Wednesday, April 30, 2008

"Stars in Water" by Cleopatra Mathis

We were walking through the shadows
of the Adirondacks. I saw so clearly
that unfamiliar country, our sudden friendship.
You said it couldn't be that way again,
walking that field, the small hands of birch leaves
fluttering in the still line of sunset.

The one night without a moon
seems now the end of summer. We walked
down the narrow road to the pond,
apart even from that separate world.
The water was bright with stars,
a crowd of lights gleamed on black.
You said some of those stars
had already burned themselves out,
yet still they lived on the glass surface
of the pond. And I thought, even this landscape
is accidental.

On the last day the weather changed.
We walked past pond and field,
watched the stream mirror the cloudy sky,
variations of sun turning in the water.
The movement of light and shadow changed the rocks
as if by years. We left unexplained
whatever changes in ourselves
and walked back to our deliberate lives.

America's on Sale by Alix Olson

ATTENTION SHOPPERS!!!
attention 9 to 5 folk, cell-phone masses,
the up and coming classes.
attention sports-utility,
plastic-surgery suburbanites,
viagra-popping, gucci-shopping urbanites.
attention george-clooney loonies,
promise-keeper sheep,
stockbroker sleep-walkers,
big investment talkers,
ricki lake-watchers.
attention walmart congregation,
shop til you drop generation,
ATTENTION NATION!
AMERICA’S ON SALE!

We’ve unstocked the welfare pantry
to restock the wall street gentry
it’s economically elementary
because values don’t pay,
yes, american dreams are on permanent layaway!
(there was limited availability anyway)
the statue of liberty is being dismantled,
ten dollars a piece to sit on your mantle
or hang on your wall
by the small somalian child
you bought from sally struthers
sisters and brothers, it’s now or never,
these deals won’t last forever-
AMERICA’S ON SALE!
(restrictions may apply if you’re black, gay or female)

And shoppers!
global perspective is ninety-ninety percent off
cause most of the world don’t count to us.
our ethic inventory is low
because moral business has been slow,
the values-company is moving to mexico--
and ALL ETHICS MUST GO!

It’s a remote control America that’s on sale
because standing up for justice can’t compare
to clicking through it from a lazy chair--
Answer: jerry, montel, oprah
Question: folks who really care!
for a million dollars!
in this new mcveggie burger world order
where the mainstream scene has an alternative theme.
where national health care is one hundred percent off!
and medicare is in the fifty percent bin,
so you can buy--half an operation
when AMERICA’S ON SALE!
There’s a close-out bid to determine
which religion will win
all the neon flashing signs of sin.
the Christian Coalition is bidding high
shoppers, you ask WHY?!
who needs a higher power when you’ve got
the purchasing power
to corner and market
one human mold.
That’s right - Real family values
are being UNDERSOLD!!

And it’s open hunting season for the NRA!
there’s a special oozie discount-- only today!
Gun control?! We say--
Fuck it! Blow it all away!

Because inflation is up on the CEO ego
and power is deflated as far as we go:
Nike bought the revolution,
and law schools bought the constitution!
Tommy Hilfiger bought the red, white, and blue,
(a flag shirt for fifty dollars,
the one being burned is you!)
Marlboro bought what it means to be a man,
Lexus equals power- so get it while you can.
Maybelline bought beauty,
New York bought Rudy Guiliani,
Mastercard Gold bought the national soul
Broadway bought talent and called it CATS!
the Republicans bought out the Democrats-
they liquidated all asses in a fat white donkey sale-
now it’s buy one shmuck, get one shmuck free
in the capitalist party!
And there’s nothing left to get in the way
of a full blue-light blow-out
of the U.S. of A!
there’s a no-nothing back guarantee,
a zero-year warranty,
when you buy this land of the fritos, ruffles, lays..
this home of the braves, the chiefs, the reds, the slaves!
so call 1-800- i don’t care about shit
or www.FUCK ALL OF IT!
to receive your credit for the fate of our nation-
(call now! Interest is at an all-time low)

But hurry shoppers!
because america’s being downsized, citizens,
and you’re all fired.

