"We don't read and write poetry because it is cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, Law, Business and Engineering are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But Poetry...Beauty, Romance, Love.....these are what we stay alive for!" -John Keating *Dead Poets Society*
I have written many poems over the years, some better than others.
I have been published twice in 2 different books. I will include the
poem that I had published and the poem that gave me the honor of being a semi-finalist
in the open national poetry contest through the National Library of Poetry.
It is called, "The Race of a Battered Woman." I wrote it a year and a half ago.
It was actually part of a school assignment. We had to choose a social problem and I chose
domestic violence. We were assigned to write a poem on the issue we chose.
Here is my poem:
"The Race of a Battered Woman"
A cry for help floats hopelessly in the air as the broken body
of a battered woman struggles to be strong.
Words mean nothing to the hands that harm, only ignite the fire
within his cold heart.
Betrayed by the sweet innocence of his smile, she takes one closer
look and finds the depths of hell.
She witnesses the extreme hate when he pretends to hide the
romantic logic about him.
Silence is endless, to determine the meaning of a cruciating secret.
A spoken linger acts like a dose of medicine, taking in quiet revenge.
Interpreting and understanding his harsh words is like finally
identifying what the fight is all about.
Although she wails in pain, the truth of his tragic actions is merely glanced upon.
This man behaves as if he owes his wife the harsh habits of his own.
The hurt in her heart is like a race you know you can never win.
But the hope inside her soul is like a turbulent ocean exploding over
the rocks and obstacles that await it.
To accept the pure, realistic sense of the man, you have to count
the few stars on the surface of your destiny.
Then to look upon the rising future, you must detect what it is you're
looking for in the new journey you've embarked on, and grasp it.
Love is no longer the same word to her, it took on a whole new meaning.
Radiant beams from Heaven shine down upon her, telling her that her
prayers of cries for help have all been heard.
She must quit the journey, and look deep inside herself to find
the complete truth of what life means to her.
If she does this, it will touch her heart, as nothing ever has before.
This is when she will know that she deserves so much better, and it will
reveal the reason she must move on with her life.
Then, and only then, will she be free to start a whole new race,
a race that will be won.
This next poem is about land, in general. I think I was just trying to find the beauty
out of a place I really don't like at all, Kansas. I found that through poetry I can
make almost anything unappealing to me beautiful in poetic language.
I think it turned out okay.
"In the Middle of Nowhere"
Land stretching so much farther of that which the eye can see.
Sparkling mirrors shimmer at the figure staring back.
Tall green spirals reach out to touch your head.
A grasp of nothing.
The wind twirls past you, trying to comfort its want of freedom.
Being swept off your feet leads you to a path.
Superior to everything that stands in it's way.
The sun blazes toward the earth on which you walk.
Blossoms cherished to lead you in the right direction.
Clouds gather in the midst of angels.
Heaven covers what you wish to see only in your dreams.
A light welcomes you to a bright, new day.
Time stops your fantasies.
Your wishes believe in you.
You take in a big wiff of wind as you can taste it progressing
down your throat.
A dark past feels empty inside as you turn to glance at your future.
Horizons outstretch your limits.
The gorgeous sunset bears your story of forgiveness.
Your footsteps are guided towards your knowledge of where they
are taking you.
Floating in desire to your destiny,
they lead you to your strengths and weaknesses.
Goals remain in your mind.
Behind the world,
you lock the door.
I had been reading one of Edgar Allan Poe's poems and got the feel for
a mysterious poem, so I came up with this.
"Eyes in the Window"
I recognize the common glance of fear and shudder within myself.
You try and seize my quiet eyes beneath a stare.
I sense you watching me.
Becoming a part of my mind, you sprint towards what will make
you free, free once again, your whispering spirit keeping the
story of tomorrow yet a glare.
Desperate dreamers abound the presence at close, while the gentle
soul hides between the twisted pair, awaiting a simple "hush" to darkness.
My only sunshine, shine on me.
Feed me your beams.
Shed me your light.
Hide the beams, turn out the light, for I am no longer afraid of what
stares behind the window.
I am terrified.
"Heaven"
Angels carry me to the endpoint of life's journey.
Tunnel of beliefs.
Among the souls,
so pure and perfect.
No sickness awaits me.
Amazing grace found.
A white dream.
Endless love.
Everlasting life.
This next poem was written for school also. I did research
on the Black Panther Party and was assigned to write a poem about them.
This is what I came up with.
"Tears of Blood"
Tears of Blood,
hearts still broken.
Filled with fear,
yet they stand proud.
