sitting sidewalk, falling rain
the wind blows the trees and moving train
water swells, moves away - daybreak, again

poem

its sofia
sorry its so late, ive been really sick. It might not actually be a poem but i call it one. I figure that when it talks of the future it isnt trying to predict it but it talks of the future that we work for in life. I guess i like it because it reminds me what i work for, slowly. It reminds me what peace sounds like. It also reminds me what i imagine my grandparents are trying to explain to me when they tell me stories of their childhood.

its called A Glance at The Future by Khalil Gibran.

From behind the wall of the Present I heard the hymns of humanity. I heard the sounds of the bells announcing the beginning of the prayer in the temple of Beauty.

Bells molded in the metal of emotion and poised above the holy alter--the human heart.

From behind the Future I saw multitudes worshipping on the bosom of Nature, their faces turned towards the East and awaiting the inundation of the morning light-- the morning of Truth.

I saw the city in ruins and nothing remained to tell man of the defeat of Ignorance and the triumph of Light.

I watched the elders seated under the shade of cypress and willow trees, surrounded by youths listening to their tales of former times.

I saw the youths strumming their guitars and piping on their reeds and the loose-trussed damsels dancing under the jasmine trees.

I saw the husbandmen harvesting the wheat, and the wives gathering the sheaves and singing mirthful songs. I saw woman adorning herself with a crown of lilies and a girdle of green leaves.

I saw Friendship strengthened between man and all creatures, and clans of birds and butterflies, confident and secure, winging towards the brooks.

I saw no poverty; neither did I encounter excess. I saw fraternity and equality prevailing among man. I saw not one physician, for everyone had the means
and knowledge to heal himself.

I found no priest, for conscience had become the High Priest. Neither did I see a lawyer, for Nature has taken the place of the courts, and treaties of amity and companionship were in force.

I saw that man knew that he is the cornerstones of creation, and that he has raised himself above littleness and baseness and cast off the veil of confusion
from the eyes of the soul; this soul now reads what the clouds write on the face of heaven and what the breeze drawn on the surface of the water; now understands the meaning of the flower's breath and the cadences of the
nightingale.

From behind the wall of the Present, upon the stage of coming ages, I saw Beauty as a groom and Spirit as a bride, and Life as the ceremonial Night of the Kedre.


[NOTE: Kedre = A night during the Moslem Lent when God is said to grant the wishes of the devout.]

New Feet Within My Garden Go by Emily Dickinson

New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A troubadour upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!


The imagery of this poem is nice and pretty and comforting.
Earth renews itself.
I really like this poem.

-Georgia F

Sophia's favourite poem :D hoorah!

OH!THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

By Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day,
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains, and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.
It’s opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.
OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sites!
You’ll join the high fliers!
who soar to high heights.
You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to says so
but, sadly, it’s true
that Bang-ups
and Hang-ups
can happen to you
You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.
You’ll come down from the Lunch
wuth an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.
And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re dark.
A place that could sprain both elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you should go in,should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quaters? Or maybe not quite?
Or go around and back and sneak from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long and wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most usless place
The Waiting Place…
…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
NO!
That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where boom bands are playing.
Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.
I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not.
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone, theres a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.
But on you will go
though the whether be foul.
On you will go
though your enemies prowl.
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though you arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike.
And I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
You’ll get mixed up of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many stray birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with you left.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent garanteed!)
KID YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!
So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Alenn O’Shea
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So… get on your way!


-definitely enjoyable - love sophia.

p.s. sincing we're meant to write something about that poem, i thought it was good.. yep.

You should have been an angel, it would've suited you
My gold-leafed triptych angel, she knows just what to do
In the half light of morning, in a world between the sheets
I swear I saw her angel wing, my vision was complete

And I know I'll never want another lover, my sweet
Can there be more in this world than the
joy of just watching you sleep?
I don't know just what to feel
Won't someone tell me my love's real?

Are we etched in stone or just scratched in the sand
Waiting for the waves to come and reclaim the land?
Will the sun shine all sweetness and light
Burn us to a cinder, our third stone satellite?

I'm on a tightrope, baby, nine miles high
Striding through the clouds, on my ribbon in the sky
I'm on a tightrope, one thing I've found
I don't know how to stop, and it's a
long, long, long, long way down

She's all that ever mattered, and all that ever will
My cup, it runneth over, I'll never get my fill
The boats in the harbour, slip from their chains
Head for new horizons, let's do the same

I'm on a tightrope, baby, nine miles high
Striding through the clouds, on my ribbon in the sky
I'm on a tightrope, one thing I've found
I don't know how to stop, and it's a tightrope baby
nine miles high

Striding through the clouds, on my ribbon in the sky
I'm on a tightrope, one thing I've found
I don't know how to stop, and it's a
long, long, long, long way down


i know its long, but these are the lyrics from the stone roses, i thought about putting only a section up, but just read a bit if you cant be f***ed. it is beautiful poetry.