"little words" by dorothy parker

When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf,
  Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds;
And I can only stare, and shape my grief
  In little words.

I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown
  The bitter woe that racks my cords apart.
The weary pen that sets my sorrow down
  Feeds at my heart.

There is no mercy in the shifting year,
  No beauty wraps me tenderly about.
I turn to little words- so you, my dear,
  Can spell them out.

 

submitted by naomi lansing (in addition to "annabel lee" by edgar allan poe)

Poetry Appreciation

Poetry Appreciation
By Adam Freed
 
Why a poem? And a sonnet too?
What makes you special?
Why analyze you?
 
I might inquire, I'll give it a try:
You sing babes to sleep,
Such a soft lullaby.
 
Is it merely the meaning you hold?
Symbol and imagery,
Enigmas untold.
 
Or the fantasy contained within,
A pillar-like maze,
Stacket up end-to-end?
 
Alas! Alack! None will suffice.
The answer my friend,
Is in this advice:
 
Writing a poem is giving to others,
So go off and write one,
For someone to discover.

The Hollow Men

Written by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Adam Freed
 
Mistah Kurtz--he dead.
 
         A penny for the Old Guy
 
I
 
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw.  Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us--if at all--not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
 
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer--

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III
 
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
 
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
and avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V
 
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
and the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Song by John Donne

Even though this poem is almost 400 years old,  it still seems fresh and amazing...
 
It is one of my favorites...Enjoy
 
SONG.
by John Donne

GO
and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
            And find
            What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
            And swear,
            No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
            Yet she
            Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.



Source:
Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, ed.
London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 4-5.


Jos Graham, Campus Police Officer at MassBay
 
 

A Soul Missing

A Soul Missing





My heart bleeds


for you,


 because of you


and the


words


you spew


onto me…


To know you is to know


Nothing…


your chest is hollow


no beating heart


just a cavity


that houses the many


lies you tell


stores the many


faces you show…


except your real face


you save that special one for


me…


Lucifer


cries as he looks at you


no remorse


no apologies


 a vacant body


missing a


Soul

 

 

 

by Jocelyne Jouki  2008






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A Soldiers Poem Karen Curtis

This poem touched my heart, I know what it is like to be away from home...
Karen Curtis

A Soldiers Poem...

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
THEY LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.

WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;

I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT,"


This poem is a reworked version from the original which was written by Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt stationed in Washington DC in 1986.

Untitled

Sad to see you go just like watching the sun setting in the horizon

Yet knowing that you won’t be back unlike the sun…

As sad as seems…we cannot escape the direction our path is calling toward us…

Although the calls don’t lead us down one path

But at the fork of the road I hope one day that same calling intertwines the roads again

So that I can see the progress you’ve made and how life has changed you…

So that the last memory we had of each other is nothing more than a childhood dream

So that we both may know that things don’t have to be a certain way

But in the end we are still who we said we were and what will become of us..

written by K.M. (prefers to be anonymous)

Submitted by Gazel Hebbert

Lost

A passionate kiss

Like a well written novel

Is something

One may get lost in

Endlessly.

 

James S. Cleary

January 10, 1998

Life is a Theatre


Invite Your Audience Carefully.
Not everyone is healthy enough to have a front row seat in your life.
There are some people in your life who need to be loved from a DISTANCE.
It is amazing what you can accomplish when you let go of - or minimize
your time with - those draining, negative, incompatible, 'not-going-
anywhere' relationships or friendships.
Observe the relationships around you.
Pay close attention...


Which ones lift, and which ones lean?
Which ones encourage, and which ones discourage?
Which ones are on a path of growth uphill, and which ones are going downhill?
When you leave certain people,
do you feel better or feel worse?
Which ones always have drama, or don't really understand, know or
appreciate you & the gifts that lie within you?


Remember that the people you have around you will have an impact on your
life, your values and your income. So, be careful when choosing the
people you hang out with, as well as the information with which you will
feed your mind. We should not share our dreams with negative people, nor
feed our minds with negative thoughts.


