This poem of Williams is like Haiku and other imaginary poem which uses symbols in delivering their message of the poem. This poem seems simple with just a wheelbarrow and white chicken like it’s an ordinary seen in a farm that nothing to analyze or think more about it.
This poem simple yet imaginary brings us message between the difference of two objects, people, etc... Where the message of the poem is in there that shows us the difference of two contrasting object, people, etc. can be together in a poem and everything around can have a role to play on.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Reflection: Telephone Conversation
This poem shows us the conversation of two people in a phone talking such a business deal on that make us think that it’s a simple poem. The poet only shows this conversation but what’s behind of this poem is very ironically. Conversation of two people which is the other one in another line is discriminated by the other person on the other line, when he asked the color if it’s dark or white.
This poem only shows us the discrimination of white to the black people and this poem was made because of the black or African author itself that inspires him to do this kind of poem.
This poem only shows us the discrimination of white to the black people and this poem was made because of the black or African author itself that inspires him to do this kind of poem.
Reflection: Gretel in Darkness
The poem of Gluck uses the story of Hansel and Gretel but the message of the poem is according to her as she delivers her message or the message of the poem thru the used of the story of Hansel and Gretel. The persona of the poem is the author or the narrator. She used the character of Gretel to express the message of the poem.
Though this poem uses the story of Hansel and Gretel it still has its own story because the poem is about a trauma that Gretel experienced from the hand of the witch. It expresses her loneliness and her lost of being alone.
This poem shows us what trauma can do to us. Experiencing such things we will never forget. How this change one’s life from a normal life. The poem tries to show us the effect of trauma in our life if we experience things that we don’t want to happen in our life.
Though this poem uses the story of Hansel and Gretel it still has its own story because the poem is about a trauma that Gretel experienced from the hand of the witch. It expresses her loneliness and her lost of being alone.
This poem shows us what trauma can do to us. Experiencing such things we will never forget. How this change one’s life from a normal life. The poem tries to show us the effect of trauma in our life if we experience things that we don’t want to happen in our life.
Reflection: A Supermarket in California
The poem of Allen Ginsberg is one of the artistic poem because of its style it uses different symbols to show his message and emotion to the reader. It gives sympathy to the reader to feel the emotion and message of the poem.
This poem express its message thru the used of different symbols that we usually sees in the market. He used the idea of these things in expressing his emotion of despair. He saw people in this things and keep on asking from it. It is full of imagination that gives life and uniqueness of the poem.
This poem is very imaginative because it’s hard to see something in a thing if you don’t focus to the message nor to your feelings on how are you going to express it to the reader.
This poem express its message thru the used of different symbols that we usually sees in the market. He used the idea of these things in expressing his emotion of despair. He saw people in this things and keep on asking from it. It is full of imagination that gives life and uniqueness of the poem.
This poem is very imaginative because it’s hard to see something in a thing if you don’t focus to the message nor to your feelings on how are you going to express it to the reader.
Reflection: We Wear the Mask
The poem of Dunbar is full of power because it speaks for the people who are treated unfair in the society. The poem of Dunbar speaks for the right justice and fair treatment to everyone even he is a black or whenever he comes from or whatever his status in our society and whoever he is.
I like this poem because it expresses the rights of every people. It is fighting for the freedom of him but because we are meeting different people in our life, we go to different places and we feel different emotions. We have to wear different mask to hide our real feelings, to hide who we are because of we are afraid to be judge by the people.
We wear different mask because we are hiding from the reality that is happening to us but even how many times we hide our emotions, we can never escape the reality of our life because we are existing in this world and we meet different people that some of them would really know us and we can’t hide from them even we wear different mask.
I like this poem because it expresses the rights of every people. It is fighting for the freedom of him but because we are meeting different people in our life, we go to different places and we feel different emotions. We have to wear different mask to hide our real feelings, to hide who we are because of we are afraid to be judge by the people.
We wear different mask because we are hiding from the reality that is happening to us but even how many times we hide our emotions, we can never escape the reality of our life because we are existing in this world and we meet different people that some of them would really know us and we can’t hide from them even we wear different mask.
