Sunday, August 8, 2010

Great Masters of Poetry

Blog Update: Go to my page called List of Lists (at the top) and you'll see that I've added some things at the bottom. My favorite list I've ever made, and to add on to, is the List of Lists That Only Contain Three Things. It's just a joy to think about, for me and my left brain. Have fun with it.

The title of this post might lead one to believe I'm going to talk about poets. However, all I want to do is share with you some of my favorites that I've recently found. One is cute and funny, one is short and sweet and I LOVE IT, and one is just interesting, especially because of the last line that seems a bit out of place. Which somehow makes it better, I think, that it takes you by surprise like that. Anyway, here you go. If you have favorite poems, please share. I love reading poetry, as long as it doesn't take too much work to figure it out.

If I Could Write Words
by Spike Milligan

If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.

If I could speak words of water,
You would drown when I said
"I love you."

Bear In There
by Shel Silverstein

There's a polar bear
In our Frigidaire—
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there—
That polary bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

by Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. 

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