Personal Sound and Form Poems 11/12

(Imitating "the Eagle")

From above he throws down each ball,

and watches as each hits the wall,

one by one each of the balls fall.

The balls that fall they do not stall,

in fact they never slow at all,

and like the boy they all stand tall.

The Road Not Taken

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 marked 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.

Poem

What's up? The ground.

My life's been upside down.

Try to smile, but I frown

Night's sun,

Count down from one,

Then I'm done

Poem

I'm walking down the path of life
I feel the chilling winds of strife
I taste the bitter pill of pain
Sometimes I feel I'm going insane
I call for help but no one hears
Have they no heart, or even ears?
I look for you, but you're not there
I think I've searched most everywhere
Are you there? Can you be found?
Or are you no longer around?
I need your help, I need a friend
I need someone a hand to lend
You must be near I smell perfume
The one you left inside my room
So pleasant and so very sweet
Always a delightful treat
I'm already feeling a tinge of hope
I think I'll throw away that rope
I'm no quitter, I am strong
God gave me life, I'll live it long
I'll get through this, I have before
It's not time to slam the door
I live. I love. I laugh. I'm free.
I feel. I hope. I am. Join me.

Spring (imitating The eagle)

As the year goes on we enter spring,

Oh what fun the Season will bring.

Together we listen to the birds sing.

Nature is now in full swing.

We want it to stay this way forever more,

Always being able to go to the shore.

Sweat pours from our every pore.

Now returns the cold weather from before,

Winter truly is a bore.

Personal sound and form poem

A brutal catastrophe drops,
even fate.
gruesome.
hate irates.
Join?
Kind?
lover?
mother?
niece?
other?
people question.
response?
sincere.
tears unveiled.
vanished.
X= your z.

Imagery Chart Sensory Detail Poem

"Meeting at Night"
By: Robert Browning


The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startle little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cave with pushing prow,
And quench it's speed I the slushy land.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
than the two hearts beating each to each.

Envy

It is true.
I envy nothing more than you.
But still, you have no clue.

I want what you possess,
but I should be content with what I possess.
Maybe one day, I won't stress,
and I will be happy with my life, I guess.

Summertime- Narrative Poem

I miss dancing around in our summer skin,
Not having a single care in our mind.
We'd take long walks on sunlit nights,
Throwing away all the drama that is going to be forgotten anyway.

It seems like such a big deal at the moment,
But you know
When you look back you'll be laughing.
But when there's so many things bouncing around in our minds,
it's hard to separate what really matters
from what is complete nonsense.

Somehow it entertains me.
In the summer you can carelessly care about things
Because in the end nothing truly matters enough.
Summer gives us warmth in our souls,
And junk within our brains.
Yet everyone adores it.

Anything can make a laugh burst into the air,
Especially when it's least expected.
Bikinis and tan lines,
Memories and true friends,
Summer brings things we remember till the end.

Seperate me from school
and this craziness that has consumed my mind.
I miss you summer,
Bring me summertime.

The Closer

"The Closer" ("The Eagle")

He places the ball in his dirty glove.
He can't let the batter hit the ball. No, that's not enough.
He has to - must - strike him out. This is gonna be tough!

The games on the line; there is no doubt.
He picks up his sign from his catcher, who is giving him a encouraging shout.
He winds up, cocks back, and gives him the heat. Strike 3! Batter's out!

"ZYX" ("ABC")

Zither, yueqin, xylophone.
When vocalists use these,

Song results.
Quiet, peaceful, orderly notes.
Music lovers ken: just interest

Hones gratitude. Extracted
From dulcet, concord

Beats amiably.

Personal Sound and Form Poem

"The Feeling"

(Imitating "The Eagle")

The sensation sometimes comes unexpectedly.

Yet no matter when that phenomenon does happen, it must be cared for tenderly.

Now all there is to do is wonder and hope that one day it will come to me.

Forgetting, losing, or walking away from the feeling is tragic,

And if it lies in your grasp, but is abandoned then that would be idiotic,

For we must treasure it because love is the closest thing we have to magic.

The Pitcher ("The Eagle")

She grips the ball with dirty fingers.
Close to the end of the game,
Butterflies filling her stomach, she begins.

The sweat dripping down her face,
She awaits the batters swing,
and like a smack, the ball hits the catcher's glove.

"The Gymnast" ("The Eagle")

She grabs the grips with chalky hands.
Looks down to see the rips on her hand,
Finishes the bar routine until she stands.

The mats beneath her seem to stall;
As she flips around the bar by the wall,
Then like a flash she dismounts and falls.

My version of "the Eagle"- "The Dancer"

Carefully she laces up her pink,satin shoes with shaky hands.
It is almost time and she is left to herself to make last minute preperations.
Hearing the audience on the other side of the curtain quiet down, she gets into a starting position.