Reflection: L(a
The poem of Edward Cummings is a very artistic poem because it has the idea of making a poem thru the image of a number or letter. It has the idea as the message of the poem expressing different feelings of the poet.
This poem struck me because first I have no idea how the poet made this kind of poem. It seems hard to express your idea with this kind of poem which is very artistic. Even how short it is but the main idea or the message is there and easy to understand.
I like the concept of this type of poem because it challenge me to have the same idea of poem but different in message. Expressing our feelings may do to a very short poem but a very stunning one that catches attention of every reader.
This poem struck me because first I have no idea how the poet made this kind of poem. It seems hard to express your idea with this kind of poem which is very artistic. Even how short it is but the main idea or the message is there and easy to understand.
I like the concept of this type of poem because it challenge me to have the same idea of poem but different in message. Expressing our feelings may do to a very short poem but a very stunning one that catches attention of every reader.
Reflection: Four Haiku
The poem is very good this concerns with the beauty and appreciation of such little things in our surroundings.
It’s like transforming a little thing in a huge thing everything in this world should appreciate because it is God’s creation. Any little things even how ordinary it was it still has a value like money even how small the amount or it is just a cent it still has its value.
Our nature is very beautiful it composed of little things or ordinary objects but this objects are the one that makes our nature beautiful and those things around us may consider such a blessing and a miracle too in our nature.
It’s like transforming a little thing in a huge thing everything in this world should appreciate because it is God’s creation. Any little things even how ordinary it was it still has a value like money even how small the amount or it is just a cent it still has its value.
Our nature is very beautiful it composed of little things or ordinary objects but this objects are the one that makes our nature beautiful and those things around us may consider such a blessing and a miracle too in our nature.
Reflection: My Grandmother Would Rock Quietly And Hum
This poem by Leonard Adame is very touching for me because it makes me remember the past, makes me remember the important person in my life. The way she move, the way she talked, the way she smile and everything that she does.
This poem reminds me of some grandmothers that I talked before. They were telling me some stories of their past, the way they lived before. They tell me their childhood life and used to compare their life now than before. Everything’s change when they got older and older. Then they will tell me some advices that they learned from the past.
When we get old we can never back the past all we can do is to reminisce from the past. It gives us different feelings when we are reminiscing our past especially those special person in our life that we live before in our past, that now we can never talk with them again because only their memories that left to us is the only thing that we can keep from the rest of our life. Those memories that we cannot forget until we get old in this amazing world.
This poem reminds me of some grandmothers that I talked before. They were telling me some stories of their past, the way they lived before. They tell me their childhood life and used to compare their life now than before. Everything’s change when they got older and older. Then they will tell me some advices that they learned from the past.
When we get old we can never back the past all we can do is to reminisce from the past. It gives us different feelings when we are reminiscing our past especially those special person in our life that we live before in our past, that now we can never talk with them again because only their memories that left to us is the only thing that we can keep from the rest of our life. Those memories that we cannot forget until we get old in this amazing world.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Black and White
they are different
in color
they are different
in meaning
one signs good
other signs evil
both attractive
yet different
in color
they are different
in meaning
one signs good
other signs evil
both attractive
yet different
The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
-By: William Carlos Williams
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
-By: William Carlos Williams
Hello Operator
He speaks softly and gently with charm
The operator ask for his need,
“What can I do for you?”
He wanted to buy the beautiful lingerie
“What’s your name please?” the operator asked.
He continue to speak up and ask for the prize
The n the operator ask again,
“ARE YOU A GIRL?”
He didn’t answer, “ARE YOU A GIRL OR A BOY?”
He keeps on silence, “HELLO?”
Then the truth reveals
As he speak up and changed her voice into
A large tone voice and loudly
Then he simply said
“I am what you think I am.”
The operator ask for his need,
“What can I do for you?”
He wanted to buy the beautiful lingerie
“What’s your name please?” the operator asked.
