An Elegy

They say that grief makes the best poet,
but I would let God snatch the words
right out of my hands if it meant He
would breath life into you again; I would go
deaf, dumb, and blind if I were once again
exposed to the light of your cashmere body.
Life ceased. Not just in your eyes, but in
my flesh the day the eyes of the
jealous took hold of your body, crushing
you beneath their furious weight.

Here is what I know. The day that you
died, I ran after you thinking that I saw
your shadow, but what I was chasing was a memory.
They say that memories are what makes life pleasant
afterwards, but that is a lie. The memories
make you more bitter. Rubbing that spot on
your belly, telling you I love you, telling
you I am sorry, sneaking you on my bed,

rubbing that part of your ear that was
like velvet. I haven't felt anything since,
and I never will.

Okay, this is not done at all. I have to work on it, I want to make it longer. But here is my hand at trying.

Elegy-Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Everytime I read this poem I think of The Dead Poets Society. I have always been a fan of Walt Whitman, and I think that this is a really good Elegy. I think it is really sad, how Whitman relates the Captain to being a father, and in a sense, I guess he is a father figure to the men on his ship. Not only does it seem like Whitman is morning for the captain, but you almost know that this is not only an Elegy for the Captain, but for the voyage that is "closed and done" now that he is gone. Though this Elegy is older, and follows more traditional lines, I still think that it is very nice, and representative of more than a persons death.

Free-Prose

Here's a Prose Poem that I found that I really like:

Charles Bauldelaire

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

Prose-Goodtime Jesus

Goodtime Jesus

James Tate

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dream-
ing so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it?
A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled
back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beau-
tiful day.  How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little
ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.



I really enjoyed this poem, and I though that the last line of it was really great. 
Though it appears that "Hell, I love everybody" is just an expression, I felt like in
this line that Jesus was talking directly to Hell.  This is how I saw the poem:

 "He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head" I think means that
his "nightmare" of seeing death all around him was the only thing in Jesus's head. 
The death and decay around him seemed to mean people in their everyday lives, the way
that they are living, etc.  Jesus isn't afraid of that because he is Jesus, after all,
and is already past the stage of delusion.  When Jesus goes to take a ride on his donkey,
it seems as if he is personally addressing Hell, and telling Hell that he loves everybody,
even his donkey. 

I like the casualness of this poem.  Did anyone else read it that way?

Free Entry-Poems I Love

Here are a couple of poems that I really like from Bill Knott.

Advice from the Experts
I lay down in the empty street and parked My feet against the gutter's curb while from The building above a bunch of gawkers perched Along its ledges urged me don't, don't jump. Bill Knott

When I first read this poem, I literally felt myself looking over the edge of a building. The ending totally surprised me, and made me feel like I was falling. I love how Knott's words are so simple, yet so complex at the same time. Things are never what they seem in Bill Knott's poems, which is why I like him so much. Here is another one of his.

To Ripley (Alien 1-4)

Always your face like a space (Destination: beautiful) ship Empties its mote of closeup trace Down screens that blink blank blip Somewhere between countdown And coma time is a line Where waking centuries often Drained against that measure we find Our blood redshifts (direction: west) Until film can clone one sun With stars both whole and gone Attending every sequel We pray for an intent equal To our interest Bill Knott

Here is a song that I love; it is really old, but very touching and beautiful.

O God Beautiful
From Nanak’s Song

O God Beautiful; O God Beautiful;
At Thy feet, O I do bow.
In the forest Thou art green;
In the mountain Thou art high;
In the river Thou art restless;
In the ocean Thou art grave.
O God Beautiful; O God Beautiful!
At Thy feet, I do bow!
To the serviceful Thou art service;
To the lover Thou art love;
To the sorrowful Thou art sympathy;
To the yogi Thou art bliss.

My favorite part it the last line. I think this is a very beautiful, heartfelt devotional.

Found Poems in the Packet

I was extremely interested in Jena Osman's poem "The Periodic Table As Assembled By Dr. Zhivago, Oculist." I went and looked through it, and wanted to post a couple of the poems I found. I think that it is wonderful how an artist can be so creative with a found poem. I always thought that a found poem would be much like "Ready-Mades," where an artist finds an object that they find interesting, titles it, and slaps their name on it. This is wonderful, though. If you look at the poem online, Osman even gives quotes from Dr. Zhivago about the element, and pairs it with a picture.

Oxygen to Odds
	workers breathe inequalities realize the air captures their minds and chances

Technetium to Take cares I was predicted. I was produced. Bombarded, misnamed and found in a star. Celebrity is not easy: False greetings and manufactured warmth. "Handled in a glove box."

My Found Poem

So, I know that my poem sounded like poo because I was having issues that day from lack of sleep. I couldn't read it, and stuttered. But here it is. Here is what the article originally said, and here is how I reused the majority of the words and just reworked them.

Original Article:

Pink

Pink flowers can often look a little on the sickly and gooey side,
rather cheap shop-bought cakes. However, if they are used
carefully, they can also look light and dreamy. I've tried to show
a variety of ideas with pink flowers. Pale pink double Angelica
Tulips, shocking pink Jacaranda Roses and mopheads od glossy Hydrangea
are just three of my favourites.


Mine:

Untitled

Gooey, cheap, sickly Angelica Tulips
often look dreamy in the light.
I've tried to show a variety of ideas
with pink flowers. However,
all three sides of the shop-bought
Hydrangea mopheads are still shocking pink,
carefully used like the Jacaranda Roses.
They will always be light, dreamy, glossy cakes.

I don't know if I can do that for this form, but I thought it would be okay, seeings how it is a Found Poem and all.

I started on another in class when I was done, it is very raw and needs work, but I think it could go somewhere.

From An Article on Green Flowers

There's something exciting about the first green shoots
in the spring time. There are things unknown about
the zest and zeal of all that green; it is in the flowers,
the rare and beautiful green flowers.

That's all I have on that one. I scrapped a lot of lines, and will hopefully add on to it. I'll figure something out!