Text+of+Poems

Here is the full text from all the poems we will be studying this semester.


 * This Is Just To Say **

by [|William Carlos Williams]

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15535#sthash.uXBsmdbr.dpuf]


 * If the World Was Crazy **

by [|Shel Silverstein]

If the world was crazy, you know what I'd eat?

A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat,

A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try

Some roasted ice cream or a bicycle pie,

A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast,

An omelet of hats and some crisp cardboard toast,

A thick malted milk made from pencils and daisies,

And that's what I'd eat if the world was crazy.

If the world was crazy, you know what I'd wear?

A chocolate suit and a tie of eclair,

Some marshmallow earmuffs, some licorice shoes,

And I'd read a paper of peppermint news.

I'd call the boys "Suzy" and I'd call the girls "Harry,"

I'd talk through my ears, and I always would carry

A paper umbrella for when it grew hazy

To keep in the rain, if the world was crazy.

If the world was crazy, you know what I'd do?

I'd walk on the ocean and swim in my shoe,

I'd fly through the ground and I'd skip through the air,

I'd run down the bathtub and bathe on the stair.

When I met somebody I'd say "G'bye, Joe,"

And when I was leaving--then I'd say "Hello."

And the greatest of men would be silly and lazy

So I would be king...if the world was crazy.

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20542#sthash.lHLAqSJK.dpuf]

** 01:34 **       ||   ||   ||
 * ** Do not go gentle into that good night ** |||| ||
 * by [|Dylan Thomas] ||
 * ** 00:00 **
 * 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. ||
 * 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. ||

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.RBQkoJkC.dpuf]

-


 * 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 backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

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.

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15623#sthash.s2oYeK3Q.dpuf]


 * Morning Song **

by [|Sylvia Plath]

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I'm no more your mother

Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow

Effacement at the wind's hand.

All night your moth-breath

Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:

A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral

In my Victorian nightgown.

Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try

Your handful of notes;

The clear vowels rise like balloons.

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15293#sthash.LP1RF4aA.dpuf]


 * Among the Multitude **

by [|Walt Whitman]

Among the men and women, the multitude,

I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,

Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child,

any nearer than I am;

Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah, lover and perfect equal!

I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;

And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19418#sthash.abFtFOHL.dpuf]


 * 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.

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15717#sthash.sj3clrxL.dpuf]


 * Hope is the thing with feathers (254) **

by [|Emily Dickinson]

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19729#sthash.eavOFZel.dpuf]


 * Buffalo Bill 's **

by [|E. E. Cummings]

Buffalo Bill 's

defunct

who used to

ride a watersmooth-silver

stallion

and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat

Jesus

he was a handsome man

and what i want to know is

how do you like your blueeyed boy

Mister Death

- See more at: [|http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15399#sthash.TMVT9QsR.dpuf]


 * Dreams **

by [|Langston Hughes]

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16075#sthash.BHie5D57.dpuf