The more you seek quality, respect, growth, peace of mind, love and truth
around you... the easier it will become for you to decide who gets to sit
in the FRONT ROW, and who should be moved to the balcony of your life.
Ask your God for wisdom and discernment, and choose wisely the people who
will sit in the front row of your life.
You cannot change the people around you....but you CAN change the people
you choose to be around!
...WHO IS IN YOUR FRONT ROW?

Things to think about:
If you died today, what impact would you have had in other peoples lives?...
Would you be remembered as a positive inspiration or a wasted soul?
Are you a jealous or envious person? IF so, WHY?
What is your plan to impact your life as well as others around you?
With that said...... Remember, positive energy feeds positive, negative
energy feeds negative. The people who are around you could help in
dictating your future. You are in control of your own destiny. You are
your own worst critic, and BIGGEST "Hater"! No one else could hate you
the way you could yourself, right?


So take Control of your
Spiritual, Emotional, Physical, and Financial
destiny.... This is something we have to continuously work on in life,
as none of us are "perfect"!


Have a wonderful new beginning

 
 
 
P.s I was having problems with friends and one of my best friends sent me this poem!
                                                                                                          
                                                                                           Lydia Nabumba
                        

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Two Goddesses

This is a poem for the National Poetry Month from Anton Afonin:
 
 
There're two goddesses in the Universe
Their names are Day and Night
One dresses all in ebony black
Another one in pure white.
 
Two goddesses are sisters
And nobody can win the bet:
What's more important - sky with stars
Or pretty day and sunset?
 
One paints the world in ivory white
Another one in dark and deep.
The sisters fight at dusk and dawn
And sands of time still seep.

Everytime they want to stay
But still, the Night comes after Day
 
by Anya Morozkina


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If You Forget Me

Here is one of my favorite poems
-Adriana Albuquerque

If You Forget Me
by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

Adriana Tassini

One Inch Tall by Shel Silverstein

       
If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).



the book  Where the Sidewalk Ends  brings back fond memories of sweet Mrs.Brown and the ugly carpeting of the Underwood Elementary school library :)

Monday, April 28, 2008

The Broken Tower by Hart Crane

And here’s another, this one by Hart Crane. –Jeff Calzaloia

 

The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn

Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell

Of a spent day—to wander the cathedral lawn

From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell.

 

Have you not heard, have you not seen that corps

Of shadows in the tower, where shoulders sway

Antiphonal carillons launched before

The stars are caught and hived in the sun’s ray?

 

The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower;

And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave

Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score

Of broken intervals…and I, their sexton slave!

 

Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping

The impasse high with choir. Banked voices slain!

Pagodas, campaniles with reveilles outleaping—

O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain!...

 

And so it was that I entered the broken world

To trace the visionary company of love, its voice

An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)

But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

 

My word I poured. But was it cognate, scored

Of that tribunal monarch of the air

Whose thigh embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word

In wounds pledged once to hope,—cleft to despair?

 

The steep encroachments of my blood left me

No answer (could blood hold such a lofty tower

As flings the question true?)—or is it she

Whose sweet morality stirs latent power?—

 

And through whose pulse I hear, counting the strokes

My veins recall and add, revived and sure

The angelus of wars my chest evokes:

What I hold healed, original now, and pure…

 

And builds, within, a tower that is not stone

(Not stone can jacket heaven)—but slip

Of pebbles,—visible wings of silence sown

In azure circles, widening as they dip

 

The matrix of the heart, lift down the eye

That shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower

The commodious, tall decorum of that sky

Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower.

 

 

 

 

The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens

Here’s a poem a by Wallace Stevens for your pleasure.

 

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow
;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Submitted by Jeff Calzaloia

Lilly

Lilly

Limitless next to God,
created for a purpose,
Lilly turns her head,
expanded into the extremes of flair,
plainer than the existence,
Lilly turns her head
encompassed by all she fears,
dying for all she sees,
Lilly turns her head,
Careful not to let them know,
how she feels at that moment
Lilly turns her head
purposed to a new life,
not seeing the on coming light
Lilly turns her head
crying, saddened, by loss
Lilly's family pleas
for Lilly to turn her head.
 