He continue to speak up and ask for the prize
The n the operator ask again,
“ARE YOU A GIRL?”
He didn’t answer, “ARE YOU A GIRL OR A BOY?”
He keeps on silence, “HELLO?”
Then the truth reveals
As he speak up and changed her voice into
A large tone voice and loudly
Then he simply said
“I am what you think I am.”
Telephone Conversation
The price seemed reasonable, location
indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
off premises. Nothing remained
but self-confession. “Madam,” I warned,
“I hate a wasted journey, I am African.”
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was foully.
“HOW DARK?”… I had not misheard… “ARE
YOU LIGHT OR VERY DARK?” button B, Button A. Stench
Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar box. Red doubled-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed dumbfounded to beg simplification.
Considerate she was, varying the emphasis
“ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?” revelation came.
“you mean like plain or milk chocolate?”
Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted,
I chose. “West Africa sepia” and as afterthought,
“down in my passport.” Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
Hard on the mouthpiece. “WHAT’S THAT?” concending
“DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.” “Like brunette.”
“THAT’S DARK, ISN’T IT?” “Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but, madam, you should see
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
Are a peroxide blond. Friction, caused
Foolishly, madam by sitting down, has turned
my bottom raven black one moment, madam!”
sensing her receiver ringing on the thunderclap
about my ears “Madam,” I pleaded, “wouldn’t you
rather see for yourself?”
-By: Wole Soyinka
indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
off premises. Nothing remained
but self-confession. “Madam,” I warned,
“I hate a wasted journey, I am African.”
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was foully.
“HOW DARK?”… I had not misheard… “ARE
YOU LIGHT OR VERY DARK?” button B, Button A. Stench
Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar box. Red doubled-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed dumbfounded to beg simplification.
Considerate she was, varying the emphasis
“ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?” revelation came.
“you mean like plain or milk chocolate?”
Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted,
I chose. “West Africa sepia” and as afterthought,
“down in my passport.” Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
Hard on the mouthpiece. “WHAT’S THAT?” concending
“DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.” “Like brunette.”
“THAT’S DARK, ISN’T IT?” “Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but, madam, you should see
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
Are a peroxide blond. Friction, caused
Foolishly, madam by sitting down, has turned
my bottom raven black one moment, madam!”
sensing her receiver ringing on the thunderclap
about my ears “Madam,” I pleaded, “wouldn’t you
rather see for yourself?”
-By: Wole Soyinka
The Land of Thumbelina
From the hands of frogs
That terrified me
From the hands of the beetle and large spider
That took me away
From the hands of the mouse and mole
That strives to get my freedom.
Let’s soar and have fun
This is all I wanted,
I feel shelter on your wings
It makes me sheltered
From anyone harmful
I am free now to sing and dance
Bring me to my king,
To the flower fairies,
To the country of flowers, where I belong,
It’s the place I can live freely with
The man I love and there we start
Our colorful days just like a flowers.
That terrified me
From the hands of the beetle and large spider
That took me away
From the hands of the mouse and mole
That strives to get my freedom.
Let’s soar and have fun
This is all I wanted,
I feel shelter on your wings
It makes me sheltered
From anyone harmful
I am free now to sing and dance
Bring me to my king,
To the flower fairies,
To the country of flowers, where I belong,
It’s the place I can live freely with
The man I love and there we start
Our colorful days just like a flowers.
Gretel in Darkness
This is the world we wanted.
All who would have seen us dead
Are dead. I hear the witch’s cry
Break in the moonlight through a sheet
Of sugar. God rewards.
Her tongue shrivels into gas…
Now, far from women’s arms
And memory of women, in our father’s hut
We sleep, are never hungry.
Why do I not forget?
My father bars the door, bars harm
From this house, and it is years.
No one remembers. Even you, my brother,
Summer afternoon you look at me as though
You meant to leave,
As though it never happened.
But I killed for you. I see armed firs,
The spires of that gleaming kiln come back, come back
Night I turned to you to hold me
But you are not there.
Am I alone? Spies hiss in the stillness, Hansel,
We are there still and it is real, real,
that black forest and the fire in earnest.
