S: The Poetry of Our Lives
FC: Sage and Kathy's Poetry Book
1: A collection of poems that have been a part of our lives. From fifth grade to now.
3: Poems we wrote:
4: The Day The Earth Died | Sunlight filters through the trees, Colorful flowers grow, tended by bees. The forest is green, as happy as can be, A hawk flies above through the canopy. The sky above is clear and blue, The salty ocean below is clean like new. The otters and seals laugh and play, And the sun shines down in its own special way. A dark, grey smog makes the forest hazy, Animals are choking and gasping like crazy. A hare sees a bird fall down on its head, The hare breathes it in, and soon too is dead.
5: The ocean is trashed and is turning black, Dotted with fish lying on their back. The air above is heavy with fog, Everywhere for miles is black with smog. The forest is black and deathly still, If you see it, you'll feel a chill. No fish are in the polluted sea, The sea creatures are dying, and so will we. Nature has left us here to die, We will perish if we do not try, Help us save the earth today; We can all help, "If there's will, there's a way".
6: Light Bulbs | Being a light bulb, Is a pain. I'm incandescent, I'll gladly explain When I was bought, My buyer had a big choice, me or her... But why! I happen to cost a lot less! Exactly! So he talked to his wife, and then she... | Being a light bulb, Is a joy. I'm florescent! I'll gladly explain My buyer was smarter, It's me she prefers. Actually in the long run, I help you save money, to confess.
7: Stop interrupting! So, he sold me to our neighbors, who hung me in their house, but never made me shine. Everybody hates me they don't give me a chance! | Went to the store and bought yours truly, ME!!! I know they don't care enough to save energy, but they are half way blind. You can't blame them, they get along just fine. You'd really love it, when you're up high, shoes look like ants!
8: Oh you're just proud 'cus you're on a chandelier! C'mon, don't you have any pity for me? Now you know And the pains Of my light bulb life. | Is this perhaps jealousy I hear? Nope, because I'm the best that you'll see. Now you know The joys Of my light bulb life.
9: Wind | Blowing north and south wind. Blowing east and west wind. Trash is flying through the air wind. Catching in the fingers of treetops wind. Drifting down to the foggy blue lake wind. Traveling through the elements with one gust wind. It's ours to share with the world wind. So don't pollute to keep it clean wind. Your one choice might kill the world, So help us save the wind.
10: A Day in the Life of a Polar Bear | The wind nips at my nose, Blows snow into my eyes. My fur blocks the cold wherever I go. I stare into the pale sunrise. Here in the Arctic, everything's white, Snow, ice, bears, foxes, and seals. Except the dancing colors in the sky at night, They're blurred by the smoke of humans roasting meals. I hear the cry of my baby sweet. She roars, and I tell her not to fear. I see she's caught with nothing to eat, They stick a thin, sliver icicle into her fur.
11: She cries as they place the collar on, Like so many other of our race. They let her go as the dawn Breaks over, shining in my face. The sun is too hot today, I pant as i hunt for fish. But the ocean's closer than yesterday, And the ice is as thin as a paper dish. I hear a strange sound, And see a machine in the air, A drumming noise as it falls to the ground, I see an unfortunate polar bear. The humans take it for no reason known, The helicopter rising, it's strumming again. The people leaving back to their own, I know I'll never again see my friend. I don't know what's going on, But I know in my home, Something is wrong.
12: The Struggle for Survival | We are air, I'm polluted I come out of exhaust pipes when cars go an extra mile. Thanks for the cars and landfills, it was a good deed. Come on let them save the Earth, that's not a sin. | We are air, I'm clean You don't know me 'cause I hang around and wait. You see me as the air you need. Think of the air your children breath in!
13: We can't stand each other and that's a fact. You can save me if you just try. We will fight until the people decide, which one of us will thrive and which will hide. | We can't stand each other and that's a fact. Stop believing her it's all and act. The only question I ask there is why? We will fight until the people decide, which one of us will thrive and which will hide.