Damaris McLaren
President
MassBay Community College SGA

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
 
Damaris McLaren
President
MassBay Community College SGA

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Ballad of the skeletons by allen ginsberg

Said the Presidential Skeleton
I won't sign the bill
Said the Speaker skeleton
Yes you will

Said the Representative Skeleton
I object
Said the Supreme Court skeleton
Whaddya expect

Said the Miltary skeleton
Buy Star Bombs
Said the Upperclass Skeleton
Starve unmarried moms

Said the Yahoo Skeleton
Stop dirty art
Said the Right Wing skeleton
Forget about yr heart

Said the Gnostic Skeleton
The Human Form's divine
Said the Moral Majority skeleton
No it's not it's mine

Said the Buddha Skeleton
Compassion is wealth
Said the Corporate skeleton
It's bad for your health

Said the Old Christ skeleton
Care for the Poor
Said the Son of God skeleton
AIDS needs cure

Said the Homophobe skeleton
Gay folk suck
Said the Heritage Policy skeleton
Blacks're outa luck

Said the Macho skeleton
Women in their place
Said the Fundamentalist skeleton
Increase human race

Said the Right-to-Life skeleton
Foetus has a soul
Said Pro Choice skeleton
Shove it up your hole

Said the Downsized skeleton
Robots got my job
Said the Tough-on-Crime skeleton
Tear gas the mob

Said the Governor skeleton
Cut school lunch
Said the Mayor skeleton
Eat the budget crunch

Said the Neo Conservative skeleton
Homeless off the street!
Said the Free Market skeleton
Use 'em up for meat

Said the Think Tank skeleton
Free Market's the way
Said the Saving & Loan skeleton
Make the State pay

Said the Chrysler skeleton
Pay for you & me
Said the Nuke Power skeleton
& me & me & me

Said the Ecologic skeleton
Keep Skies blue
Said the Multinational skeleton
What's it worth to you?

Said the NAFTA skeleton
Get rich, Free Trade,
Said the Maquiladora skeleton
Sweat shops, low paid

Said the rich GATT skeleton
One world, high tech
Said the Underclass skeleton
Get it in the neck

Said the World Bank skeleton
Cut down your trees
Said the I.M.F. skeleton
Buy American cheese

Said the Underdeveloped skeleton
We want rice
Said Developed Nations' skeleton
Sell your bones for dice

Said the Ayatollah skeleton
Die writer die
Said Joe Stalin's skeleton
That's no lie

Said the Middle Kingdom skeleton
We swallowed Tibet
Said the Dalai Lama skeleton
Indigestion's whatcha get


Said the World Chorus skeleton
That's their fate
Said the U.S.A. skeleton
Gotta save Kuwait

Said the Petrochemical skeleton
Roar Bombers roar!
Said the Psychedelic skeleton
Smoke a dinosaur

Said Nancy's skeleton
Just say No
Said the Rasta skeleton
Blow Nancy Blow

Said Demagogue skeleton
Don't smoke Pot
Said Alcoholic skeleton
Let your liver rot

Said the Junkie skeleton
Can't we get a fix?
Said the Big Brother skeleton
Jail the dirty pricks

Said the Mirror skeleton
Hey good looking
Said the Electric Chair skeleton
Hey what's cooking?

Said the Talkshow skeleton
Fuck you in the face
Said the Family Values skeleton
My family values mace

Said the NY Times skeleton
That's not fit to print
Said the CIA skeleton
Cantcha take a hint?

Said the Network skeleton
Believe my lies
Said the Advertising skeleton
Don't get wise!

Said the Media skeleton
Believe you me
Said the Couch-potato skeleton
What me worry?

Said the TV skeleton
Eat sound bites
Said the Newscast skeleton
That's all Goodnight



submitted by Steve Curtin

korean poem

Poem called Azaleas by Sowol Kim

 

When you leave,
weary of me,
I'll bid you silent farewell.

An armful of azaleas
culled from the hill
I'll strew over your path.

Step after step,
on the flowers
Tread lightly, as you walk.

When you leave,
weary of me,
I'll not shed a drop of tear.