Bed of roses,
flags fly free.
Why can't we,
live together in harmony.
I hear precious children cry out my name,
as their brothers fall to the ground.
Over the river,
past the crossroads.
We stand tall, in the shadow of the Lord.
Hand in hand,
heart to heart.
He gives us the strength to overcome.
Tears of blood,
hearts of hate.
Violence is power in their eyes,
but really it's only cruel and hate.
I stand tall and free,
while others cry out to me.
How can this be?
We're all made equal,
why can't they see?
Peace is a great thing,
friends holding our hands,
our mothers sing us to sleep,
but not forever.
Tears of blood,
hearts of hate.
We seek joy, yet what do we find?
Trails of blood and weeping mothers.
Hate-so strong.
Love-so great.
The cross rules,
as flowers wave in the sun.
Now my story ends,
with a message to tell and a heart to mend.
Tears of blood,
hearts of hate.
Which one wins?
You tell me.
"Life"
Born into the world,
without a regret.
Aware of nothing,
so young, yet so much to learn.
Growing up, while parents are proud.
Teenagers take charge,
with a sense of control.
Adulthood, a time of decisions.
Marriage, starting families, careers, and oh so much more.
Responsibilities, putting your parents' wise words to use.
Making them prouder each day you live on.
Life is so precious,
live every moment to the fullest.
Before you know it,
it will be gone,
and so will your world.
Think about it.
"Love"
Crying hearts make up.
Tears find their revenge.
Happiness passes it's crime.
Rings until the end.
He loves me, he loves me not.
Flowers can't tell.
Does my heart know, or does it keep still?
Flying to me in my dreams, and they come true.
Two young lovers each kiss the rose on each other's graves, embraced till the end.
The story of love leaves me standing there, stranded......
Refresh my memories.
Cleanse my soul.
Clear my mind.
Give me strength.
Feed me power.
Build my body.
Help me say,
I love you.
"Kurt D. Cobain" (1967-1994)
Grunge poet over the years,
filled with sorrows and with fears.
Mad reporters- Courtney hears.
While Frances Bean replenishes my tears.
Good side- nobody knows.
Bad side- everything shows.
What is my destiny?
The "Lake of Fire" with "All Apologies," or the heavenly gate?
Is my face mysterious Boddah?
Only you can tell.
One rainbow takes a place in my heart, while one gun takes my life.
Now I will choose my destiny,
and perhaps I will see you there.
"Freedom"
This is the dream that I have been having for as long as I can remember, and still do. I have always wanted to put it in the form of a poem. Enjoy.
At the moment I close my eyes at night, in my bed, I escape into the dreamworld, where I become the free-spirited woman that exists purely in the wind.
My body is covered with a long, flowing white dress, ending at the arches of my bare feet.
Daisies tucked in the crest of the single braid acrost my head symbolize the care-free attitude formed by the ocean.
Looking out into the sun, barely peaking out from a multi-colored painting in the sky, I see my horse, sprinting towards me.
Beneath my feet, the sand feels damp, a little rough.
The rush of a wave gives my legs the energy they need to pull myself onto the bare back of my midnight black horse, which reflects the glimmer of the ocean water.
Aloft this powerful, gorgeous being, a slender grin passes over my face, the threshold for which my emotions come to life.
I feel angelic when I can visualize wings of a dove, as a part of my horse, and my soul.
Looking up at the stars, shining down from the twilight, I take on the form of a butterfly, capturing the true essence of freedom.
In the wind, my dress flows gently away from me,
my hair swaying every which way just to hear the song of the breeze.
I run my hands down the smooth back of my source of adventure, while its hooves send enough friction through the water to force a spray, a heavenly mist into my face, which brings chills to my body.
My horse is one with the night, I, the pride it carries.
Together we are invincible.
Together, we are free.
Here is the most recent poem I wrote, as of 3/1/00. This is the last poem I will share with you. Try to hold back the tears. :)
"Free Spirit"
Escaping into the night,
creeping alongside the Harvest Moon,
stars breathe my name.
The cunning suspicion of what my destiny beholds,
hath provoked my inner spirit.
Sweet stillness my body brings me,
while my mind anticipates immense prosperity.
Every beacon of light surpasses me,
not a single time do I pursue it;
I lust for a miracle,
an eminent, extraordinary sign.
I, this desolate being,
whose blinded heart searches for an unspoken eternity.
Seducing the horizon,
conveys an alluring sensation within me.
A flame, which burns deep inside my soul,
longs to set me free.
Freedom, where thou besetest;
Vow unto me.