The velvet, crimson curtains slowly part,
She looks out towards the crowd, with focus, as the spotlight is quickly focused on her.
Like a wishie, she swiftly piourettes onto the hardwood floor- almost quick enough to make her look like she was floating.

Personal Sound and Form Poems pd 11-12

Waves move in from across the ocean,

All of the water is now in motion;

Creating what seems like a deathly suction.

It crashes and you are just fine,

And return to shore to enjoy your time,

And you realize there is no reason to whine.

ABC's of Sports

Athletes batting completely determined, eternally. Few

go huge, injuries jolting,

Keep listening. Much necessary optimism; pessimism

quickly recovered.

Sharing teamwork uniquely,

Victory wows!

Xerox Yankees' zen.

ABC Poem

A blank canvas-
Dreaming eagerly for greatness.
Hopefully images justify knowledge,
Letting mere new-comers object pretenders.
Questions rise seeking truth.
Ultimately, very wary xenophobes yield zero.



xenophobe: an individual who is afraid of things that are foreign or strange

Personal Sound and Form Poem

Faces of Emotion

Eyes dance with happiness and lungs burst with laughter from every simple smile.

A smug look of pure satisfaction conjures a sense of victory for sure.

Heads shake, hearts pulse, hands clench in the face of denial.

Prim, proper, and prestigious people, prove to be quite mature.

Hearts bleed after being wounded in the battlefield of love.

Arms crossed, eyes roll, and lectures are given as you challenge and defy.

Honest and truthful, pure, innocent, gentle as a dove.

Salty, sticky, tears flow like a never ending river as you cry.

Screams of frustration causing crimson colored cheeks and blood to boil.

Sly looks and playful smiles, acting mysterious and oh so coy.

The world turned upside down and spinning around, causing great turmoil.

Exclamations of bliss and pleasure! Excitement and jubilance! Bursting with joy!

You cannot fly without wings or catch every fish in the ocean

Just as you cannot change each and every emotion.

Imitation of "Sonnet 18" by William Shakespeare

Personal Sound and Form Poems Pd. 2

Imitating "The Eagle"

The man walks tall in the rising flames.

He hangs his head down in stinging shame;

So many lives that his hands have claimed.

The man has left his loves and his land.

He had hopes to accomplish something grand,

But all he found was burning sand.

The man looks up into the blue skies.

His eyes water, and then he cries:

Was this parched land worth all the lies?

"Dreams-An ABC Poem"

Always baby, continue dreaming.

Every fantasy generally has ideas,

journeys, knowledge, laughter, memories.

Now observe peoples quiet rest.

Sights. Twitches. Underwear. Voices.

Why?

X-ray your zodiac.

ABCs of animals

A brilliantly colored dog freely gallops,
hopping in jolly.
Koalas lying moveless,
now open pens,
quietly run.
Sloths terrified underneath vines,
with xylophones yelling zealously.

Personal Sound and Form Poems

"The Abc of a class clown"

A boy can dance, eventually. Funny

Guys have intelligent jokes.

Knowing lies mysteriously

needs one's permission.

Quite Raging.

Some Things ultimately

veer weirdly

X is your Zealousness

Pd 11/12 Imitating "Blackberry Eating"

I walk along the tree lined path,
surround by the beautiful, angelic, blue birds.
To sing a morning tune,
was their daily routine,
They were flawless.
I could try and struggle
to copy their amazing voices,
but there was only room for failure
in that situation.
So many tiny birds
singing wonderful songs.
I listen, dream, imagine
a thought of perfect singing.
It was my favorite thing
in those first few months of Spring.

Imagery Sensory Eample

http://www.mith2.umd.edu/WomensStudies/ReadingRoom/Poetry/Dickinson/

Selected Poems by Emily Dickinson


A drop fell on the apple tree
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.

A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!

The dust replaced in hoisted roa
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.

The breezes brought dejected
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.

Rehab ("ABC" by Robert Pisky)

After buzz causes disorientation.
Endless fear grasps humanity.
Its jouney keeps lapsing muderious nature,
oppressing public questions.
Realing, sweating, trembling,
unprotected, vonerable, weak.
X-off your zeal

Imitating "Black Berry Eating" by Galway Kinnell

Hazy Summer Nights

I love to go out on those hazy summer nights

lingering with bright, twinkling stars

to roam around the streets with good friends,

kick it laughing, all relaxing

they are all a part of me

even through all the stupid fights

it never mattered who was wrong or right

falling into pools that weren't even our own,

as we did anything for just that little rush,

like a craving for thrills,

many close calls during the never-ending nights,

the sleep we fought and the places we got caught,

we'd all go home late and the next night,

we'd do it all over again,

and experience another hazy summer night.

Imitating "The Eagle"

Under the sun

We have so much fun,

It gets so hot you want to run,

But nothing can be done.

And walking along the sunny shore,

We swore,

We’d be there forever more.

