library of Poetry contest.

I am Apache, rage of first rainstorm,
Child of the Water, spring of the morning.
I rise from dark hidden caves,
challenge and slay the giant beast.

I am Apache, brother to the fox,
kin to eagles, kin to bears.
I run free through deep arroyos,
on desert grasslands flush with deer.

I am Apache, lance of victory,
thunder, my chager, lightning, my shield.
I wear feathers of First Chief
avenging spirits of our dead.

I am Apache, stronghold of ambush,
enemy in mountains, twister in deserts.
My burning arrow asks no quarter
when war paint flares, war drums beat.

I am Apache, blood of battle clouds,
flesh of rawhide, dust of Mother Earth.
I ride the Great Mustang in hidden canyons,
sacred and deep, after Usen burns my wickiup.

Harvey A. Mendez

Touched by An Angel by Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

To Professor: whalen

From : pharah dubuisson Lefevre

A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

To professor: whalen
From : pharah dubuisson Lefevre

I carry your heart with me by E. E. Cummings

I carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear
no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
no world for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart I carry it in my heart

To;professor whalen
From : pharah dubuisson Lefevre

Start Where You Stand by Berton Braley

Start where you stand and never mind the past,
The past won't help you in beginning new,
If you have left it all behind at last
Why, that's enough, you're done with it, you're through;

This is another chapter in the book,
This is another race that you have planned,
Don't give the vanished days a backward look,
Start where you stand.

The world won't care about your old defeats
If you can start anew and win success;
The future is your time, and time is fleet
And there is much of work and strain and stress;

Forget the buried woes and dead despairs,
Here is a brand-new trial right at hand,
The future is for him who does and dares,
Start where you stand.

Old failures will not halt, old triumphs aid,
To-day's the thing, to-morrow soon will be;
Get in the fight and face it unafraid,
And leave the past to ancient history,

What has been, has been; yesterday is dead
And by it you are neither blessed nor banned;
Take courage, man, be brave and drive ahead,
Start where you stand.


"Poetry's Value"

       "Poetry's Value"
                    by Xi Murong
       If you ask me abruptly
       Why write poetry
       Why not do
       Something useful
       Then I won't know  
       How to answer you
       I am like a goldsmith hammering day and night
       Just so I can extend pain
       Into a gold ornament as thin as a cicada's wing
       I don't know if working so hard
       To transform sorrows into
       Shimmering words and phrases
       Is also
       Beautifully worthwhile
                      Maureen Whalen

"Do Not Throw Away"

"Do Not Throw Away"
               by Lin Huiyin
Do not throw away
That scoop of passion from the past
Even though passion flows softly like water
At the bottom of a cool mountain spring
In a pine grove on a dark night
And sighs an elusive sigh,
You must still preserve that truth.
The moon is still bright;
The lights below the hills are still on;
The sky is still full of stars
Hanging like dreams.
You ask the night for
Those words back---you must still believe
Their echoes
In the valley.
Maureen Whalen

Monday, April 27, 2009

Tupac Shakur - When Ure Hero Falls


Tupac Shakur - Can You See the Pride in the Panther

Can You See the Pride in the Panther
  Can You See the Pride In the Panther
As he grows in splendor and grace
Topling obstacles placed in the way,
of the progression of his race.
Can You See the Pride In the Panther
as she nurtures her young all alone
The seed must grow regardless
of the fact that it is planted in stone.
Can You See the Pride In the Panthers
as they unify as one.
The flower blooms with brilliance,
and outshines the rays of the sun.