-orlaith

Hester and Amelia's happy poetry for you :)

THE FOUR FRIENDS
-A.A Milne

Ernest was an elephant, a great big fellow,
Lenard was a lion with a six foot tail,
George was a goat, and his beared was yellow,
and james was a very small snail.

Lenard had a stall, and a great big strong one,
Ernest had a manger and its walls were thick,
George found a pen, but i think it was the wrong one,
and james sat down on a brick.

Ernest started trumpeting and cracked his manger,
Lenard started roaring and shivered his stall,
James gave a huffle of a snail in danger
and nobody heard him at all.

Ernest started trumpeting and raised such a rumpus,
Lenard started roaring and trying to kick,
James went to journey with the goats new compass
and he reached the end of his brick

Ernest was an elephant and very well intentioned,
Lenard was a lion with a brave new tail,
George was a goat, as i think i have mentioned,
but james was only a snail.


HAPPINESS!

E. E. Cummings, in spite of everything.

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds

-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

I like this poem because I feel it expresses the truth of pretending and reassuring, masking our bad thoughts and emotions with those that are good.

since feeling is first- E. E. Cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all the flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

So... I think this poem is saying, there is more to life than rules, analysing, wisdom, structure and so on. All these things are silly compared to the importance of feelings... especially love.
I like the lack of capital letters and ambiguity of the way the sentences could be read, which emphasises the meaning of the poem.
I don't know if i agree with it entirely...but i like it anyway.

viv

NOT CECILIA'S FAVOURITE POEM
BECAUSE I WAS RUSHED. It's a
bit of a giggle, I suppose.

So fair is she!
So fair her face
So fair her pulsing figure

Not so fair
The maniacal stare
Of a husband who's much bigger.

Spike Milligan

bronia and maras photo

GC's fave poem

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S Elliot


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question....
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

-----
I like it because it creates a little story and great images plus it isnt pretentious and annoying to read or gross and sappy.....

Sunday's Favourite Poem

Landscape
By Joy Learmonth

In the beginning only the foreground is important. Life consists of primary colours. Yellow sand, blue water, red of the sky at dawn. When the middle distance beckons I long to walk beside someone who seems to walk somewhere else, in a place I haven't been to yet. I search, in this rain-filled day, not knowing what it is I search for. Others seem to know where they are going. I stumble on once-familiar streets, reach for faces I have known, but they are alien. Faces where recognition slides away, sideways, in this goblin market, leaving me to climb my stairs in a ragged fashion. Far off I see gardens, pathways, a rose arbour, and begin to run. I find myself facing a trompe l'oeil painting - the future is a trick of the eye.

---

What you see depends on which way you are looking and where you are standing. For me, the continuous and vivid changes in the imagery echo the ever-changing landscape of both external and internal life. In the beginning we are interested in the immediate; in ourselves. "Only the foreground is important". As time passes we "search" for connection with others, for meaning. Whatever we can see in the future may not last, may be a "trick of the eye" like a trompe l'oeil painting. The material world and our experiences in it, along with our relationships, are always changing. Life can be a lonely. The climbing of stairs in a "ragged fashion", serves as a metaphor for the psychological struggle of humanity.
I love this piece because it is so evocative and I feel a strong personal connection with it; a sensation of deeper meaning and understanding with each read.

-Sunday.

Mara's fave poem

EE Cummings - i carry your heart

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 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)

Homework Update

Ok. Quick update. You need to let me know who you are when you post to the blog - otherwise it comes up anonymous.

Also, I DID ask you to provide reasons for why you like the poem you chose.

And the 'roses are red' poem is bunk. Unless you can back it up with some good lit analysis. Do, please!

Simon

Favourite Poem

I really like the Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet, my favourite is probably Things I Didn't Know I Loved. It's pretty long and I can't work out how to copy and paste so here's a link: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15930

Odette :)

Favourite Poem - Ode On Melancholy

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

This is the first stanza of my favourite poem by John Keats. It's also the first poem that really sparked my interest in poetry.
Why do I like it? Well, at the risk of sounding superficial, I adore it aesthetically - the beauty of his language. I love the references - Lethe, Proserpine, Psyche, and the animals and plants linked with death. The second and third stanzas are just as gorgeous.
I also like how the meaning is not immediately apparent; after Keats has wooed you with the words, you read it again and again, and eventually it becomes clear.

It's hard to choose a favourite, though, and I have many others that I love amost as much - or just as much, for that matter - as this one.

-Isabelle

poetry

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Im schizophrenic
No i'm not



I don't know who wrote this or where or not it's classified as a real poem, but I like it. It's funny

Bad Poetry? Oh Noetry!

Hi guys!

Can you do me a favour and consider whether or not you have a favourite poet / poem and write down who / what it is and maybe a few reasons why you like him/her / it?

Bring it to class tomorrow arvo?

Thanks

Simon