The little bits that wash ashore,

nothing compared to the beauty found offshore.

PS: Everyone wrote about the beach!! lol

Personal Sound and Form Poem

Ocean Spray- (imitating "Blackberry Eating")

I love to go out in early August

and fly into the cool, wet, salty, turquoise ocean;

I feel the spray hitting my face as if I were

running through a cloud, an added bonus,

for I am after relief

from the blazing sun: and as I sink into the sand,

its slippery coolness enveloping my legs, the foam swirls

and eddies in frothing white bubbles around my waist,

as if it were excited children crowding to greet me-

although they are softer, less demanding, a whisper-

those whom I cherish as if old friends;

for I've missed them since I've been gone

away from the cool, wet, salty, turquoise world

that is the ocean spray in early August

Of Salt Breeze and Sea Glass

My heart belongs to breezy days
and showers of sea salt
that fall on my face
from the force of the wind
as it carries the waves precariously close
to my feet, frozen with cold,
the same feet that search for sea glass
and alert me to the precious finding of a piece,
each capturing an ever evasive color:
a palest pink - nearly white,
deep green, evoking the depths of the ocean
followed by brown, barely found amongst sea weed
and hopefully a blue piece peeking out of the sand,
a simple sliver of glass
so eagerly sought each morning
as the devoted dutifully scour the beach,
but stumbled upon by only the unsuspecting novice,
much the same way that words
appear in my mind,
words that are pondered and pleaded with,
simple letters strung together that are asked
to be precious and precocious,
but all that we really rely on them for
is creating the beautiful breezy day
where I fell in love with looking for sea glass
and feeling sea salt showers against my face.

Based on "Blackberry Eating"

Imagery Poem

"After Apple Picking"
Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

Poem with Imagery

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

personal sound poem- imitaing "The Eagle"

"Paino"

All 88 keys help make beutiful sound.
Played softly and light, or with fingers that pound,
Whatever the noise, music is found.

In a silent room it gracfully sings.
In a loud room it demands quiet form all things,
When I touch it, it lets out its ring.

Imagery Poem

There's sun on the river and sun on the hill
.You can hear the sea if you stand quite still!
There's eight new puppies at Roundabout Farm-
And I saw an old sailor with only one arm!

But everyone says, "Run along!" (Run along, run along!)
All of them say, "Run along! I'm busy as can be.
"Every one says, "Run along, There's a little darling!"
If I'm a little darling, why don't they run with me?

There's wind on the river and wind on the hill
There's a dark dead water-wheel under the mill!
I saw a fly which had just been drowned-
And I know where a rabbit goes into the ground!

But everyone says, "Run along!"(Run along, run along!)
All of them say, "Yes, dear," and never notice me.
Every one says, "Run along,There's a little darling!"
If I'm a little darling, why won't they come and see?

By: A.A Milne

the baseball

The baseball leaves the hand,
not sure where it will land,
in the grass or in someone's hand.

The ball is hit and it flies,
staying up in the skies,
remaining there until its demise.

imitation of "the eagle" in the poetry packet.

Sensory Imagery Poem

Here Be Dragons

Taken from URL http://www.ukhippy.com/stuff/showthread.php?8412-A-nice-fluffy-poem...

Here be dragons, they say
under bits of carpet and the shadows of a chair
lurking round the ringing bits of bells
You won’t see them, because their wings
sweep fire and brimstone and pavement dirt
into your eyes, where they stick all black
in the corners, and make you forget
They roll on marbles so you can’t hear
the crunch of claws, and think it’s just the wind
and like forgotten places, attics and window frames
where they can draw their simple thoughts in dust

They are getting old, and they don’t like loud music or cars
or skyscrapers, or new fangled disco dancing
And when the sun gets hotter their scales will melt
along with frog’s crowns and the harshness of peas

The dragons won’t bother us any more.

Personal sound and form poems-Summer

When will summer finally come?
The days are counting down
Until the ants attack the crumb
The picnic basket is in the park downtown
As people gather to watch the ballgame
Children splash in the pool
As the sunbathers go up in flames
Girls have already went on their shopping spree
Oh where oh where may summer be?

Personal Sound and Form Poem

Dreams

Dreams can be a funny thing.
They can be about anything,
In dreams you could even be a king.

You can have fun in your dream;
You could be a star on a sports team,
But things aren't always what they seem.

Personal Sound and Form Poems

The Excitement Of Spring

The excitement starts and ends with the ball parks,

the rows of helmets,

and the smell of hotdogs nuzzling with the fresh cut grass.

The players long waited anxiousness

and the hours of bull pen sessions.

The spring training games in Florida that has all lead up to this.

The wooden bats clanking against the dug out walls,

and the bags of sun flower seeds awaiting opening day.

The excitement of spring starts and ends with baseball.

Vivid Sensory Poem

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.

Dreams by Langston Hughes

My Vivid Sensory Poem

HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS

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.