Tupac Shakur

Tupac Shakur- When Ure Hero Falls

When Ure Hero Falls
  when your hero falls from grace
all fairy tales r uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified
the greatest pain discovered
u taught me 2 be strong
but im confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat
when ure hero falls so do the stars
and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow
your heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what r u expected 2 do
when ure only hero falls

Tupac Shakur

Tupac Shakur- And 2Morrow

And 2Morrow
  Today is filled with anger
fueled with hidden hate
scared of being outcast
afraid of common fate
Today is built on tragedies
which no one wants 2 face
nightmares 2 humanities
and morally disgraced
Tonight is filled with rage
violence in the air
children bred with ruthlessness
because no one at home cares
Tonight I lay my head down
but the pressure never stops
knawing at my sanity
content when I am dropped
But 2morrow I c change
a chance 2 build a new
Built on spirit intent of Heart
and ideals
based on truth
and tomorrow I wake with second wind
and strong because of pride
2 know I fought with all my heart 2 keep my
dream alive

Tupac Shakur

Tupac shakur - ambition over adversity

Take one's adversity
Learn from their misfortune
Learn from their pain
Believe in something
Believe in yourself
Turn adversity into ambition
Now blossom into wealth

Tupac Shakur

Sunday, April 26, 2009

A Caffeneited Haiku by Christie Basile

A Caffeneited Haiku
I enjoy coffee
Not so thrilled about brown teeth
Crest strips, do they work?
                      -Christie Basile

Windows Live™ SkyDrive™: Get 25 GB of free online storage. Check it out.

If I Can Stop

IF I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

- Emily Dickinson 

I need reminders to be patient and not hide kindness. 

Submitted by Jeanne McDonald, Eng 102-013

Friday, April 24, 2009

In the Waiting Room by Elizabeth Bishop

In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
to keep her dentist's appointment
and sat and waited for her
in the dentist's waiting room.
It was winter. It got dark
early. The waiting room
was full of grown-up people,
arctics and overcoats,
lamps and magazines.
My aunt was inside
what seemed like a long time
and while I waited and read
the National Geographic
(I could read) and carefully
studied the photographs:
the inside of a volcano,
black, and full of ashes;
then it was spilling over
in rivulets of fire.
Osa and Martin Johnson
dressed in riding breeches,
laced boots, and pith helmets.
A dead man slung on a pole
"Long Pig," the caption said.
Babies with pointed heads
wound round and round with string;
black, naked women with necks
wound round and round with wire
like the necks of light bulbs.
Their breasts were horrifying.
I read it right straight through.
I was too shy to stop.
And then I looked at the cover:
the yellow margins, the date.
Suddenly, from inside,
came an oh! of pain
--Aunt Consuelo's voice--
not very loud or long.
I wasn't at all surprised;
even then I knew she was
a foolish, timid woman.
I might have been embarrassed,
but wasn't. What took me
completely by surprise
was that it was me:
my voice, in my mouth.
Without thinking at all
I was my foolish aunt,
I--we--were falling, falling,
our eyes glued to the cover
of the National Geographic,
February, 1918.

I said to myself: three days
and you'll be seven years old.
I was saying it to stop
the sensation of falling off
the round, turning world.
into cold, blue-black space.
But I felt: you are an I,
you are an Elizabeth,
you are one of them.
Why should you be one, too?
I scarcely dared to look
to see what it was I was.
I gave a sidelong glance
--I couldn't look any higher--
at shadowy gray knees,
trousers and skirts and boots
and different pairs of hands
lying under the lamps.
I knew that nothing stranger
had ever happened, that nothing
stranger could ever happen.

Why should I be my aunt,
or me, or anyone?
What similarities
boots, hands, the family voice
I felt in my throat, or even
the National Geographic
and those awful hanging breasts
held us all together
or made us all just one?
How I didn't know any
word for it how "unlikely". . .
How had I come to be here,
like them, and overhear
a cry of pain that could have
got loud and worse but hadn't?

The waiting room was bright
and too hot. It was sliding
beneath a big black wave,
another, and another.

Then I was back in it.
The War was on. Outside,
in Worcester, Massachusetts,
were night and slush and cold,
and it was still the fifth
of February, 1918.

submitted by Julie Yu

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Beautiful Dreamer

Beautiful Dreamer by Stephen Foster 


Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, 
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng.

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart, 
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Submitted By Cathy Sugrue

Your Feet

When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.

Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.

I know that they support you,
and that your gentle weight
rises upon them.

Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.

