Like a beam of light that
strikes the surface of the
water, It dances across
the ripples of this poisoned
town. He breathed in the bitter
and breathed out the worst.
The crystal clear air we could
not handle
Choking
Gagging
Gasping for the air we corrupted
It settled in our lungs as we
squirmed and twitched
drowned in the miracle
that laid upon us.
So pure it lay through our fingers
so precious, it strangled the foolhardy
and yet it would not be seen.
a miracle that would not stop re-occurring
Review
Corruption is a thing of society whether it be by businesses or government it creeps around every corner and crevice of a town, state, country. There is always some form of corruption i believe the world would be better without it, i believe if it wasn't for corruption our world would be in better condition.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Lets find the differece
The Artist: I drag the colors out of a page and watch as they spread themselves
The Poet: I lay the words on the page and watch as they glide across the surface
The Artist: I let the colors dance as my brush skims the surface
The Poet: I let my words relax as they begin to lay silently
The Artist: Alive they walk in my mind
The Poet: Asleep they dare not share my minds content.
The Artist: Whats to say there is a difference?
The Poet: When the pictures speak as loud as words.
Whats to say there can be change?
The Artist: When the words become as beautiful as my art
Who's to say, we ourselves, are any different?
For the same things lie within all of us we let the
labels's underline who we are and shade in what
we could be, we quote the pages that were left
by the twine he used to mimic the twirl of the ribbon
Who's to say there is a difference?
As the poet becomes the artist
and the artist becomes the poet
they let their differences become a similarity
and watch as the world in their eyes
touches the surface, like the leaf that creates
the ripples that do not die.
Review
This was a way to show that poetry is an art also, anything can be an art, if you do it the right way, but what's the right way you may ask. the answer is simple. Your way =]
The Poet: I lay the words on the page and watch as they glide across the surface
The Artist: I let the colors dance as my brush skims the surface
The Poet: I let my words relax as they begin to lay silently
The Artist: Alive they walk in my mind
The Poet: Asleep they dare not share my minds content.
The Artist: Whats to say there is a difference?
The Poet: When the pictures speak as loud as words.
Whats to say there can be change?
The Artist: When the words become as beautiful as my art
Who's to say, we ourselves, are any different?
For the same things lie within all of us we let the
labels's underline who we are and shade in what
we could be, we quote the pages that were left
by the twine he used to mimic the twirl of the ribbon
Who's to say there is a difference?
As the poet becomes the artist
and the artist becomes the poet
they let their differences become a similarity
and watch as the world in their eyes
touches the surface, like the leaf that creates
the ripples that do not die.
Review
This was a way to show that poetry is an art also, anything can be an art, if you do it the right way, but what's the right way you may ask. the answer is simple. Your way =]
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Alone Review & We Wear The Mask Review
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Edgar Allan Poe
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,--
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be overwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Paul Laurence Dunbar
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
These poems are the other two poems i am doing for my poetry out loud project, they have a similar message which is a question "Why cant the world see me for what i am/can do?" and I believe that is a struggle that we all as people face, we wish we could do better and be better for the people in our lives. As an adult man if you have children you struggle to be better for them to teach them what you feel they should know.
These poems express the idea that they are alone but can live with a mask. In the poem by Poe he excepted it and lived with knowing he couldn't be lov'd in return by the one he was fascinated with,
in we wear the mask he mentions that the world sees them, but not as they want them to be seen so he feels his survival only relies on himself.
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Edgar Allan Poe
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,--
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be overwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Paul Laurence Dunbar
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
These poems are the other two poems i am doing for my poetry out loud project, they have a similar message which is a question "Why cant the world see me for what i am/can do?" and I believe that is a struggle that we all as people face, we wish we could do better and be better for the people in our lives. As an adult man if you have children you struggle to be better for them to teach them what you feel they should know.
These poems express the idea that they are alone but can live with a mask. In the poem by Poe he excepted it and lived with knowing he couldn't be lov'd in return by the one he was fascinated with,
in we wear the mask he mentions that the world sees them, but not as they want them to be seen so he feels his survival only relies on himself.
Review of City Of Sleep
The City of Sleep
Rudyard KiplingOver the edge of the purple down,
Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town
That is hard by the Sea of Dreams –
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away,
And the sick may forget to weep?
But we – pity us! Oh, pity us!
We wakeful; ah, pity us! –
We must go back with Policeman Day –
Back from the City of Sleep!
Weary they turn from the scroll and crown,
Fetter and prayer and plough –
They that go up to the Merciful Town,
For her gates are closing now.
It is their right in the Baths of Night
Body and soul to steep,
But we – pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us! –
We must go back with Policeman Day –
Back from the City of Sleep!
Over the edge of the purple down,
Ere the tender dreams begin,
Look – we may look – at the Merciful Town,
But we may not enter in!
Outcasts all, from her guarded wall
Back to our watch we creep:
We – pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; ah, pity us! –
We that go back with Policeman Day –
Back from the City of Sleep!
This poem is one of the poems i am using for my poetry out loud. I have been looking at this poem and i think i have discovered what it means.
The poem goes in and talks about the acceptance of people in the so called city, which could represent children sleeping soundly with no problems. The second stanza talks about how they are slowly not being welcome to the place, which could mean people in the mid years (16-26). after that they are all in exile which could lead to older years when things become to over whelming like work, stress, thoughts. the things that bother people. but it also could mean death because you don't sleep when dead its just over. there is no breaks its done and gone.
The reason i chose this poem is because i enjoyed the rhyme scheme that it portrayed and i enjoyed the idea i got from the poem.
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