 

For Professor Whalen from Kim Hee Woong

2nd german poem

Again I german poem called "Fruehlingsglaube" (Faith in Spring) by Ludwig Uhland
Die linden Lüfte sind erwacht, The gentle winds are awakened,
Sie säuseln und wehen They murmur and waft
Tag und Nacht, day and night,
Sie schaffen an allen Enden. They create in every corner.
O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang! Oh fresh scent, oh new sound!
Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang! Now,poor dear [heart], fear not!
Nun muss sich alles, alles wenden. Now everything, everything must change.

Die Welt wird schöner The world becomes more beautiful
mit jedem Tag, with each day,
Man weiß nicht, One does not know
was noch werden mag, what may yet happen,
Das Blühen will nicht enden. The blooming doesn't want to end.
Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal: The farthest, deepest valley blooms:
Nun, armes Herz, vergiss der Qual! Now, poor dear, forget the pain!
Nun muss sich alles, alles wenden. Now everything, everything must change.

Anisa Torozi

german poem

The german poem "Gefunden" (Found) by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe for Professor Whalen,
Ich ging im Walde I was walking in the woods
So für mich hin, Just on a whim of mine,
Und nichts zu suchen, And seeking nothing,
Das war mein Sinn. That was my intention.

Im Schatten sah ich In the shade I saw
Ein Blümchen stehn, A little flower standing
Wie Sterne leuchtend Like stars glittering
Wie Äuglein schön. Like beautiful little eyes.

Ich wollt es brechen, I wanted to pick it
Da sagt' es fein: When it said delicately:
Soll ich zum Welken, Should I just to wilt
Gebrochen sein? Be picked?

Ich grubs mit allen I dug it out with all
Den Würzeln aus, Its little roots.
Zum Garten trug ichs To the garden I carried it
Am hübschen Haus. By the lovely house.

Und pflanzt es wieder And replanted it
Am stillen Ort; In this quiet spot;
Nun zweigt es immer Now it keeps branching out
Und blüht so fort. And blossoms ever forth.

Anisa Torozi

SONNET 154

The little Love-god lying once asleep  
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,    
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep      
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand       
The fairest votary took up that fire   
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;  
And so the general of hot desire       
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,     
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,    
Growing a bath and healthful remedy    
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,  
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, 
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 



To Professor Whalen

                From Student Pharah Dubuisson English 102-005

SONNET 84

Who is it that says most? which can say more   
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you? 
In whose confine immured is the store  
Which should example where your equal grew.    
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell 
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell      
That you are you, so dignifies his story,      
Let him but copy what in you is writ,  
Not making worse what nature made so clear,    
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,     
Making his style admired every where.  
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,   
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.

       

To Professor Whalen
                From student Pharah Dubuisson English 102-005


SONNET 20

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

To Professor Whalen
                          From Student Pharah Dubuisson English 102-005


       

Friday, April 25, 2008

Submitting Poems

From Eric Wong.
 

1. How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth, and breadth, and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right:
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life - and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.


 

A Farewell.  by Coventry Patmore

With all my will, but much against my heart,
We two now part.
My Very Dear,
Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear.
It needs no art,
With faint, averted feet
And many a tear,
In our opposed paths to persevere.
Go thou to East, I West,
We will not say
There's any hope, it is so far away.
But O my Best,
When the one darling of our widowhead,
The nursling Grief,
Is dead,
And no dews blur our eyes
To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies,
Perchance we may
Where now this night is day,
And even through faith of still averted feet,
Making full circle of our banishment,
Amazed meet;
The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet
Seasoning the termless feast of our content
With tears of recognition never dry.

 
The Girl I Love.  by Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

The girl I love is comely, straight, and tall,
Down her white neck her auburn tresses fall.
Her dress is neat, her carriage light and free
Here's a health to that charming maid, whoe'er she be!

The rose's blush but fades beside her cheek;
Her eyes are blue, her forehead pale and meek;
Her lips like cherries on a summer tree
Here's a health to that charming maid, whoe'er she be!

When I go to the field no youth can lighter bound,
And I freely pay when the cheerful jug goes round;
The barrel is full, but its heart we soon shall see,
Here's a health to that charming maid, whoe'er she be!

