THE POWER OF WORDS..


There is Hope in the words...
Common words given new life and new meaning to us...
Simple words, sustaining words
words imbued with power deep meaning bread,
water,life,vine,shepherd,and gate,the way beyond the acts........

" THE ART OF POEMS.....by....THE FAMOUS POETS "

Monday, February 23, 2009

By Amy Lowell

Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
Amy Lowell , American Imagist poet, was a woman of great accomplishment. She was born in Brookline, Massachusetts, to a prominent family of high-achievers. Her environment was literary and sophisticated, and when she left private school at 17 to care for her elderly parents, she embarked on a program of self-education. Her poetic career began in 1902 when she saw Eleonora Duse, a famous actress, perform on stage. Overcome with Eleonora's beauty and talent, she wrote her first..


Sea Shell
Sea Shell,
Sea Shell,
Sing me a song, O Please!
A song of ships, and sailor men,
And parrots, and tropical trees,
Of islands lost in the Spanish Main
Which no man ever may find again,
Of fishes and corals under the waves,
And seahorses stabled in great green caves.
Sea Shell,
Sea Shell,
Sing of the things you know so well

By Robert Frost

Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)
Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, California. His father William Frost, a journalist and an ardent Democrat, died when Frost was about eleven years old. His Scottish mother, the former Isabelle Moody, resumed her career as a schoolteacher to support her family. The family lived in Lawrence, Massachusetts, with Frost's paternal grandfather, William Prescott Frost, who gave his grandson a good schooling. In 1892 Frost graduated from a high school and attended Darthmouth College..
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 kept 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.

Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

By Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)
Sara Trevor Teasdale was born on August 8, 1884 in St. Louis Missouri. She was the youngest child of Mary Elizabeth Willard and John Warren Teasdale. At the time of Sara's birth, Mary was 40, and John was 45. Teasdale had three other siblings. She had two brothers, George, who was the oldest child at 20, and John Warren Jr., was was 14. Teasdale also had a sister, named Mary (she was fondly called "Maime"), and she was 17. Mary loved her sister Sara and took very good care of her. Sara was named..
I Am Not Yours
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to beLost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Because
Oh, because you never tried
To bow my will or break my pride,
And nothing of the cave man made
You want to keep me half afraid,
Nor ever with a conquering air
You thought to draw me unaware --Take me, for I love you more
Than I ever loved before.
And since the body's maidenhood
Alone were neither rare nor good
Unless with it I gave to you
A spirit still untrammeled, too,
Take my dreams and take my mind
That were masterless as wind;And "Master!"
I shall say to youSince you never asked me to.

A Cry
Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
Only a voice.
Oh, there are breasts to bear his head,
And lips whereon his lips can lie,
But I must be till I am dead
Only a cry.

By Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963)
Born to middle class parents in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, Sylvia Plath published her first poem when she was eight. Sensitive, intelligent, compelled toward perfection in everything she attempted, she was, on the surface, a model daughter, popular in school, earning straight A's, winning the best prizes. By the time she entered Smith College on a scholarship in 1950 she already had an impressive list of publications, and while at Smith she wrote over four hundred poems. Sylvia's surface...

A Life
Touch it:it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday,
last year ---Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair, Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions.
This familyOf valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietlyWith no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,T
he obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.

By Emily Dickinson


Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Emily Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, to a family well known for educational and political activity. Her father, an orthodox Calvinist, was a lawyer and treasurer of the local college. He also served in Congress. Dickinson's mother, whose name was also Emily, was a cold, religious, hard-working housewife, who suffered from depression. Her relationship with her daughter was distant. Later Dickinson wrote in a letter, that she never had a mother. Dickinson was educate..
There is another sky
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,Into my garden come!

If those I loved were lost
If those I loved were lost
The Crier's voice would tell me
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent would ring
Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!

By Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes (1902 - 1967)
Born in Joplin, Missouri, James Langston Hughes was the great-great-grandson of Charles Henry Langston (brother of John Mercer Langston, the first Black American to be elected to public office). He attended Central High School in Cleveland, Ohio, where he began writing poetry in the eighth grade. His father would discourage him from pursuing writing as a career, in favour of something 'more practical'. Langston's tuition fees to Columbia University were paid on the grounds that he study engineer…..
Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Life Is Fine
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so coldI might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water!
It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there!
It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine!
Fine as wine!
Life is fine!

By Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou (1928 - present)
Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Johnson in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 4, 1928. She grew up in St. Louis and Stamps, Arkansas. She is an author, poet, historian, songwriter, playwright, dancer, stage and screen producer, director, performer, singer, and civil rights activist. She is best known for her autobiographical books: All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes (1986), The Heart of a Woman (1981), Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas (1976),…..
Phenomenal Woman
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's sizeBut when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,It's in the reach of my armsThe span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a womanPhenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand orFall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a womanPhenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wonderedWhat they see in me.
They try so muchBut they can't touchMy inner mystery.
When I try to show themThey say they still can't see.
I say,It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,The grace of my style.
I'm a womanPhenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump aboutOr have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.I say,It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

By Edward Estlin Cummings

E. E. Cummings (1894 - 1962)
Edward Estlin Cummings was born October 14, 1894 in the town of Cambridge Massachusetts. His father, and most constant source of awe, Edward Cummings, was a professor of Sociology and Political Science at Harvard University. In 1900, Edward left Harvard to become the ordained minister of the South Congregational Church, in Boston. As a child, E.E. attended Cambridge public schools and lived during the summer with his family in their summer home in Silver Lake, New Hampshire….
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)
i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which growshigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
Seeker Of Truth
seeker of truth
follow no path
all paths lead where
truth is here
A Pretty a Day
a pretty a day(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maidsto flower an hourin all,all)
o yes to floweruntil so blithea doer a wooersome limber
and lithesome very fine mowera tall;
tallsome jerry so very(and nellie and fan)
some handsomest harry(and sally and nanthey tremble and cowerso pale:pale)
for betty was bornto never say nay
but lucy could learnand lily could prayand fewer were shyer
than doll. doll