-By: Louise Elisabeth Glück
All who would have seen us dead
Are dead. I hear the witch’s cry
Break in the moonlight through a sheet
Of sugar. God rewards.
Her tongue shrivels into gas…
Now, far from women’s arms
And memory of women, in our father’s hut
We sleep, are never hungry.
Why do I not forget?
My father bars the door, bars harm
From this house, and it is years.
No one remembers. Even you, my brother,
Summer afternoon you look at me as though
You meant to leave,
As though it never happened.
But I killed for you. I see armed firs,
The spires of that gleaming kiln come back, come back
Night I turned to you to hold me
But you are not there.
Am I alone? Spies hiss in the stillness, Hansel,
We are there still and it is real, real,
that black forest and the fire in earnest.
-By: Louise Elisabeth Glück
Airport
When I step my feet on the ground
In front of this giant aircraft
It reminds me of you, Ninoy Aquino,
As I saw the passengers coming
down from the aisle, smiling
and excited to see their family.
I saw you walking in front of the door
Going up and down from the flight of steps of
This aircraft, then you stops in the middle step
And you look nowhere like looking for someone.
There’s a lot of passenger surrounds you but
only the sorrow in your face catches my attention.
What was on your mind? Is there anything you
still want to do? I saw your watery eyes
like longing for your family, later then
I saw a crystal tear fell down on your face,
Why Ninoy? Why are you crying?
I noticed you were reading a news paper,
It’s full of awful news about this country
Is this the reason why?
Ninoy, the door is about to close where
You will go? Will you leave this country
this way? I saw you lift your hands up
like you trying to say that no way for you
to stay alive this falling country.
In front of this giant aircraft
It reminds me of you, Ninoy Aquino,
As I saw the passengers coming
down from the aisle, smiling
and excited to see their family.
I saw you walking in front of the door
Going up and down from the flight of steps of
This aircraft, then you stops in the middle step
And you look nowhere like looking for someone.
There’s a lot of passenger surrounds you but
only the sorrow in your face catches my attention.
What was on your mind? Is there anything you
still want to do? I saw your watery eyes
like longing for your family, later then
I saw a crystal tear fell down on your face,
Why Ninoy? Why are you crying?
I noticed you were reading a news paper,
It’s full of awful news about this country
Is this the reason why?
Ninoy, the door is about to close where
You will go? Will you leave this country
this way? I saw you lift your hands up
like you trying to say that no way for you
to stay alive this falling country.
A Supermarket in California
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman,
For I walked down the side streets under the trees with a headache
Self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went to the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night!
Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!
And you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking
Among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking a question of each: who killed the pork chops?
What price bananas? Are you my angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you,
And folled inmy imagination by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour.
Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade,
Light out in the houses, we’ll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage teacher,
What America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out
On a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black water of lethe?
-By: Allen Ginsberg
For I walked down the side streets under the trees with a headache
Self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went to the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night!
Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!
And you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking
Among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking a question of each: who killed the pork chops?
What price bananas? Are you my angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you,
And folled inmy imagination by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour.
Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade,
Light out in the houses, we’ll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage teacher,
What America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out
On a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black water of lethe?
-By: Allen Ginsberg
Behind of the Mask
Behind of the mask she wears,
It keeps a mystery to everyone,
Who’s behind of this mask?
Why she keeps on hiding?
She always smiles and looks happy,
Seems like she has no problem
She dress well and looks elegant,
Seems to be a perfect woman
When the night comes she takes her mask off.
She’s a simple woman who cries at night
Afraid to criticize and left alone
That’s behind of the mask!
It keeps a mystery to everyone,
Who’s behind of this mask?
Why she keeps on hiding?
She always smiles and looks happy,
Seems like she has no problem
She dress well and looks elegant,
Seems to be a perfect woman
When the night comes she takes her mask off.
She’s a simple woman who cries at night
Afraid to criticize and left alone
That’s behind of the mask!