But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

Pablo Neruda
translated from the Spanish by Donald D. Walsh

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

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.

submitted by Julie Yu brit lit

Remembrance by Maya Angelou

Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
slope of my cheek. On the
occasion, you press
above me, glowing, spouting
readiness, mystery rapes
my reason

When you have withdrawn
your self and the magic, when
only the smell of your
love lingers between
my breasts, then, only
then, can I greedily consume
your presence.
Submitted by LT Djaowe

Shoulders support the world

Submitted by Zachary R. Butler

Shoulders Support The World

                                                         Carlos Drummond de Andrade

                                                          (Translated by Len Sousa)

There comes a time when we no longer say: my God.
A time of absolute purity.
A time when we no longer say: my love.
Because love proved useless.
And eyes don't cry.
And hands only weave in rough work.
And the heart is dry.

Women knock at the door in vain, don't open it.
You stay alone, the light goes out,
and in the dark your eyes glow enormous.
You're convinced, you no longer know suffering.
And you expect nothing from friends.

Old age matters little, what is old age?
Your shoulders support the world
and it weighs no more than a child's hand.
The wars, famines, and talks in buildings
only prove that life goes on
and not all have freed themselves yet.
Some, finding the spectacle barbarous,
prefer (the delicates) to die.
There comes a time when there's no point in dying.
There comes a time when life is an order.
Merely life, without perplexity.



Os Ombros Suportam o Mundo

Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Chega um tempo em que não se diz mais: meu Deus.
Tempo de absoluta depuração.
Tempo em que não se diz mais: meu amor.
Porque o amor resultou inútil.
E os olhos não choram.
E as mãos tecem apenas o rude trabalho.
E o coração está seco.

Em vão mulheres batem à porta, não abrirás.
Ficaste sozinho, a luz apagou-se,
mas na sombra teus olhos resplandecem enormes.
És todo certeza, já não sabes sofrer.
E nada esperas de teus amigos.

Pouco importa venha a velhice, que é a velhice?
Teu ombros suportam o mundo
e ele não pesa mais que a mão de uma criança.
As guerras, as fomes, as discussões dentro dos edifícios
provam apenas que a vida prossegue
e nem todos se libertaram ainda.
Alguns, achando bárbaro o espetáculo,
prefeririam (os delicados) morrer.
Chegou um tempo em que não adianta morrer.
Chegou um tempo em que a vida é uma ordem.
A vida apenas, sem mistificação.

Os versos acima foram publicados originalmente no livro "
Sentimento do Mundo", Irmãos Pongetti - Rio de Janeiro, 1940.  Foram extraídos do livro "Nova Reunião", José Olympio Editora - Rio de Janeiro, 1985, pág. 78.



Monday, April 20, 2009

The Conqueror Worm

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!

That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

By Edgar Allan Poe

Submitted by Kevin Stewart

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Another Day Has Dawned

Amidst our chaos and confusion;
Amidst our anguish and despair;
Amidst our never-ending questions and blame;
… Lies a world of lessons.

Through our tears and astonishment;
Through our hopelessness and depression;
Through our anxiety and grief;
… Lies a world of shame.

For it is our world that is responsible;
It is our world that allowed this sadness;
It is our world that has lost its youth;
… And it is our world that needs to change.

It is a warning for those who would isolate it;
It is a warning for those who would bury it;
It is a warning for those who think it will not touch them;
… It is we, who need to address it.

For this is the birth of our own generation;
This is the birth of our own problems;
This is the birth of our own past mistakes;
… It is we, who needed to watch over them.

A new generation who have hopes and dreams;
A new generation who have life and laughter;
A new generation who deserve a chance at peace;
… It is we who need to make them secure.

It is time to stop talking in circles;
It is time to stop blaming and pointing;
It is time to stop questioning and guessing;
… It is time to accept the burden and act.

We are not blameless;
We are not above reproach;
We are not perfect role models;
… For we are the generation they emulate.

Look beyond your own your circle of life;
Look beyond your picket fences and chained doors;
Look beyond your own backyard;
… And admit your frailties and failures.

Did you not once look the other way?
Did you not once stay quiet when you should have spoken?
Did you not once say I cannot change it?
… Do you know that we can make a difference?

One small voice can begin to move mountains;
One caring gesture can begin to enlighten others;
One shoulder to lean on, can ease another’s pain;
… Did you know that you are that one?