14: Our Beautiful World | The stalks of grain quiver in the breeze, The field is outlined by tall, green trees. Flowers grow freely, in colorful bloom, The rabbits and field mice are free of gloom. The forest is filled with songs so sweet, Songbirds sing above a hare just sitting to eat. The trees ring with the sound of nature waking, The old forest has been trashed, a new one's in the making. In the canopy of the forest below, Hawks, falcons, and raptors dive to and fro. Colorful parrots and toucans perch near by, Watching song birds sing and the others fly. The shimmering sea glints in the sun, Otters, seals, and dolphins swim as one. The ocean is clean, shining like new, Waves softly rock; in the calm wind they're few.
15: Below the blue waves is a different place, With fish, dolphins, and sharks that have smiles on their face. Purple octopi, red and yellow fish, green seaweed, The sun whines through the clean water, where fish dart and feed. In a park, laughing children play with nature dear, Playing tag, climbing trees, and smiling without fear. Swinging on a tire hanging from a birch, Seeing who can get the closest to a sparrow on a perch. The Earth is green, with seas shining blue, People are happy, and we owe it to you. Everyone helped to clean the air, Now everyone's happy everywhere.
16: The Photograph | By Sage Heuston | I finger the worn wooden frame, The photo is old, and its colors confined But I know it as well as I know my name And again the day plays over in my mind. He crouches over, through his blonde hair Scrutinizing the bug crawling on his hand. I watch, from my perch on the lawn chair His popsicled smile starts to expand. I tear my mind's eye from the memory To see that same boy, now fully grown Crouched over a book, explaining gently The insects to a young boy of his own. I smile, as I remember, with affection, That day he discovered his passion.
17: The Discovery of A Hidden King | By Kathy Liu | An old legend tells of an ancient king, Buried in the middle of nowhere; Beneath an Egyptian pyramid lies the real thing, The king, buried with all his treasure there. I recall the echoes I hear as I walk, I ascend the never-ending staircase; I continue on slowly, too afraid to talk, I reach the queen's chamber and see a bejeweled vase. The king was buried with all his gold. If I find him and his riches, I’ll be the first. I’ll be rich if I find him, or so I’m told. They've also told me that his tomb was cursed. A bunch of dust flies in my face, But only a few more steps so I quicken my pace. I smell the damp air that's been locked in his tomb, And as I push open the casket cover, I look around the loaded room. For I have discovered a hidden kind and his lover, Who were beloved by the citizens of the city. The journey here was long and tiring, But to see the pyramid which was so pretty And to discover the king was very inspiring. I look back to the adventure now, As I look at a fading photograph, Of that dangerous adventure and how When I look at it I begin to laugh Because I am still in recovery, From this wonderful discovery.
19: Poems we memorized:
20: Paul Revere's Ride | By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Listen my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town tonight, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light, - One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charleston shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street, Wanders and watchers with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore.
21: Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the somber rafters, that 'round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade, - By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead. In their night-encampment on the hill. Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" A moment later he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay, - A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill,
22: Lonely and spectral and sombre and still And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, 'till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns. A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders, that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town, He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in th moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon.
23: It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who at the bridge would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled, - How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard wall, Chasing the redcoats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and far, - A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo forevermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
24: Desert Places | By Robert Frost | Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast In a field I looked into going past, And the ground almost covered smooth in snow, But a few weeds and stubble showing last. The woods around it have it--it is theirs. All animals are smothered in their lairs. I am too absent-spirited to count; The loneliness includes me unawares. And lonely as it is that loneliness Will be more lonely ere it will be less-- A blanker whiteness of benighted snow With no expression, nothing to express. They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars--on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home To scare myself with my own desert places.
25: The Tyger | By William Blake | Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright In the forests of the night What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? And what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee?
26: Out of the Morning | By Emily Dickinson | Will there really be a morning? Is there such a thing as day? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they? Has it feet like water-lilies? Has it feathers like a bird? Is it brought from famous countries Of which I have never heard? Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor! Oh, some wise man from the skies! Please to tell a little pilgrim Where the place called morning lies!
27: Poems we will memorize one day:
28: 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 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: Who roads diverged in a wood, and I I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
29: The Raven | By Edgar Allen 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 visitor,' 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 sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,' Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore!'
30: This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the work, 'Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again i heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more. Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.' Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculpted bust above his chamber door, With such name as 'Nevermore.' But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered 'Other friends have flown before On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'
31: Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."' But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, "Nevermore.' 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
32: `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!