Had I the wealth that props the Saxon's reign,
Or the diamond crown that decks the King of Spain,
I'd yield them all if she kindly smiled on me,
Here's a health to the maid I love, whoe'er she be!

Five pounds of gold for each lock of her hair I'd pay,
And five times five for my love one hour each day;
Her voice is more sweet than the thrush on its own green tree;
Then, my dear, may I drink a fond deep health to thee!

 
The Hour Has Come to Part!  by Augusta, Lady Gregory

The hour has come to part! and it is best
The severing stroke should fall in one short day Rather than fitful fever spoil my rest,
Watching each gradual sign of love's decay.
Go forth dear! thou hast much to do on earth;
In life's campaign there waits thee a great part -
Much to be won and conquered of more worth
Than this poor victory of a woman's heart
For me, the light is dimmed, the dream has past -
I seek not gladness, yet may find content
Fulfilling each small duty, reach at last
Some goal of peace before my youth is spent.
But come whatever may, come weal or woe I love thee, bless thee where so e'er thou go!

Because I liked You Better.  by A. E. Housman

Because I liked you better
Than suits a man to say,
It irked you, and I promised
To throw the thought away.

To put the world between us
We parted, stiff and dry; '
Good-bye', said you, 'forget me.' '
I will, no fear, said I.

If here, where clover whitens
The dead man's knoll, you pass,
And no tall flower to meet you
Starts in the trefoiled grass,

Halt by the headstone naming
The heart no longer stirred,
And say the lad that loved you
Was one that kept his word.

The Gift. by Sara Teesdale

What can I give you, my lord, my lover,
You who have given the world to me,
Showed me the light and the joy that cover
The wild sweet earth and the restless sea?

All that I have are gifts of your giving
If I give them again, you would find them old,
And your soul would weary of always living
Before the mirror my life would hold.

What shall I give you, my lord, my lover?
The gift that breaks the heart in me:
I bid you awake at dawn and discover
I have gone my way and left you free.

First Love. by Edward Dowden

My long first year of perfect love,
My deep new dream of joy; She was a little chubby girl,
I was a chubby boy.

I wore a crimson frock, white drawers,
A belt, a crown was on it;
She wore some angel's kind of dress
And such a tiny bonnet,

Old-fashioned, but the soft brown hair Would never keep its place;
A little maid with violet eyes,
And sunshine in her face.

O my child-queen, in those lost days
How sweet was daily living!
How humble and how proud I grew,
How rich by merely giving!

She went to school, the parlour-maid
Slow stepping to her trot;
That parlour-maid, ah, did she feel
How lofty was her lot!
Across the road I saw her lift
My Queen, and with a sigh
I envied Raleigh; my new coat
Was hung a peg too high.

A hoard of never-given gifts
I cherished, priceless pelf;
'Twas two whole days ere I devoured
That peppermint myself.

In Church I only prayed for her
'O God bless Lucy Hill;'
Child, may His angels keep their arms
Ever around you still.

But when the hymn came round, with heart
That feared some heart's surprising
Its secret sweet, I climbed the seat
'Mid rustling and uprising;

And there against her mother's arm
The sleeping child was leaning,
While far away the hymn went on,
The music and the meaning.

Oh I loved with more of pain
Since then, with more of passion,
Loved with the aching in my love
After our grown-up fashion;

Yet could I almost be content
To lose here at your feet
A year or two, you murmuring elm,
To dream a dream so sweet.

Love In Mayfair. by May Probyn

I must tell you, my dear,
I'm in love with him vastly!
Twenty thousand a year,
I must tell you, my dear! He will soon be a peer
And such diamonds! - and, lastly,
I must tell you, my dear,
I'm in love with him, vastly!




 


Thoughts Inside My Heart

You came in a rainy Thursday on to my sight
thought I heard you talking softly
and I turned my eyes on to you
still I cant escape the ghost of you
What has happened to it all?
Where is the life that I recognize?
But I wont cry for yesterday
there is an ordinary world
outside my door steps
somehow I have to find it
and as I try to make my way
to this ordinary world
I will learn to survive.
Fashion and glory
I don't like them both
I came to you as an ordinary man
but you kept moving away from me.
Well, I was never in love before
and I never had to run behind anyone
In this hurry and crazy world
now you are my fantasy
and please don't make me lonely
I will never forget you.
 