Listen to those who are in jeopardy;
Listen to that small voice whispering that they are in trouble;
Listen to that child with the wayward, furtive glance;
… And be prepared to take part in their future.

For if you do not listen and talk;
If you do not participate and take responsibility;
If you do not guide and offer them your heart and wisdom;
… It is we, who will join in their misery.

It reaches beyond your own immediate children;
It reaches beyond their friends and peers;
It reaches beyond your nieces and nephews;
… For it is every child you come in contact with.

Positive action begins in our own backyards;
Positive action flows through your own neighborhood;
Positive action can encompass your own small town or city;
… And through this, we are all connected.

Be a mentor when others fail to counsel;
Be a counselor when others fail to listen;
Be a listener when others fail to notice;
… Be a positive experience with every child you meet.

For yesterday, someone looked the other way;
Yesterday, someone pretended they did not see;
Yesterday, someone passed by without offering help;
… But today, it is not too late.

Today, you can make a difference in someone’s life;
Today, you can offer your love and guidance;
Today, you can choose to be a positive influence for another;
… And then maybe, just maybe, our world will change with you.
By Kit McCallum
(Bruno Horst)


How can we forgive a person we hate?
When they lie and cheat for their own sake.
Never stopping for a moment or two.
To see the sorrow they brought to you.
Just remember our Savior who came.
And He died on the cross oh what a shame.
and the ones that nailed Him to that cross.
the ones that we know that are to blame.
And Jesus Christ He knew everyone.
But Yet Jesus said, "Forgive them Father for they know not what they have done."
But our great and loving Father He knew.
For Jesus was sent to die for me and for you.
And when those nails were driven in.
Only Our Master would know in the end.
For God sent His only begotten son.
To die on that cross for all the LOST ONES.
So now do you think it's so hard to FORGIVE?
Could you sacrifice your ONLY child so others could live?
so with every breath you take, just remember
it is easier to LOVE than it is to HATE!

By Tracy Scroggins, Arkansas
(Bruno Horst)

Don't You Quit

When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low, and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won, had he stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far,
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
It's when things seem worse,
that you must not quit.

Author unknown


(Bruno Horst)

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Keep Your Head Up

since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?
I think it's time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don't we'll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can't make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one
So will the real men get up
I know you're fed up ladies, but keep your head up.

Keep your Head Up - 2pac
submitted by: Ali Al Oraifan

See all the ways you can stay connected to friends and family

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Madonna Mia

A LILY-GIRL, not made for this world's pain,
With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,
And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of rain:
Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,
Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,
And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,
Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.
Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,
Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,
Being o'ershadowed by the wings of awe,
Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice
Beneath the flaming Lion's breast, and saw
The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.
By: Oscar Wilde
Submited by: Irene Tracey 

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


by: Carlos Drummond de Andrade (With translation)
Posted by: Gregory Sartori

E agora, José?
A festa acabou,
a luz apagou,
o povo sumiu,
a noite esfriou,
e agora, José?
e agora, você?
você que é sem nome,
que zomba dos outros,
você que faz versos,
que ama, protesta?
e agora, José?
Está sem mulher,
está sem discurso,
está sem carinho,
já não pode beber,
já não pode fumar,
cuspir já não pode,
a noite esfriou,
o dia não veio,
o bonde não veio,
o riso não veio,
não veio a utopia
e tudo acabou
e tudo fugiu
e tudo mofou,
e agora, José?
E agora, José?
Sua doce palavra,
seu instante de febre,
sua gula e jejum,
sua biblioteca,
sua lavra de ouro,
seu terno de vidro,
sua incoerência,
seu ódio – e agora?
Com a chave na mão
quer abrir a porta,
não existe porta;
quer morrer no mar,
mas o mar secou;
quer ir para Minas,
Minas não há mais.
José, e agora?
Se você gritasse,
se você gemesse,
se você tocasse
a valsa vienense,
se você dormisse,
se você cansasse,
se você morresse...
Mas você não morre,
você é duro, José!
Sozinho no escuro
qual bicho-do-mato,
sem teogonia,
sem parede nua
para se encostar,
sem cavalo preto
que fuja a galope,
você marcha, José!
José, para onde?
What now, José?
The party’s over,
the lights are off,
the crowd’s gone,
the night’s gone cold,
what now, José?
what now, you?
you without a name,
who mocks the others,
you who write poetry
who love, protest?
what now, José?