A rampant heartbeat enstills utter utopia to every dream, every wish, every desire.
I seek an unlimited aspiration.
No barriers.
Everlasting emersion subsiding in the ripple of a tide, grain of sand, crest of a mountain, flake of snow, blade of grass, ray of sun.
Nothing goes undiscovered.
My passion invites me to sense, experience life,
with an endless love.
Sensual prescense of vital energy encompasses my sheer beauty;
the ultimate divinity of my soaring spirit, never fading.
The wind engulfs my longing temptation
to roam uncharted territory.
I am engrossed in the moment.
My innermost thoughts exploding in the atmosphere,
my deepest secrets bursting in the heavens.
I, the core of the earth,
resting on the branch of a palm tree,
risking the possibility of an unpredictable sway,
sudden gust of wind, shattering every illusion of perfection.
Petty jargon rejuvenates this journey, namely "life."
No fear represses me when I become one with nature.
Mesmerized by the mythical persuasion of this carefree way of life I hath taken on,
the naked truth of this enlightning aura
captivates my ever existence.
Reality is highly fatal in a place, where there is no pain to be experienced.
Masked by my valiant self image,
harmony enhances every emotion known to man.
Solely my Anima ventures to a secret garden,
where purity is essential to its very being.
An inquiring messenger unfolds its gliding wings,
to present the philosophy of relaxation,
beyond imagination.
Profound truth of my free spirit
is revealed through my unclothed body;
my nude apparatus, the threshold for limitless possiblities.
Status of a magical world,
leaves me unexplainably detained.
My free spirit lives on.....................
Now I am going to do a section on
my favorite poets. I will share with you some of my favorite poems of all time.
"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.
"Psalm of Life"
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
What the Heart of the Young Man
Said to the Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
'Life is but an empty dream!'
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
'Dust thou art, to dust returnest,'
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, -act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
"Footsteps of Angels"
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlour wall;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;
He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!
They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!
And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
O, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!
MY FAVORITE POEM!!!!!!!
"Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night"
By Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
"Somebody Should Have Taught Him"
Retold by Jane Watkins
I went to a birthday party
but I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink at all,
so I had a Sprite instead.
I felt proud of myself,
the way you said I would,
that I didn't choose to drink and drive,
though some friends said I should.
I knew I made a healthy choice and
your advice to me was right
as the party finally ended
and the kids drove out of sight.
I got into my own car,
sure to get home in one piece,
never knowing what was coming,
something I expected least.
Now I'm lying on the pavement.
I can hear the policemen say,
"The kid that caused this wreck was drunk."
His voice seems far away.
My own blood is all around me,
as I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
"This girl is going to die."
I'm sure the guy had no idea,
while he was flying high,
because he chose to drink and drive
that I would have to die.
So why do people do it,
knowing that it ruins lives?
But now the pain is cutting me
like a hundred stabbing knives.
Tell my sister not to be afraid,
tell Daddy to be brave,
and when I go to heaven to
put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave.
Someone should have taught him
that it's wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his mom and dad had,
I'd still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter,
I'm getting really scared.
These are my final moments,
and I'm so unprepared.
I wish that you could hold me, Mom,
as I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say
I love you and good-bye.
"Phenomenal Woman"
By Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman.
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Maya Angelou
"The honorary duty of a human being is to love, I am human, and nothing human can be alien to me."
"Still I Rise"
By Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefullness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
"I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings"
By Maya Angelou
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow edge
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 fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and its tune is heard
on the distant hill for a caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an 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.
"The Raven"
By Edgar Allan Poe
Once Upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered,
weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping,
suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door-
" 'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-
sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden
whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
( I am not going to type the whole poem out)
"Annabel Lee"
By Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;-
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee-
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre,
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea-
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
"Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?"
By William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou are more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
"That Time of Year Thou Mayst in Me Behold"
By William Shakespeare
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang,
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
"Sonnet from Modern Love"
By George Meredith
By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
That, at his hand's light quiver by her head,
The strange low sobs that shook their common bed,
Were called into her with a sharp surprise,
And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes,
Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay
Stone-still, and then the long darkness flowed away
With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes
Her giant heart of Memory and Tears
Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat
Sleep's heavy measure, they from head to feet
Were moveless, looking through their dead black years
By vain regret scrawled over the blank wall.
Like sculptured effigies they might be seen
Upon their marriage tomb, the sword between,
Each wishing for the sword that severs all.
Well that's it! Thank you for taking the time to read these poems. C ya.
"Have you hugged your pet today????!!!!!! All you animal lovers out there click here"