We Wear the Mask
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,
This dept we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask
We smile, but, o great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
-By: Paul Laurence Dunbar
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,
This dept we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask
We smile, but, o great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
-By: Paul Laurence Dunbar
Dazzling Dawn
When I open the new day
And went out
Of the palace
The king of air
Blow his cool air that
Gives chill on my body
The other king rise
With his bright rays that
Gives warm on me
A fine weather
Makes the princess
Start a beautiful day.
And went out
Of the palace
The king of air
Blow his cool air that
Gives chill on my body
The other king rise
With his bright rays that
Gives warm on me
A fine weather
Makes the princess
Start a beautiful day.
Four Haiku
Spring:
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist
The beginning of autumn:
Sea and emerald paddy
Both the same green.
The winds of autumn
Blow: yet still green
The chestnut husks.
A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron’s cry.
-By: Matsuo Basho
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist
The beginning of autumn:
Sea and emerald paddy
Both the same green.
The winds of autumn
Blow: yet still green
The chestnut husks.
A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron’s cry.
-By: Matsuo Basho
Cross Stitch
at home
she’s the quiet person
you wouldn’t here any
from her
she does the house chores
she is always at home
she spend the whole day
doing her chores
every morning
she wakes me up and
prepare my things
for school
as I wake up every thing’s
arranged:
my bag
uniform
shoes
my “baon”
and when I woke up
i hear prayers and praises
that she used to listen
while cooking for my breakfast
from school I always
find her doing her
cross stitch as her hobby
when she’s nothing to do
while eating her favorite “halo-halo”
by now
whenever I saw her cross stitch
it always reminds me of things
she used to do until her
last hour in this world
she’s the quiet person
you wouldn’t here any
from her
she does the house chores
she is always at home
she spend the whole day
doing her chores
every morning
she wakes me up and
prepare my things
for school
as I wake up every thing’s
arranged:
my bag
uniform
shoes
my “baon”
and when I woke up
i hear prayers and praises
that she used to listen
while cooking for my breakfast
from school I always
find her doing her
cross stitch as her hobby
when she’s nothing to do
while eating her favorite “halo-halo”
by now
whenever I saw her cross stitch
it always reminds me of things
she used to do until her
last hour in this world
My Grandmother Would Rock Quietly and Hum
in her house
she would rock quietly and hum
until her swelled hands
calmed
in summer
she wore thick stockings
sweaters
and grey braids
(when “el cheque” came
we went to Payless
and I laughed greedily
when given a quarter)
mornings,
sunlight barely lit
the kitchen
and where
there were shadows
it was not cold
she quietly rolled
flour tortillas
the “papas”
cracking in hot lard
would wake me
she had lost her teeth
and when we ate
she had bread
soaked in “café”
always her eyes
were clear
and she could see
as I cannot yet see
through her eyes
she gave me her self
she would sit
and talk
of her girlhood
of things strange to me:
Mexico
epidemics
relative shot
her father’s hopes
of this country
how they sank
with cement dust
to his insides
now
when I go
to the old house
the worn spots
by the stove
echo of her shuffling
and
Mexico
still hangs in her
fading
calendar pictures
-By: Leonard Adame
she would rock quietly and hum
until her swelled hands
calmed
in summer
she wore thick stockings
sweaters
and grey braids
(when “el cheque” came
we went to Payless
and I laughed greedily
when given a quarter)
mornings,
sunlight barely lit
the kitchen
and where
there were shadows
it was not cold
she quietly rolled
flour tortillas
the “papas”
cracking in hot lard
would wake me
she had lost her teeth
and when we ate
she had bread
soaked in “café”
always her eyes
were clear
and she could see
as I cannot yet see
through her eyes
she gave me her self
she would sit
and talk
of her girlhood
of things strange to me:
Mexico
epidemics
relative shot
her father’s hopes
of this country
how they sank
with cement dust
to his insides
now
when I go
to the old house
the worn spots
by the stove
echo of her shuffling
and
Mexico
still hangs in her
fading
calendar pictures
-By: Leonard Adame
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