You have no wife,
you have no speech
you have no affection,
you can’t drink,
you can’t smoke,
you can’t even spit,
the night’s gone cold,
the day didn’t come,
the tram didn’t come,
laughter didn’t come
utopia didn’t come
and everything ended
and everything fled
and everything rotted
what now, José?

what now, José?
Your sweet words,
your instance of fever,
your feasting and fasting,
your library,
your gold mine,
your glass suit,
your incoherence,
your hate—what now?

Key in hand
you want to open the door,
but no door exists;
you want to die in the sea,
but the sea has dried;
you want to go to Minas
but Minas is no longer there.
José, what now?

If you screamed,
if you moaned,
if you played
a Viennese waltz,
if you slept,
if you tired,
if you died…
But you don’t die,
you’re stubborn, José!

Alone in the dark
like a wild animal,
without tradition,
without a naked wall
to lean against,
without a black horse
that flees galloping,
you march, José!
José, where to?

An Old Irish Blessing

An Old Irish Blessing
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
By : Anonymous
Submitted by:Tyler Perry

Tuesday, April 14, 2009


Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

1 Corinthians 13


Bruna Ferreira

Monday, April 13, 2009

Eulalie by Edgar Allan Poe


I dwelt alone
In a world of moan,
And my soul was a stagnant tide,
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride

Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.
Ah, lessless bright
The stars of the night
Than the eyes of the radiant girl!
That the vapor can make
With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,
Can vie with the modest Eulalie’s most unregarded curl

Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie’s most humble and careless curl.
Now Doubtnow Pain
Come never again,
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,
And all day long
Shines, bright and strong,
Astarte within the sky,
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye

While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

To : professor Whalen
From: Pharah Dubuisson lefevre
Class 206 British Literature

A Divine Rapture by Francis Quarles

Divine Rapture
E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,
E'en so we joined; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax, and He was flames of fire:
Our firm-united souls did more than twine;
So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

If all those glittering Monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world 's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine

To :Professor Whalen
From: Pharah Dubuisson Lefevre
Class: 206 British literature

My lady's presence makes the roses red by Henry Constable's

My lady's presence makes the roses red,
Because to see her lips they blush for shame.
The lily's leaves, for envy, pale became,
And her white hands in them this envy bred.
The marigold the leaves abroad doth spread,
Because the sun's and her power is the same.
The violet of purple color came.
Dyed in the blood she made my heart to shed.
In brief: all flowers from her their virtue take;
From her sweet breath their sweet smells do proceed;
The living heat which her eyebeams doth make
Warmth the ground and quickened the seed.
The rain, wherewith she watered the flowers,
Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers.

To: professor
From: pharah Dubuisson Lefevre
Class 206 British literature

The Gladness of Nature

The Gladness of Nature 
Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?  There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by.  The clouds are at play in the azure space And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale.  There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.  And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles; Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.
written by William Cullen Bryant 
submitted by Jonathan Corkum

Sunday, April 12, 2009

National Poetry Month

Submitted by Jason Ribeiro

I know why the caged bird sings by Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Friday, April 10, 2009

The Best Thing in the World

Written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning


What’s the best thing in the World?

June-rose, by may-dew impearled;

Sweet south-wind, that mean’s no rain;

Truth, not cruel to a friend;

Pleasure, not in haste to end;

Beauty, not self-decked and curled

Till its pride is over-plain;

Light, that never makes you wink;

Memory, that gives no pain;

Love, when, so, you’re loved again.

What’s the best thing in the world?

--Something out of it, I think.


Submitted by Jeanne McDonald, Eng 102-013




Slow Dance

This is a poem written by a teenager with cancer. She wants to see how many people get her poem. It is quite the poem. Please pass it on. This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital.


Have you ever
watched kids
On a merry-go-round?

