Do not go gentle into that good night

This poem is arguably one of the best known poems in the world and reading again for class today I can see why. The timing and words are beautiful. Not only that but the subject itself is so relatable. The other reason that I chose this poem is because personally I love it I love the forceful feel of his word choices and verses. You can feel the power in it as the poem progresses and you can feel his pain at the end. I have to say that I find this one of the most successful poems we have read so far in class.

Poems by me from class

Apple

Red mirror shining back
Looking up from the counter
Health


Doctor

The stainless steel tray shimmers
Carefully he wipes it on his shirt
Handing me the bright red apple








Summer


sufficed what they are
I lean and loafe at my ease,
every atom of my blood observing a spear of summer grass.

Retiring back, but never forgetting.

Poems

1.It's all I have to bring today (26)

by Emily Dickinson

I have always loved Emily Dickinson and I really love this piece her repetition and rhyming are just so hypnotic. I also her use of recurring images and themes, like of nature and fields. It is truly beautiful.



2. I May After Leaving You Walk Quickly or Even Run

by Matthea Harvey

I like this poem because the images are so beautiful and sad at the same time. The whole poem really just spoke to me I guess it because it reminds me of a poem I wrote and I felt like I could feel what she was feeling. It just felt easier to connect to the words for me. Like the line "Heads in the planets, toes tucked under carpets, that’s how we got our bodies through." It is so beautiful and almost bittersweet in feeling.

The other poems I liked

Good Night

by Wilhelm Müller



Your Catfish Friend

by Richard Brautigan



On His Seventy-fifth Birthday

by Walter Savage Landor



I know why the caged bird sings

by Maya Angelou

My father's garden

I think the poem that most spoke to me this time was my fathers garden. Not only did it feel simpler and cleaner among all the other flowery language but it also reminded me of my grandfather. Being told by my father of trips to the junk yard to shift through broken fan belts and old mattress springs it made it very easy to see his fathers hands looking though the metal. Looking for something to make, something to fix, something to toy with. As crazy as it sounds I think I identify with it so much because I can remember the lawn mower that had fishing line holding things together and would only start for him and I feel like that is usually lost in our generation. We are a generation of consumers, it is always cheaper to replace something than it is to fix things so we lose that. We lose what the author is talking about homemade toys, and hours spent tinkering and exploring.

Morning

Reading today’s selections I think the thing that stuck with me the most was the use of morning in “To His Coy Mistress” and “Morning”. It brought to my mind the piece had been discussing in class about the man who lets the painters in while he is writing. Not only did they all have similar feels in a way it reminded me how often time of day is used in poetry, and how powerful it can be. I mean when people talk about the dew on grass or the sweet clean smell outside first thing in the morning it is something we can all inherently see and feel it is something it is something so human. Poetry more than any other form of writing is about evoking emotion and that is what both those writers do when they talk about the morning.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the phones

Reading through all the loves poems I felt like this one really had the most staying power in my mind. That could be because I have heard it before but I think it has more to do with the feeling of loss. For the most part we all feel loss in the same way. Losing a friend, love one, parent, anything there is always that moment where you feel as though the world should stop but it doesn’t it sadly just goes on around you. Thinking about this I decided to write a poem about my own loss and love.






The Nursing Home Waiting Room


I sat in a garden of flowers on the maroon sofa
Electric yellow tennis balls dance across the floor on the end of walkers. In a Lonely Place flashes on the TV across the room,
Boggart murmurs to the old women in recliners. Today's menu is glowing bright;
Prime rib, mashed potatoes, peas.
It’s Thursday.

It all should be the same.

Everyone smiles.
I turn to watch the distorted trees and flowers through plastic windows.
The smell of floor cleaner and cooked beef surrounds them all.

It all seems the same.

Wheel chairs creak and turn down the hallway in front of me,
I pick up the old red New York Central hat and hold it close.
Nurses walk by, their white shoes squeak on the linoleum floor.

He is gone.
It all seems the same, it isn't the same.
There is nothing left but paper work.