By Alester Joseph.
 
Submitted by Neetha Joseph EN 102 [Sec-005]
 

Thursday, April 24, 2008

A Poets Obligation by Pablo Neruda

Poet's Obligation by Pablo Neruda

    To whoever is not listening to the sea
    this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
    in house or office, factory or woman
    or street or mine or harsh prison cell;
    to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,
    I arrive and open the door of his prison,
    and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
    a great fragment of thunder sets in motion
    the rumble of the planet and the foam,
    the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,
    the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,
    and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.

    So, drawn on by my destiny,
    I ceaselessly must listen to and keep
    the sea's lamenting in my awareness,
    I must feel the crash of the hard water
    and gather it up in a perpetual cup
    so that, wherever those in prison may be,
    wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,
    I may be there with an errant wave,
    I may move, passing through windows,
    and hearing me, eyes will glance upward
    saying "How can I reach the sea?"
    And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,
    the starry echoes of the wave,
    a breaking up of foam and quicksand,
    a rustling of salt withdrawing,
    the grey cry of the sea-birds on the coast.

    So, through me, freedom and the sea
    will make their answer to the shuttered heart.

     

    Note:

    This poem contains very strong words that will draw you into his writings. Pablo Neruda is an amazing poet Tanks to Prof. McCormack for introducing me to this poet. Natalia Soares

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (2 parts)

Book 1 Lines 915-927
 
O life, O poetry,
- Which means life in life! cognisant of life
Beyond this blood-beat, passionate for truth
Beyond these senses! - poetry, my life,
My eagle, with both grappling feet still hot
From Zeus's thunder, who hast ravished me
Away from all the shephards, sheep, and dogs,
And set me in the Olympian roar and round
Of luminous faces for a cup-bearer,
To keep the mouths of all the godheads moist
For everlasting laughters, - I myself
Half drunk across the beaker with their eyes!
How those gods look!
 
Book 2 Lines 96-106
 
'So you you judge!
Because I love the beautiful I must
Love pleasure chiefly, and be overcharged
For ease and whiteness! well, you know the world,
And only miss your cousin, 'tis not much.
But learn this; I would rather take my part
With God's Dead, who can afford to walk in white
Yet spread His glory, than keep quiet here
And gather up my feet from even a step
For fear to soil my gown in so much dust.
I choose to walk at all risks.


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Dead in exile

Elegy written in Berlin on the death of writer and political figure
Luigj Gurakuqi, 1879-1925, who had been assassinated in Bari on 2
March 1925 by an agent of Ahmet Zogu.)

Oh mother, mourn our brother,
Cut down by three bullets.
They mocked him, they murdered him,
They called him traitor.

For he loved you when they hated you,
For he wept when they derided you,
For he clothed you when they denuded you,
Oh mother, he died a martyr.

Oh mother, weep bitter tears,
Thugs have slain your son
Who with Ismail Qemali
Raised the valiant standard.

Oh mother, weep for him in Vlora,
Where he bore you freedom,
A soul as pure as snow,
For whom you have no grave.

Oh mother, he did his utmost
With eloquence and heart of iron,
Alive in exile, dead in exile,
This towering liberator.

Author, Fan Noli

[Syrgjyn-Vdekur, from the volume Albumi, Boston 1948, translated from
the Albanian by Robert Elsie, and first published in English in
History of Albanian literature, New York 1995, vol. 1, p. 379-380]

Submitted by Tomas Broka, LI 20-072

Men

When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pauses,
Their shoulders high like the
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.

One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.

Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.

Maybe.