Or listened to
the rain

Slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a
butterfly's erratic flight?

Or gazed at the sun into the fading

You better slow down.

Don't dance so

Time is short.

The music won't

Do you run through each day

On the

When you ask How are you?

Do you hear the

When the day is done

Do you lie in your

With the next hundred chores

Running through
your head?

You'd better slow down

Don't dance so

Time is short.

The music won't

Ever told your child,

We'll do it

And in your haste,

Not see

Ever lost touch,

Let a good
friendship die

Cause you never had time

To call
and say,'Hi'

You'd better slow down.

Don't dance
so fast.

Time is short.

The music won't

When you run so fast to get somewhere

miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry
through your day,

It is like an unopened

Thrown away.

Life is not a

Do take it slower

Hear the

Before the song is over.


Inner breathlessness, outer restlessness
By the time I caught up to freedom I was out of breath
Grandma asked me what I'm running for
I guess I'm out for the same thing the sun is sunning for
What mothers birth their youngens for
And some say Jesus coming for
For all I know the earth is spinning slow
Suns at half mast 'cause masses ain't aglow
On bended knee, prostrate before an altered tree
I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter versus spirit
A metal ladder
A wooden cross
A plastic bottle of water
A mandala encased in glass
A spirit encased in flesh
Sound from shaped hollows
The thickest of mucus released from heightened passion
A man that cries in his sleep
A truth that has gone out of fashion
A mode of expression
A paint splattered wall
A carton of cigarettes
A bouquet of corpses
A dying forest
A nurtured garden
A privatized prison
A candle with a broken wick
A puddle that reflects the sun
A piece of paper with my name on it
I'm surrounded
I surrender
All that I am I have been
All I have been has been a long time coming
I am becoming all that I am
The spittle that surrounds the mouth-piece of the flute
Unheard, yet felt
A gathered wetness
A quiet moisture
Sound trapped in a bubble
Released into wind
Wind fellows and land merchants
We are history's detergent
Water soluble, light particles, articles of cleansing breath
Articles amending death
These words are not tools of communication
They are shards of metal
Dropped from eight story windows
They are waterfalls and gas leaks
Aged thoughts rolled in tobacco leaf
The tools of a trade
Barbers barred, barred of barters
Catch phrases and misunderstandings
But they are not what I feel when I am alone
Surrounded by everything and nothing
And there isn't a word or phrase to be caught
A verse to be recited
A man to de-fill my being in those moments
I am blankness, the contained center of an "O"
The pyramidic containment of an "A"
I stand in the middle of all that I have learned
All that I have memorized
All that I've known by heart
Unable to reach any of it
There is no sadness
There is no bliss
It is a forgotten memory
A memorable escape route that only is found by not looking
There, in the spine of the dictionary the words are worthless
They are a mere weight pressing against my thoughtlessness
But then, who else can speak of thoughtlessness with such confidence
Who else has learned to sling these ancient ideas
like dead rats held by their tails
so as not to infect this newly oiled skin
I can think of nothing heavier than an airplane
I can think of no greater conglomerate of steel and metal
I can think of nothing less likely to fly
There are no wings more weighted
I too have felt a heaviness
The stare of man guessing at my being
Yes I am homeless
A homeless man making offerings to the after-future
Sculpting rubber tree forests out of worn tires and shoe soles
A nation unified in exhale
A cloud of smoke
A native pipe ceremony
All the gathered cigarette butts piled in heaps
Snow covered mountains
Lipsticks smeared and shriveled
Offerings to an afterworld
Tattoo guns and plastic wrappers
Broken zippers and dead eyed dolls
It's all overwhelming me, oak and elming me
I have seeded a forest of myself
Little books from tall trees
It matters not what this paper be made of
Give me notebooks made of human flesh
Dried on steel hooks and nooses
Make uses of use, uses of us
It's all overwhelming me, oak and elming me
I have seeded a forest of myself
Little books from tall trees
On bended knee
Prostrate before an altered tree
I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter vs. spirit, through meditation
I program my heart to beat breakbeats and hum basslines on exhalation

written by Saul Williams

submitted by Samantha Kirby-Dixon