Audio-Video Poems-2: 12 Poems of Emily Dickinson - Aaron Copeland

For a detailed article on Emily Dickinson from Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Dickinson

To read the Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson from Project Gutenberg:

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/12242/12242-h/12242-h.htm

To listen to Selected Poems of Emily Dickinson (audio file - MP3 format)from Project Gutenberg:

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/22444/mp3/22444-14.mp3

Grateful thanks to Aron Copeland, punkpoetry, YouTube, Project Gutenberg and Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Poem of the day-97: "A child said, What is the grass?" by Walt Whitman

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

For a write-up on Walt Whitman from Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia.

Poem of the day-96: "Past and Present" by Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.


I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups -
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday, -
The tree is living yet!


I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.


I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.


For detailed info on the poet, Thomas Hood, from Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Hood


Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

On Poetry-16: W.Somerset Maugham

The crown of literature is poetry – W.Somerset Maugham

On Poetry-15: Shelley

Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar - Shelley

On Poetry-14: Carl Sandburg

Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits - Carl Sandburg

On Poetry-13: Carl Sandburg 2

Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away - Carl Sandburg

Poem of the day-95: "How soon hath time" by Milton

How soon hath time, the subtle thief of youth
Stoln on his wing mt three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.

Poem of the day-94: After by Robert Browning

Take the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!

How he lies in the rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And, absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace?
I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold:
His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn
Were so easily borne!

I stand here now, he lies in his place:
Cover the face!

Poem of the day-93: The Course of True Love by Shakespeare

For aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth:
But, either it was different in blood,
Or else misgraffèd in respect of years,
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say,—Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.

Poem of the day-92: Charge of the Light Brigade by Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.


‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.


Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.


When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Poem of the day-91: Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind by William Shakespeare

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Poem of the day-90: A Bird Came Down the Walk by Emily Dickinson

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,--
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, plashless, as they swim.

Poem of the day-89: "The Grave" by Longfellow

For thee wert born,
Ere thou wert born,
For thee was a mould means
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein.
The heel-ways are low.
The side-ways unigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained
And death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell,
And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,
And leavest thy friends;
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,
Who will ever see
How that house pleaseth thee,
Who will ever open
And descend after thee,
The door for thee
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.

Priya's Poems-13: "Parting Moments"

my feet;
fixed in a magnetic stillness.
emotions;
rise and fall,
like waves at heart shore.
words jumble and tumble
at the lips;
words fail,
eyes speak in hush and lull.
eyes ;
reading each other's heart to deep.
mind;
freezes thy picture in memory,
silence in conversation
hands in raise,
wave in motion,
tears rolldown,
from the wet eyes
down the cheeks.......
voice is heard inside my heart
"good bye dear........
good luck
awaiting
thy early arrival......."

Poem of the day-88: "Spring" by Longfellow

Gentle Spring! - in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
And thou, - thou makest the sad heart gay.
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
Thy sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old
Their beards of icicles and snow;
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for nought both late and early.
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When they merry step draws near.

Priya's Poems-12: "The Biggest Lie*"

Thou poisoned
the minds
of our first parents
made fools
of our knowledge.

Thou, a beautiful seductress*
unconspicuous to all
seducing everyone,
who come
in search of thee...
thou are so beautiful
oh, i love you dear.

Thou pervert
the young minds
many lost their lives
in scrutinising thee....

Thou induce
the poets brain
for many
thou were a sloppy slide
for a few
thou were a large ladder.

Thou the
most perilous addiction
make them
thy impetuous slave
to live
in delusion.

They pierce
inside thee...
to hedge reality.
thou make them
to overleap themselves.........

Thou THE BIGGEST LIE*.......

--------------------------

*IMAGINATION

Poem of the day-87: "The Brook" by Longfellow

Laugh of the mountain! - lyre of bird and tree!
Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!
The soul of April, unto whom are born.
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee!
Although, wherever thy devious current strays
The lap of earth with gold and silver teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems
Than golden sands, that charm each shephered's gaze
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count!
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current!
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid round!

Priya's Poems-11: "Beautiful!"

oh! it's the mirror of thy heart
nay! it's the picture of thy soul
how many.......
sometimes black
sometimes blue
sometimes green
sometimes grey
sometimes red
sometimes pink
thousands of emotions........
all dancing up and down
like waves
sometimes tears
sometimes fears
sometimes cry
sometimes shy
sometimes cold
sometimes bold
though thou fail
they speak in silence
for thee...
oh! what a beauty
the ultimate seduction
LARGER than opium
it's the index of thy mind.....
like a grape in ice cream
beautiful......
PAIR OF BLACK ROSES

Poem of the day-86: "A Psalm of Life" by Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.
And our hearts, though stout and brave
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, however pleasant
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God overhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of time.

Footsteps, that perhaps another,
Sailing over life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.