Maya Angelou


To Professor Whalen, from student Pharah Dubuisson English 102-005

SONNET #36 by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

LET me confess that we two must be twain
Although our individual loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailèd guilt should do thee shame;
Nor thou with public kindness honor me
Unless thou take that honor from thy name:
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

To Professor Whalen
                    From Student Pharah Dubuisson English 102-005

SONNET #1 BY William Shakespeare


FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thout that are now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee

For professor Whalen, from student  Pharah Dubuisson English 102-005




World War XII


World War XII, as everyone knows, brought about the collapse of civilization. Towns cities, and villages disappeared. All the groves and forest were destroyed, and all the gardens, and all the works of art. Men, women, and children became lower than the animals. Discouraged and disillusioned, dogs deserted their fallen masters. Books Paintings, and music disappeared from the earth, and human beings just sat around doing nothing. Years and years went by. Even the few generals who were left forgot what the last war had decided. Boys and girls grew up to stare at each other blankly. Love had passed from earth.

One day, a young girl who had never seen a flower chanced to come upon the last one in the world. She told the other human beings that the last flower was dying. The only one who paid attention to her was a young man. Together, the young man and the girl nurtured the flower and it began to live again. One day, a bee visited the flower, and a humming bird. Before long, there were two flowers, and then a great many. Groves and forests flourished again. The young girl began to take interest in how she looked. The young man discovered that touching the girl was pleasurable. Love was reborn into the world.

The children of the young man and the girl grew up strong and healthy. They learned to run and laugh. Dogs came out of their exile. The young man discovered how to build a shelter. Pretty soon everybody was building shelters. Towns, cities, and villages sprung up. Song came back into the world, and troubadours and jugglers, tailors and cobblers, painters and poets, and sculptors, and soldiers and Lieutenants and Captains, and Generals and Major-Generals, and liberators. Some people went to one place to live, and some to another. Before long, those who went to live in the valleys wished they had gone to live in the hills. And those who had to live in the hills wished they had gone down to live in valleys. The liberators, under the guidance of God, set fire to the discontented. So presently, the world was at war again. This time, the destruction was so complete that nothing at all was left in the world, except one man, one woman, and a flower

- Unknown author

Submitted by Matt Lesbirel EN102-005

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Dead I Am

Dead I Am

 ‡

This empty heart beats for no one

Yet it goes on drumming senselessly

Broken to pieces can't be undone

What a waste of space and energy

 ‡

It goes on pumping day after day

Red liquid life against my purpose

But a promise I made not to get in the way

A promise I shall keep no matter how strenuous

 ‡

Although dead I am through and through

I'm bound to my words with chains of trust

More pain and tears I must endure

Till this heart knows that I'm nothing but dust 

 

 ‡

By © Jocelyne Jouki 2008  (me)

 



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Alone by Maya Angelou

"Alone" by Maya Angelou
 
 
Well I was lying, thinking, last night,
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty,
and bread loaf is not stone
Well, I came up with one thing,
and I don't believe that I'm wrong:
 
Alone, all alone,
Nobody can make it out here alone
Nobody can make it out here alone
 
Well, there are some millionaires
With money they can't use,
Their wives run around like banshees,
And their children, they're singing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure they're hearts of stone,
But nobody, no nobody, can make it alone
 
Alone, all alone,
Nobody can make it out here alone
Nobody can make it out here alone
 
Now if you listen closely, I'll tell you what I know,
Storm clouds are gathering,the wind is gonna blow.
The race of man is suffering, and I can hear the moan,
But nobody, no nobody, can make it alone.
 
Alone, all alone,
Nobody can make it out here alone
Nobody can make it out here alone
 
 
Rona Noreldin

A Wasted Mind No More

 

 

A Wasted Mind No More

?

?

 Past visions keep me awake

and by an ugly reality

 my soul suffocates

tornadoes of thoughts,

 possible solutions,

turn me into a zombie

thirsting for a revolution

??

Do I care for myself, or

 do I care for my sake?

 the guilt for wanting to be better

making my own mistakes

??

A trampled flower

 underneath your

worn out shoes

 no more I shall be…

you WILL SMELL

 my full overpowering scent

SEE

 my humble yet exotic beauty

I shall be me

??

I have felt the crushing on my spine

for far too long

 I convinced myself I deserve it

for far too long

but that was not me,

it was my wasted mind

I shall stand up to you

and with one motion of my hand

move you aside

as I continue on with my journey

awakening my once wasted mind

 

by me Jocelyne Jouki 04/01/2008



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